“No one.” I sweep Valen’s card off the wooden counter and stuff both it and Vi’s now crumpled letter into my back pocket. My fingers linger to hum with negation magic. Both pieces of paper become invisible, mere ghosts to this reality, to everyone but me.
His honey eyes linger on where the envelope disappeared and narrow. My stomach twists, heart still hammering. The frustration of not getting to immediately read Viola’s message wars with the terror of Lucas discovering Valen’s identity. It would raise far too many complex questions that I am in no mood to navigate.
To distract him, I slip on a carefree mask to conceal any distress and change the subject to his grand entrance earlier. “So,whyam I sucking your cock?”
The effect is immediate. His smile turns coy, his head tilting. More of his hair falls in his eyes in that heart-stopping way he’s perfected. His husky voice sends a shiver down my neck.
“Other than the obvious?” He nods towards the back room. “Come on. Privacy is needed for such a special act.”
I huff a laugh and the rest of my body’s tightness releases. He has that way about him, that ease of charming his way into everyone’s heart, no matter how guarded or distrustful they are.
With a flick of my fingers, the heart of my store pulses. A thick layer of wards lower into place and my ears pop from the shift in pressure. Now nothing can penetrate it, not even the whispering of the password. For the first time in weeks, Jinx, Lucas, and I are all under my pentagram’s protection and the heavy weight lifts from my shoulders. I sway from the force of it, my lashes briefly kissing my cheeks when a sigh whispers past my lips. A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth and I open my eyes to meet Lucas’. Fuck, it’s been too long.
He sweeps the curtain to the back room to the side. “Ladies first.”
I snort. “Such a gentleman.”
Remembering my hunt for the miscreant grimoire earlier, I nail the stacks with a hard look and point a menacing finger. “Behave! Or it’ll be straight to the incinerator.”
The books tighten up, the rows straightening. I must really be in a mood for them to act like this. Or perhaps they’re luring me into a false sense of security. It wouldn’t be the first time.
I saunter past the back room’s silk curtains, into my workspace beyond. Lucas lingers in the doorway, his hand pinning the fabric against the frame. His voice shifts to aseductive drawl. “Don’t worry, babies. Daddy would never allow her to do such a thing.”
A book drops and I snarl, “Don’t test me!”
It snaps back in place with a crash. Lucas’ loud laugh fills the cramped space, the silk falling in place behind him. The dim room is lit only by a single false window carved into the space above my desk. The enchantment within the glass shows an illusory garden, hanging honeysuckle vines casting the streaming light in shades of green as butterflies and bees float by. Shelves upon shelves of bottled herbs and rare ingredients glow enticingly along the wall.
I attempt to pull out one of the wooden chairs from my large worktable, only to discover it full of books that are magically bound and waiting for me to finish warding. I bend over to pick them up but stop midway. There’s nowhere I can move them. Every surface is covered by potions or stacks of other books. Even my desk is overburdened with my ledgers, many of them I meant to take down to the basement to archive yesterday.
I straighten with a sigh. Standing it is. I plant my fists on my hips and turn to my business partner. “Okay. I’m ready. Let me have it.”
Lucas’ honey eyes glint in the false light, his lips tilting in a half smile. It’s the same smile that caught my interest all those years ago. “Are you sure? It’s quite large.”
I return his grin, matching his low, rumbling tone. “Oh, I can handle large.”
He steps up against me, and my breath leaves in a rush. Despite my taller-than-average height, I crane my neck to look up at him. His hair falls forward, those freshly blond strands glowing.
His gaze locks with mine and my heart thumps painfully when he hums, “Hold out your hands for me, my sweet Torment.”
With a steadying breath, I resist the urge to slide them up his chest and step back enough to hold both palms out obediently.
A massive grimoire drops into them. The weight of it almost buckles my knees. He was not lying about the size. It’s enormous and my biceps strain from the heft. Grunting, I sway to get a better hold on the monstrosity.
I rapidly scan the cover and freeze. Roughly translated from the ancient language of the pre-Ascension mages,The Arachnomiconis said to hold the secret rituals used to worship the fabled spider goddess back before Alvius Androclaria discovered the truth of magic. The priesthood burned and with them their founding doctrines, but a precious few grimoires managed to escape the purge, making them worth a small fortune to collectors.
But that’s not what sends cold fear dripping down my insides. Eight closed eyes surround the carved title, the leathery bindings prickling my hands with the tiny abrasive hairs of a tarantula. There must be some detailed beliefs about the nonexistent goddess and her spidery helpers for it to have this shape.
Lucas smirks. “Don’t worry. It’s asleep.”
I almost throw the thing to the ground, but come to my senses just in time. I fumble it, hissing, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” while struggling to keep it from falling. Lucas laughs and I grit my teeth. The grimoire is more disturbing in person than my research suggested.
My skin crawls. “Ugh. Why does it have hair? Ew.” A shudder quakes me. “What about the protection curse? Did you break it?”
The ancient priests and current weavers have at least one thing in common: they use curses to protect their grimoires. The priests held no fear about wielding curses, making their grimoires exceptionally deadly and unhinged. For weavers, it’s an easy-to-exploit loophole to the first rule of magic. If a weavercurses an object, then their soul remains safe from the slow rot of corruption.
I pause. My weakness earlier… no. I’m being paranoid. That is my own negligence, not corruption.
Lucas snorts, pulling my attention away from my trailing thoughts. “Please. I wouldn’t dump a cursed book in your arms, no matter how funny it would be.”
