Brows pinching together, I scanned the top of the paper. She was right.
“There are no details around what happened exactly, but the issues get worse over time.” More paper, more records, slipped out of the folder. “This isn’t normal. Magic can grow weaker with disuse, but that’s not what’s happening here.”
The memory of the Coffin Seeker’s cell came on so strong I could feel that whisper of cold running up my spine. Source is like a muscle. It can weaken over periods of unuse, but it’s still there just the same.
Olivia tucked her knuckles beneath her chin. “This whole kingdom is run by magic. And it’s breaking.”
“What would cause it to do that?”
“I don’t know.”
I chewed on the inside of my lip. “How do we figure it out?”
“It’s got to be somewhere in here.” She gestured to the rows of shelves that led into the darkness, then said nothing more, the shuffle of papers and the quiet hum of silence falling over us.
He’d been right, the Coffin Seeker.
He’d known Hildur wouldn’t take me to Jarðarbæli today. I cleared my throat, fighting down the creeping burn. What else had he been right about?
As I considered this, my attention fell on the portrait of the lion-monster, its twelve eyes staring back.
“What’s that?” I asked, chin nodding in its direction.
Olivia glanced at the open page. “A jelmadag. A demon.”
Unease pinged through me. I fought the urge to slam the book shut, as if the illustration needed to be contained.
“Did you stop by before you went to your rooms?” I asked.
“No.” Hunched over the table, Olivia stilled. “I thought you’d been looking through that book…” Her spine slowly unfolded as she stood upright.
“Definitely not.” I shook my head. “Who else would come here?”
“Well, there are scribes, but they’re usually sorting, not reading, and certainly not during a crisis.” Her eyes narrowed. “Let me take a look at that.”
I grabbed the book’s worn corner and slid it towards her, the frayed red cover swishing against the wood.
The air around us grew heavy, haunting, a cold draft sweeping through.
She flipped to the front, the paper thin, nearly translucent.
“This is a grimoire.” She turned the page to a table of contents. “With instructions on how to summon and banish demons, spells to contain…”
“That’s—I’m sure it’s—” I stammered. “Someone was probably just curious. Or maybe it was for a class? Demonology for Beginners?”
A muscle in her jaw ticked. “People don’t normally look up how to summon demons out of pure curiosity. And any professor would be a fool to teach them how.”
“Maybe they were looking to, um, put one back?” It was a useless suggestion to cover up what we were really feeling, and we both knew it. “One that slipped through the wards?”
Angling the book towards me, she asked, “Remind me, what page was this on when you got here?”
I flipped through the first half, the entry lying somewhere in the middle. My heart raced at the chapter headers flashing by: How to Conjure, How to Bind, Realm Walking, The Nature of Demons, The Witch Trials, Relationships with Mortals, The Devil’s Contract…
I slowed when I reached The Encyclopedia of Demons (Condensed), creatures with too many limbs and claws and fangs getting even scarier, toothier, the further I went. Finally, the lionlike silhouette of the jelmadag appeared.
I positioned the book towards Olivia. “What does it say?”
With a tight inhale, she began reading.
