I let out a slow breath and step forward at last, moving back behind the counter like I belong there, like this is exactly where I’m meant to be.
Because I do. Because I am. Because whatever warning was given, whatever doubt was planted, whatever seeds of fear my aunt tried to sow, didn’t hold. Not completely. Not enough to matter.
The bell chimes again as another person walks in, then another, and this time I don’t watch from a distance with anxiety churning in my gut.
This time, I meet them where they are, with the biggest smile I can muster.
“Welcome,” I say, my voice even and easy and completely, utterly mine. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Chapter
Fifteen
YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY ABOUT THE QUIET ONES
Isit cross-legged in the center of my bed, one of my grandmother’s grimoires open across my lap, the worn leather cover creased from years of use. The pages are thin and delicate, edges softened with age, ink faded in places where time has tried and failed to erase what was written. Some of the text bleeds slightly where humidity has touched it over the decades, creating watercolor-like stains that somehow make the words feel more sacred, more permanent.
A single lamp casts a warm pool of light over the room, catching the gold detailing carved into the bedframe, tracing the intricate patterns etched into the wardrobe doors, glinting faintly across the polished hardwood floor. The shadows dance gently in the corners where the lamplight doesn’t quite reach, and the manor’s magic hums softly through the walls like a lullaby. The house feels different at night, even more magical than it is during the day. Enchanting and peaceful, as if it too is settling down for sleep, the ancient wood creaking in contentment, the very air thick with centuries of accumulated power.
I run my finger along a line of text, squinting slightly as I try to make sense of the handwriting. The script is elaborate, full of flourishes and connections that make individual words blur together into an elegant mess.
“My grandmother had something against spacing,” I mutter under my breath, tilting the page closer to the light. “This looks like one long sentence that got lost and never found its way back home.”
A large, furry paw drops squarely onto the page with deliberate precision.
I blink, then glance up slowly, already knowing what I’ll find.
Sir does not look at me. He simply taps once, deliberate and precise, right over a section halfway down the page.
“Read that,”he says, and even in my head his huff of irritation is as clear as if he were speaking aloud.
I sigh, shifting slightly so I can see around his substantial form. “You could have just said something. I’ve been sitting here for twenty minutes trying to figure out what you wanted me to see.”
“I did say something,”he replies with disdain.“You ignored me. Twice.”
“I did not?—”
“Read,”he repeats, sharper this time, his tail flicking once in annoyance.
I narrow my eyes at him, but I adjust the book and clear my throat, settling into the cadence of the ornate script as I begin to read aloud. The words feel heavy on my tongue, weighted with decades of worry and disappointment.
“My daughters grow older, yet their magic does not deepen as it should. Lenora possesses will in abundance, yet will without power is a dangerous thing. She seeks to lead where she cannot sustain, and I fear what that hunger may become if it is not tempered. The girl measures herself against standards shecannot meet, and in that measuring, I see the seeds of something darker taking root.”
My voice slows as I move further down the page, the words settling heavier with each line, especially when I see my mother’s name written in my grandmother’s careful hand.
“Vera shows more restraint, yet her magic remains. . .quiet. It flickers, but it does not rise. I do not know if it is fear, or something in her nature that keeps it subdued, but I cannot ignore what I see. She pulls back from her own power as if it burns her to touch it. I have tried to coax it forward, but she retreats deeper each time.”
I pause briefly, swallowing hard before continuing, my grandmother’s frustration bleeding through every carefully formed letter.
“I fear for the bloodline. I fear for the town. The wards will not hold under weakness, no matter how well intentioned. If the strength does not return in the next generation, then all the ancestors have built will begin to unravel. Ruby Springs will be vulnerable to forces that have waited decades for such an opportunity.”
I shift slightly, my shoulders tightening as I keep reading, feeling the weight of expectation settling over me like a heavy blanket.
“Lenora will attempt to claim what she has not been given. I see it already in the way she watches me, in the way she measures herself against what she cannot reach. There is a calculation in her eyes that troubles me deeply. I do not know how to tell her that she is not enough for what this place requires, that raw ambition cannot substitute for true power.”
I stop there and let her words sink in, the admission hitting me with unexpected force. The lamplight flickers slightly, as if responding to my emotional shift. Reading about my aunt’s inadequacy doesn’t bring me satisfaction. Instead, there’ssomething almost tragic about it, a young woman who grew up knowing she was insufficient for her own inheritance. It still doesn’t justify what she did to me, but I can understand how that kind of knowledge might twist someone.
I stare down at the page for a long moment, tracing the faded ink with my fingertip before I close the book slightly, my fingers pressing into the worn leather edges.
