I flee back through the castle.
No book exists that can fix this longing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Skye
I don’t have much of an appetite the next morning, even though my omelets came out perfect, if I do say so myself: the eggs fluffy and light, the cheese melty goodness, and the spinach cooked to tenderness without turning into mush. My fork scrapes across my plate, pushing my food around.
“By the goddess, cease making that infernal racket.” A large hand wraps over mine, stopping me before I can move my fork again. Luke frowns at me using grumpy number three, mildly annoyed. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I lie, forcing chipperness into my tone.
His brows slam together as his eyes narrow. Uh oh. We’re heading straight into scowl number four territory, really pissed off.
His touch makes me long to hold his hand for real, but I slip mine out from under his and push up to standing. “We should get to work. That spell isn’t going to break itself!” Though there sure is one thing breaking around here: my squishy jelly heart.
“More for me!” Princess Buttercup leaps onto the table and plants her face in my plate.
I picked out most of the cheese—I have priorities, after all—so she’s pretty much eating eggs and spinach, both of which are good for her.
“We’re not starting until you finish this.” Luke slides my coffee mug closer to me. He’s been helping me make cinnamon lattes at home. It turns out having fae super strength means he can whip warm milk into a froth by hand.
“Thanks!” The sweet gesture lights a sparkler of hope in my chest.
He grunts. “You work better when you’re caffeinated.”
Right. Of course. When will you learn to stop making everything romantic, Skye? I berate myself.
When we reach the reading room, Luke’s right behind me as I step up to the portal window, his looming presence a pressure I can feel all down my back. My skin prickles, my body tightening with want. Snickerdoodle. How am I supposed to work so closely with him without falling even more in love?
We step through into the witch collection, right in front of the next bookcase we need to sort. I close my eyes and call upon my magic, and it leaps upward like a frisky kitten, excited and eager. When I stretch out my senses, the books in front of me start to glow in a rainbow of hues. I point to each, naming their colors, so Luke can sort them into piles. We clear two bookcases without any luck. As soon as hepicks up the last book of the third bookcase, I open my eyes.
I inhale in surprise. There’s a book on the shelf, one I didn’t “see” with my magic. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t want to influence your perception,” he rumbles. “Such actions always muddy the data.”
Right. The research is the important part for him.
But for me…
My eyes slam closed, and I strain, “peering” at the book with my magical sight. I finally spot the faintest glimmer of deep purple against the black of the empty shelf. A sob hiccups from my throat as my eyes open, and I reach for the book with trembling fingers. This is it. I know it deep in my gut.Thisis the book I need to control my magic.
I clutch it to a chest filled with a swirl of emotions, relief and anticipation mixed with heartbreak and sadness.
Luke reshelves the now sorted books with quick efficiency, his shoulder muscles rippling as he lifts heavy piles all in one go. The agile end of his tail helps to stabilize the books as they teeter in four-foot stacks.
The moment he’s cleared the aisle, I hurry over to the nearest transportation crystal and portal into the reading room. After settling at the main table, I run my hand over the faded red leather cover, fingertips bumping over an embossed area. Lingering bits of gold decorate where the raised letters were, but most of the gilding has worn away with time. I open the cover to a handwritten page, covered in sharp, slanting cursive:
A Moste Accurate
Descripshon
of My Adventures
in Bookes
1721
