I hold my hands over the herbs and repeat the process. The second stone is a deeper shade of pink.
“Thank you,” I say, tearing my eyes away from the stone.
“For what?”
“For helping me with magic and translating the book. You’re a good teacher.”
“I’ve always enjoyed teaching,” he says, picking up the book again, seeming almost flustered by the compliment.
“How do you know so many languages?” I ask.
“I was taught at a young age.”
“Who taught you?”
“My father. And then I was taught more at a monastery.”
“I took Japanese in high school and don’t remember any of it.”
Jacques looks at me. “That’s one I don’t know.”
“Is there anything in here about curses? Specifically how to break one?”
“Yes, but it’s vague.” He flips through the book, landing on a page that’s written in Latin. “This one is what I’d consider a generic spell. It rids negative energy attached to a person or object.”
“Would it work?”
“It’s not powerful enough to break this curse.”
“I still don’t really understand the curse,” I start, closing the grimoire. “You were all cursed together…but only you were involved with Braeya, right?”
He stiffens. “Right.”
“How were the others involved? Were you friends before?”
“No.”
“But you knew each other?”
“Yes.”
His one-word answers are already annoying me. I feel like I’m interviewing a difficult suspect. “So you were working together?”
“In a way, yes. Thomas and Gilbert were new to the Templar at that time. They were sent my way for disciplinary reasons.”
I laugh. “I’m not surprised.” I bring my legs up underneath me. “So…Braeya.” I have so many questions about her. She’s a stranger yet I feel like I know her, and I hate her as much as I feel bonded to her.
“What’s done is done.” Jacques stands and strides to the large floor-to-ceiling windows.
“I am so sick of this shit!” I stand up, grimoire falling from my lap. “I get it—talking about the past sucks. It hurts and brings up memories of things we’d like to forget. But not telling me about her isn’t doing you any favors. It’s not doing Thomas, or Gilbert, or Hasan any either. So go be a baby and pout like you usually do and leave it to me to figure this shit out on my own.” I pick up the grimoire. “I’m going to bed.”
Without giving him a chance to say anything else, I turn on my heel and stomp up the stairs, fully aware of how childish I’m acting when I’m accusing Jac of acting like one. But I’m so damn frustrated with him.
I go into my bedroom, setting the book down on the dresser with more force than necessary. Deep down, I know where my frustration is coming from. I opened up to Jacques, showed him a side of me I never let anyone see. Brought up things I haven’t spoken about in years.
I let him in. I trust him. I’m falling for him.
And he keeps the walls up so high around himself I can’t even see over them to get a glimpse of what’s on the other side.
