“But how would he have activated her powers?”
“I don’t know. It’s not like she said anything about receiving a journal of Leonardo da Vinci for a wedding gift.Wait…” I stood up straight, trying to recall the details of the memory that was nagging at me. “Maci and Alex were late to the wedding, remember? She said she couldn’t find the wedding gift she had prepared.”
“Alex could have taken the gift and swapped it out or added a da Vinci book to it,” Callan said, puzzling it out. He let out a breath. “That seems bold. And what would be the purpose? Why would he want to activate your aunt’s powers?”
I realized I was shaking, and I crossed my arms, hoping Callan wouldn’t notice. If what we were speculating about was true, my aunt’s wedding—one of the most special nights of her life—had been infiltrated by a secretive magical botanist who had changed her life forever, without her knowledge or consent.
“Maybe for the same reason we went after the quill,” I said, the words coming out on autopilot as numbness took over my limbs. “If my aunt has all the affinities like I do, she could use the quill as a compass too.”
“Leading Alex to theVanished Compendium.”
I nodded. “That must mean that he and whoever he is working with didn’t know that there was a blocking spell on it that would impede us anyway.”
Callan stepped closer once more and slipped his arms around me. “It’s going to be okay.”
He touched a finger to the bottom of my chin, tilting my head so that our eyes were a perfect path to each other’s souls. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you—or to anyone you care about. I need you to understand that.”
The tornado in my stomach lessened so that it felt more like a winter storm. “There’s just so much we don’t know. And the other players in this game are always one step ahead. Maybe more.”
Callan’s face took on a focused look I had seen many times. He was in problem-solving mode. When he spoke, his words were measured. “You’re right. We’ve been playing this like a game. But that ends now. This is a war. If they want a fight, they’ll get it.”
I swallowed. “A fight?”
“Not all battles require swords, local. And we’re going toprove it. We’ll start by going to your aunt’s house and seeing if we can confirm this theory about the wedding gift.”
I nodded, comforted by the idea of action. And Callan had saidwe. As uncertain as things felt, I didn’t have to face this situation alone.
Chapter Nine
When we arrived at Aunt Vera’s house, I was relieved to find the driveway empty. She and Bryce were on their scheduled Sunday-night date. I used my key and entered then gasped as I looked around. Vases of flowers covered nearly every surface—lilacs and bluebells, asters and zinnias. When my aunt had run out of vases, she turned to more creative flower holders, and daisies and poppies were bursting out of teacups, mason jars, and soup cans.
“Let’s get started,” I said, going straight to the two small bookshelves in the living room. I scanned the titles while Callan thumbed through the books on the adjacent shelf, but there was nothing unusual. It was a mix of my aunt’s cooking and baking books, entrepreneurial self-help titles, a few romance novels, and some other nonfiction books that I assumed belonged to Bryce.
“Any luck?” I asked.
Callan shook his head and scanned the room.
With a little sigh of consternation, I considered where else in the house they might keep books. “Let’s check the office.”
We went down the hall, and as soon as we entered the office, I zeroed in on a pile of wedding leftovers in the corner. My aunt had stashed wedding décor and gifts that she still needed to deal with into a few bins.
“This is all wedding stuff,” I said. “Maybe we’ll find something here.”
I knelt on the carpet and began to sift. In the second bin, after I’d moved aside a brand-new set of sheets, my fingers skimmed an old leather-bound book, and a familiar warmth passed through me. My heart racing, I picked it up and nearly jumped as warmth continued to pool in my hands.
I tipped open the cover and found that the book was filled with botanical illustrations. “Callan,” I breathed.
“I see it,” he said, abandoning the bin he had been searching.
My pulse was so high that I had trouble hearing my thoughts. We had suspected Alex, but confirmation that my aunt had a book belonging to da Vinci hit me like a sack of potatoes to the gut.
Automatically, I moved to the notebook on the desk. “My aunt kept a list of the gifts she received and who they were from.”
I anxiously skimmed down the paper—still holding out a tiny sliver of hope—until I saw an item titledVintage coffee table art book. With bated breath, I checked the other side of the column, where the names were scrawled. The name jumped out at me as if its font were larger than the others. I had seen it written hundreds of times and knew it nearly as well as my own.
Maci Phouthavong.
My breath released from my chest in one big whoosh. I’d known it was coming, but this was confirmation. Alex had slipped the book into the gift from Maci, like a devious little weed.
