No fucking way!
I read through the ritual, but it’s incomplete. As I flick through the book, I realize parts of it are missing.
It might have been damaged over the years, and those other pieces are lost… unless the rest of it is in the vault.
The more I think about it, the more sure I am that I will find the pages I need locked up in the cage out back. When Angela first arrived, it was pretty chaotic as we moved things around, and it’s entirely possible these texts got separated from the others and accidentally moved to the library.
But how the hell am I supposed to get back there?
Immediately, I think about asking Sadie, but I couldn’t ask her to risk her job that way.
Besides, there’s no guarantee that Angela would let her have the key.
I toss the thoughts around in my mind, and then I realize the gala is only a few nights away. An idea blooms in my mind.
All of us were invited, but none of us intended to go—the gala will most likely be desperately boring, especially to people who work here. But now, I’m inspired.
I stack the old books together and hide them in a section at the end of the aisle, then hurry to find my phone.
I better ask Owen if he owns a suit and find my best dress. The two of us are going to the ball.
Chapter 19 - Owen
Standing in front of the old museum, I can hardly believe it’s the same old place I saw a few weeks ago. The building has been cleaned and painted, with new lights put in across all the signs until it gleams like a big-city high-rise.
The crowd out front is moving slowly towards the doors, and it’s obvious that everyone attending cares more about mingling than they do about the artifacts. I’m still a little puzzled that Trina decided to come, and I’m not really buying her excuse that it’s to appease Angela.
I can’t say I mind, though.
My eyes sneak back to Trina, clinging lightly to my right arm. Even though she’s not entirely comfortable in her high heels, she’s managing to keep her balance by holding on to me, and I can’t argue with how good they look on her.
I knew she was a knockout. But. Wow.
I let my gaze linger on her, slowly looking her up and down. Her dress is a deep blue-green, almost the exact shade of her eyes. The tight bodice clings to her curves, the heart-shaped neckline swooping down to frame her breasts. With every step, a long, thigh-high split reveals her beautiful legs, enhanced even more by the very high, open-toed heels.
The crowd shuffles towards the doors again, and Trina looks up at me, smiling. Her makeup is skillfully done, a shimmer of peacock blue across her eyelids with a hint of green to match the dress and long, thick black lashes. Her lips are painted soft pink, defined by a darker rose edge that matches the blush on her cheeks.
“You keep looking at me,” Trina whispers. “Is my hair okay?” She brings up one hand to pat it gently.
“It’s fine,” I reply. “I’m just admiring it.”
Trina smiles bashfully, ducking her head a little. I smile back, trying to give her confidence. She spent a long time gathering up her thick, honey-blond hair into a jeweled clip on the back of her head, teasing the lengths into curls that now spill across her pale shoulders.
“I hope we get in soon,” she says, biting her lip nervously. “What the hell is going on up there?”
“Schmoozing, I expect,” I reply. “All the bigshots bragging about who they know and how much money they have. How did we end up with so many wannabes out here in the sticks?”
“Angela,” Trina mutters. “She’s trying to show off for her big-city friends. Apparently, small towns and museums are the current trend.”
“Well, I hope it’s over soon.”
“Me too. I can’t take much more excitement.”
The line moves slowly forward, and once we reach the foyer, the place opens up, and we can move freely. Both of us take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, and I head towards the exhibits. To my surprise, Trina pulls me towards the back of the museum.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“To the back rooms. There’s something I need to see.”
