CHAPTER TWELVE
Lukendevener
“Skye!” I bark her name, worry roughening my voice.
She stands, body rigid, face locked in an expression of beatific fascination. Magic roils within her, so strong it takes my breath away. Even with her eyes closed, I can tell she’s focused on only one thing: that damned romance book.
I call her name several more times to no avail, so I grab her shoulders and turn her away from the blasted book, but she cranes her head, doing everything she can to keep it within her magical sight.
With a growl, I scoop her off the floor, pressing her face to my chest, my hand palming the back of her head so she can’t turn back toward the book. My tail curls around her legs. In three long strides, I’ve got us out of the library.
Princess Buttercup comes racing after, yowling with worry.
I sprint down the castle hallway, not stopping until I enter the sitting room.
Skye stirs as I lay her on the sofa, whispering, “Such pretty fire.”
“The romance book looks like fire?” I ask. Interesting. I wouldn’t have expected her magic to manifest in that fashion.
Her eyes flutter open, a crease of confusion denting the skin between her brows. “No, you.” She touches my chest and gives me a heart-stopping smile, her face blooming bright like the first rays of sunlight touching a flower. “You have such pretty fire.”
My heart leaps as if willing to tear itself from my body to meet her touch. She can see my fire magic? That can’t be part of her powers, can it? It makes no logical sense. Certainly, I’ve entwined my life with books and the pursuit of knowledge, but that doesn’t make me a book.
So why can her magical sight see the essence of my magic?
Her familiar jumps onto the arm of the sofa to stare down into Skye’s face, letting out a series of meows.
“I’m fine,” the witch says. “I just got caught up in the power of the spell. It’s beautiful.”
I grunt. Of course it’s beautiful—it’s Skye’s magic, after all. “Tell me exactly what happened. Spare no detail.”
Crouched beside her as she recounts becoming mesmerized by the spell, I pull out parchment and quill in order to take detailed notes.
She finishes by saying, “The effect got weaker the farther you carried me from the book until it finally disappeared,and I could think again.”
Princess Buttercup butts her head up into Skye’s hand, demanding attention—or is it assurance that the witch is okay?
Well, I want assurances, too. “You arenotto use your magic in the library. I will not allow a repeat of this incident.”
“Hey, that’s not fair.” Hurt colors Skye’s voice as she pushes up to sitting. “I have to use my magic, or I’ll never figure it out.”
I growl, and my teeth grind together. She’s right, and the researcher in me longs for us to do more experiments with her magic. But I can’t bring myself to view Skye as dispassionately as I should. I’m too bothered by the thought of her getting hurt.
“I can use my magic in the stacks,” she says. “We’ve already seen that’s okay. It’s only the reading room that’s a problem.”
“You promise,” I grit out, and the cat lets out a demanding meow as well.
“I promise!” She holds up her hand with only her smallest finger raised. “Pinky promise.”
I growl, “What is this ‘pinky promise?’”
“Only the best kind of promise there is!” She locks her little finger around mine and grins. “I promise not to use my magic in the reading room. There, it’s done, and you don’t have to worry about me.”
Another growl rumbles from my throat as a realization hits me. There aren’t enough promises in the world to make me stop worrying about her.
No matter her protestations, I call a halt to today’sresearch. “We need to be able to accomplish whatever dancing the book will require of us,” I say. “We should practice.”
“I think I’ve got just the thing for that.” She pulls out her phone and reads several things. “Yep. I just need to— Oh.” Her smile dissolves into a small pout of worry.
