“I actually feel like it now. Well, kind of. Assuming this new lead will turn into anything.”
Jacques picks up the sandwich and sits on the cement railing, large wings hanging down behind him. “You’re used to things going your way.”
“Not in life. But in my job, sort of. I’m used to being able to figure things out. You know,” I say, and lean on the railing next to him, “I used to debunk cases people thought had to do with anything supernatural. I’ve always found the person responsible.”
Jacques turns to me, hearing the words I didn’t say. “And now you’re wondering if you put away the wrong people.”
I didn’t want to admit it to myself. I didn’t even let myself think about it. Hearing it out loud brings about a bit of panic and regret…but also relief.
“Yes.”
“Were the people you arrested bad people?”
“Always.”
“Then don’t feel bad.” Jacques takes a bite out of his sandwich. The breeze picks up, blowing my hair around my face. I close my eyes and tip my head to the wind, letting out my breath and letting go of the guilt.
“You’re beautiful, Ace,” he says softly. “Beautiful and smart. You’ll figure everything out.”
“I wish I had your confidence in myself,” I only half joke. “Or at least a guidebook—oh my God.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. I can’t believe I forgot.”
“Forgot what?”
“The guidebook. Maybe. Or maybe not. I’m not sure what it is because it’s written in Latin.” I look at Jacques, not needing to ask it out loud for him to know my question.
“Yes, I can read Latin. What are you talking about?”
“A book I found in this weird box in the basement that stabbed me and needed my blood to open.”
Jacques’s face turns serious. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”
I pull my shoulders back. “I don’t have to tell you anything. And it was a few days ago, before I was sure if I could trust you.”
“Show me this book.”
“I’ll get it. Hang on.” I hurry in and retrieve the book. I grab my shoes and a blanket on my way out, wrapping it around my shoulders. Jacques takes the book, eyes wide as he looks it over.
“It’s a grimoire.”
* * *
I wakeup around ten-thirty in the morning, and it was glorious to sleep in. I stayed up until almost dawn, sitting on the porch with Jacques as he translated the book. Though it was chilly at first, there was something peaceful about sitting outside in the dark with him. Worried I was going to get cold, he tucked his wing around me much like the very first night.
I drifted off with my head on his shoulder, waking when he wrapped his arms around me and carried me inside and up into bed, where I quickly fell back asleep. Clouds mute the morning sun now, and the air is humid like it’s about to rain. Another lovely spring day.
I take my time getting out of bed, and then enjoy a long, hot shower. Well, not too long, since the water heater in this house sucks. Add a new one to my long list of updates this place needs.
Jacques left the grimoire and his notes on the kitchen table. I brew a pot of coffee while I read through them, admiring his incredible penmanship all over again. He was directly translating it onto paper but was explaining things to me in a way which made sense, and some of the notes don’t. Not every word translated, so what I’m reading is patchy.
But this thing is without a doubt a spell book. Jacques thinks it’s old, a few hundred years at least, and has been recopied from a previous version according to the notes written in the beginning of the book.
It’s been in my family for centuries.
I run my fingers over the smooth leather, finding it hard to wrap my head around. My maternal family has been such a mystery my whole life, and now I’m finding out we have this secret and pretty badass history.
