He looked longingly at the counter. “No snacks?”
“Later. Help me get the box fans out of storage.” Normally, the house would have dried itself and I wouldn’t have given a thought to the potential mold and mildew and ruined books. Given the problems we’d faced, the more I could do to ease the house’s burden—and Temple’s—the better.
“Where am I supposed to sleep tonight?” Ronnie asked as we worked. “I’m not complaining or anything. Sage needs a safe place to rest. But there’s only the one guest room, and—”
“That’s because we only needed one. I suspect you’ll find an extra door the next time you go upstairs.” Unless the house had been too badly injured by the fire to accommodate an extra guest. I tried not to worry about that.
We set out the fans to start airing out the store. Then I got Ronnie started mopping while I looked over our inventory to see what had been damaged or destroyed.
A short time later, Annette emerged from the kitchen with an oversized mug of coffee in each hand. I noted suspicious tiramisu crumbs on the corner of her mouth. She handed me one mug and sipped from the other. “You think it’s safe keeping Sage here?”
“Not at all, but we can’t send him home with extra eyeballs. It’s not like there’s a hospital for things like this.”
Ronnie looked up from his mopping. “Sure, there is. You’re standing in it. That’s what you do, right? You take in hurt people who can’t go anywhere else and you help them.”
Despite everything, I found myself smiling. “Thank you, but this is way beyond my expertise.”
“You’ll figure it out,” he said confidently.
“I’ll ask Temple for a memory charm when he wakes up,” said Annette. “I’d like to spare Sage’s parents the ongoing dread of worrying about their kid. Maybe we can make them think he’s away on a class trip for a few days.”
“Do twelve-year-olds go on overnight school trips?” I asked.
Annette waved a hand. “They do if Temple’s magic says they do.”
I took a drink. I wasn’t usually a coffee drinker—the stuff was far too bitter for me—but today I needed any help I could get. “How’s Sage?”
“Exhausted. He didn’t stir at all.”
“Good. Sleep will help.” How much permanent damage this did would depend in part on how quickly we could free him of Alex’s influence. “Sage mentioned a sacrifice. He said Ringo was stirring.”
“There’s always a damn sacrifice.” Annette rolled her eyes. “I’ll see if Morgan knows anything about that. I need to check in with him and his father soon anyway.”
I picked up a book from the front window area. Several of the glass panes had cracked, and water had gotten onto the display of new releases and bestsellers. The pages were damp and swollen around the edges. The damage could have been much worse, but I was probably looking at a thousand dollars of water-damaged books.
My chest constricted. Second Life Books and Gifts had been my idea. My dream. I’d gotten Annette on board all those years ago by pushing the numbers, showing her spreadsheets and graphs of how much tourists spent in Salem every year. But for me, this shop was the heart of my existence. I loved the constant flow of people, friends and strangers. I loved the coziness of the shelves and the incense and the jingling bell over the door.
I loved having ahome, a place I belonged. A place anyone who needed help could find me.
I picked a damp shelf card off the floor. Morgan had drawn a spaceship flying to the moon to advertise the latest Kowal book. I took the card to add to the rapidly filling garbage can. Halfway there, faint pencil lines on the back of the card caught my eye. The ache in my chest grew sharper.
“When you talk to Morgan, ask him about this, too.” I brought the card to Annette. The pencil marks were light and water-damaged, but the symbols formed a clear triangular shape.
“I’m going to kill him,” Annette said matter-of-factly. “I’ve spent sixty years fighting my own darkness, holding on to my humanity in the face of one horror after another, but there are limits, and that boy has flown past them all.”
“There will be no killing of family. It’s a house rule.” I walked through the store to gather the rest of the shelf cards. Most of them had the same pencil sketch on the back. “He must have been leaving these here for months.”
Annette brushed her fingertips over the wet card. “It looks similar to the design I saw in Sage’s room, but I don’t feel anything from this one.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” asked Ronnie.
“Not if we don’t know what the spell does,” I said. Each drawing was careful and precise. These weren’t random doodles or sketches. They had been drawn with intention. Morgan hadn’t summoned anything—not that we knew of—but maybe these spells had a different purpose. “How long do you think the water had been leaking and damaging the basement before we found it?”
“Could have been a couple of months.” Annette’s shoulders slumped as the realization hit.
“Morgan’s been weakening this place from within.” I plucked the card from Annette’s hand and added it to my pile. “Do you think the shredder will be enough, or should we burn these things?”
“I’ve got lighter fluid and matches in the van,” said Ronnie.
