The question came out of nowhere leaving me to blink dumbly at Liam. Anger erupted in the next second, heating my blood and setting my pulse pounding.
I threw my hands up. “Yes. That’s it. You’ve got me. I was down there for a secret assignation.”
His gaze went stony. That was all the notice I got before he made his move, skirting past me and grabbing the book from the end table. I yelped and lunged after him.
He hissed and dropped it, cradling his hand as he glared down at the offending piece of leather and paper.
I crouched and grabbed it.
“How did you get an object of power?” Liam asked, staring at me like he’d never seen me before.
I straightened and held the book in front of me. “What are you talking about?”
“That,” Liam said pointing. He seemed disturbed by the fact that I was holding the book against me. “Where did you get it?”
“It just came to me,” I said. In a way it had. And now it refused to leave.
“Those things don’t just come to people,” he said. “You need to get rid of it.”
“Can’t,” I said.
His stare said that wasn’t answer enough.
I sighed. “I’ve tried. It just keeps coming back.”
He grimaced. “Yes, I’ve heard of some being able to do that. It usually means they’re very powerful with a mind of their own.”
“You know what this thing is then?” I asked.
Because the last time I’d asked a witch, the response I got in return was that it was powerful but didn’t mean me direct harm. Not exactly a comforting thought.
“Enough to know this is one of the higher objects of power. It was probably created by a Fae; they’ve always been amused by such things. I’m surprised to find it here,” he said. “Has it done anything for you?”
“Depends on your definition. Mostly it gives me little hints when problems arise in my life.”
Setting it back down, I moved into the living room, looking for my phone. Liam followed after another dark glance at the book.
The phone was in my fridge. Definitely not where I left it, but given who I had for roommates, it could have ended up in a much worse place—like the toilet. It had taken me a week to dry the phone off enough to work the last time that had happened.
I flipped it on and paused. There were fifteen missed calls and five messages from my sister starting around ten p.m.
I hit play on one of the voicemails and lifted the phone to my ear. Only seconds later, my face paled as I listened.
“Aileen, where are you? Please, pick up. I need my sister.” My sister’s soft sobs filtered through the phone. “Linda’s in the hospital and they don’t know what’s wrong. She keeps throwing up blood.”
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Liam straightened from the counter, the irritation and sharp playfulness disappearing from his face as the blood rushed from my head.
My hand with the cell phone fell to my side.
Liam didn’t ask what was wrong. With our superior senses, he already knew. Sympathy crossed his face and a tense watchfulness as he slipped the phone from my hand.
I let him do it.
Fifteen missed calls. Jenna must have been going out of her mind.
“I need to get to the hospital,” I said through numb lips.
