I take a drink of water. “Physically, yes, it was a mess too. But I meant the setting. The body was placed on an altar like it was trying to look like something from a horror movie.” I go on to explain the crime scene, and all the guys agree with me that it’s a setup.
Jacques sets down his fork and leans back, pressing his wings against the back of the chair. They say it doesn’t hurt, but it looks so uncomfortable to sit like that.
“Someone set up a fake crime scene with animal blood, and now there’s a body. Do you think they’re connected?”
“I already considered that,” I tell him, digging back into my fried rice. “And so far, nothing connects them other than beingout therewhen it comes to murder. If there’s a connection, I’ll find it.”
Jacques looks me right in the eye and gives me a small smile. “You will.”
5
Isnap a hair tie around my wrist and grab my running shoes from the closet. It’s still humid as fuck outside, but I need to go for a run. Wearing just a sports bra and shorts, I jog down the rear staircase, coming into the kitchen. Jacques is sitting at the table in here, head bent down over my grimoire. He’s been translating it into English for me, and the process is slow going. Mostly because he only has a few hours to work on it before he gets turned into stone again.
The answer to breaking the curse is in there somewhere. It has to be.
“Going out?” he asks, flicking his eyes up at me for half a second.
“Yeah. I need to run.”
“Feeling restless again?”
I open the fridge and pull out a bottle of water. “Is it that obvious?”
“No. But I can tell.”
Biting my lip, I turn around and face Jacques. The others don’t know about the weird bond Jac and I share, and neither of us are eager to bring it up. I’ve seen into his mind, read his thoughts, felt his emotions. We’ve fucked many times in our dreams, and it’s not your run-of-the-mill sex dream.
I dream it.
He dreams it.
It’s all kinds of fucked up.
“I have a lot on my mind,” I offer, twisting the cap off the water bottle.
“Are you thinking about work?”
I take a drink and nod. “And other things.”
“You’re not going to elaborate, are you?”
“There’s no point,” I sigh, my mind flashing to the image of my dead parents. My mother’s lifeless eyes haunt me the most. “Nothing can change the past.”
“Right.” Jacques sets down his pen and closes the book. He stands, stretching his large wings out behind him. “And speaking of the past, I finished another section of the book.”
“Thank you. What’s this one about?”
“Goetia.”
“What is that?”
“Complicated dark magic.”
“Oh.” I put the cap back on my water bottle. “So my ancestors were into dark shit, huh?”
“I’m not sure. It’s explained, but there are no spells indicating its use.”
I nod, and that feeling of frustration comes rushing back. If my mom were alive, would I have answers to these questions? I never knew about this house or my aunt. As much as I don’t want to harbor feelings of resentment, I can’t help but feel them start to form. I was young, too young for any of this to be explained, but did they know I’d come into powers eventually?
