“I don’t have what I need to do it,” I explain. “But if I can pull it off, I’ll be able to conceal your wings and you can leave the house at night.”
“What can I do to help?” Thomas is on his feet in a second.
“You can tell me where Jac is. I’m guessing he has the book.”
“He did,” Thomas says, going into the kitchen. “But he left it here when he and Hasan went outside.” He hands me the book. We heat up the leftover tacos and sit at the table. I flip through the book as I eat, looking through the notes for the spell. Curious to see the latest translations, I flip to the middle of the notebook, finding where Jacques left off.
There are only a few lines written down, and as soon as I read them, I know why Jacques stopped. This section in my grimoire talks about communicating with spirits. I set the notebook down and go through the grimoire, matching it up to Jacques’s translations. I don’t know how to read Latin, but it looks like there’s a spell for this. Typing the words into a translation tool online isn’t the most accurate, but I can at least get an idea.
If my ancestors communicated with the dead, then I should be able to too. I want answers to the million questions I have. A part of me is missing, and will always be missing, until I find the person responsible for their murder.
“Did you find it?” Gilbert asks.
“Find what?” I jerk my head up, flipping the page.
“The concealment spell.”
Blinking rapidly, I turn another page. “Not yet.” I trade the grimoire for the notebook and flip through the pages, knowing the spell to be toward the end of Jacques’s notes.
“Got it,” I say, and put the notebook on the table. We all bend over and read the spell, which requires a long list of ingredients I don’t have as well as a quartz crystal amulet for the caster to wear.
“You want to make it so when we wear the amulet, our wings are hidden from sight,” Gilbert says, still looking down at the spell.
“Right.” I look at the guys, taking in the size of their wings and wondering how the hell this charm will work. Will people just not notice the wings? They’ll notice two muscular, shirtless men walking around, that’s for sure, and I don’t know how to get shirts on them with those wings. Luckily they don’t seem bothered by the cold. Well, not yet at least.
Will they still be cursed by the time winter rolls around?
I make a list of things to pick up on the way home tomorrow, and take the grimoire upstairs with me, telling Gil and Thomas to hang out downstairs and binge more ofThe Bachelor. Really, I want some time alone with my book so I can translate the little section about spirits.
I toss the book on my bed and go into the attached master bath to brush my teeth. I look around the dated room, anger filling my heart. Did my aunt know about magic? If she didn’t, someone in the family did.
Could they have protected my parents?
The past is in the past…yeah, yeah…I know. I can’t change what happened. Being angry about what could have been only damages myself in the long run. I know all that, yet it does little to stop the feelings.
Getting into bed, I turn on the lamp on my nightstand and open up the book, flipping back to the page about spirits. It’s a painstaking process to try and read this messy cursive writing and then enter it into the online translator without making a typo.
I get a few lines translated before I start to feel sleepy. The book talks about lifting the veil and reaching into the other side. I think what followed was an incantation, but the words didn’t directly translate, and the last thing I need is to get a word or two wrong in a spell and summon Bigfoot or something.
Asking Jacques to translate makes the most sense. He knows his shit and has been working on this for weeks. But I don’t want to worry him…and I also don’t want him to tell me no. He knows I’d summon my parents in a heartbeat if I could, and having him try to stop me will only cause a fight, and that’s not something I want to come between us. Those weird feelings from the love spell Braeya put on him are finally starting to go away, and I really like the way things are headed.
Closing the grimoire, I rest it on the bed next to me and shut off the light. My head is still spinning, and obscure thoughts about summoning my parents float through my mind as I drift off to sleep. I dream about my parents, and it’s like I’m transported back to the night I found them.
We’re eating dinner, which is the last thing I remember. Mom made meatloaf, and I secretly liked it but didn’t want to admit it. Jessamyn Ross from school overheard me say I liked it and made fun of me. I sit at the table with crossed arms, doing my best to scowl and act like I’m not hungry.
Then everything fades to black. The smell of sulfur surrounds me, and I wake up in bed, knowing something is wrong. But this time, I can’t move.
I open my mouth to scream and call for my mom and dad, but no sound comes out. I’m paralyzed, stuck in the bed. My heart races as I try to open my eyes.
This isn’t how things went down. I woke up that night with a bad feeling surrounding me, and silently slipped out of bed.Wake up!I force my eyes open, but I still can’t move.
And now I know why I couldn’t move in the dream. Something is over top of me, breathing down my neck. Red eyes glow through the darkness, and the smell of sulfur is strong enough to choke me.
14
The thing jerks forward, gnashing its teeth at me. A low growl rumbles from deep inside its throat, and thick, slimy drool falls onto my chest. My heart lurches and adrenaline surges through me. I bring my leg up and knee it hard between the legs. I have no idea if this thing has a dick or if it’s even a man, but a hard crotch-shot can stun anyone.
The blankets slow my movements, and my blow loses momentum. The thing grunts, hardly reacting to the pain, and continues forward, curling its lips back.
