Page 53 of The Spellreader and the Phoenix

Max was still glowering. “Do you have a lot of spells like that?”

“I do not believe so,” Mr. Jones said, shrugging a frail shoulder. “Certainly not in what has been identified. But I am neither a Spellsmith nor a Spellreader. Some of the spells I’ve collected over the years have been labeled, and some of them have even been labeled by trusted sources or have been verified. They are marked as such. I did a lot of that when I was younger, but those days are long behind me. I need someone now who can look after the collection and make sure that only the good is preserved.”

Max looked somewhat mollified but still rather grumpy. “Oh.”

Mr. Jones wheezed another laugh. “Yes, Spellreader. It is not a task that can be trusted to just anyone. I was not certain whether it was meant to be you or not. But your pretty friend here has come at the right time.”

Max gave them both a weird look. Rory was really impressed with how aware this old witch was of the world and the Magic. It wasn’t clear exactly what he knew, but he seemed to get more of an impression of Rory than anyone else Rory had ever encountered. The fact that mythical shifters existed was something that had been allowed to fade from human, shifter, and witch knowledge. Humans weren’t the only ones who could be terrible, after all.

“You’re good at listening,” Rory told him.

Mr. Jones smiled faintly. “I have been here for a long time, and eventually, patience won out over impatience. I learned that some things can only be done when they are meant to be done.”

Max grumbled, “You believe in fate, too, don’t you?”

Mr. Jones said, “Not exactly. But I suppose I don’t not believe in it, either.”

Max made a disgusted noise that made Mr. Jones laugh softly again, breath wheezing. “It is not that this meeting was laid out in the stars or anything like that. It is more that…” He hesitated for a moment, like he was trying to put together the words. “It’s more that sometimes there is something that needs to occur. And whatever force you believe exists helps to make it happen.”

Max squinted at him and then asked pointedly, “Sort of like fate?”

Mr. Jones coughed, still looking amused. “Something like it, I suppose. But I don’t think it’s anything so extreme as this moment having been always meant to happen. I think various forces needed to combine. I think we needed someone like you and your friend and someone like me and the knowledge that I possess. If it wasn’t us, I think it would have been someone else, and maybe it would have been next year or ten years ago or perhaps tomorrow. I think we combined the way we needed to, and so here we are.”

Max opened his mouth, closed it again, and then ventured, “That sort of makes sense, actually. And I do like it better than the idea that everything in my life happened to lead me to this point, so thanks for that.”

Mr. Jones nodded. “Yes, I think we all prefer to believe we are the makers of our own destinies. I believe it’s fundamentally true. None of us are islands, after all. We are all influenced by outside forces. Our families, friends, society. So who is to say if there isn’t also a little nudge now and again from something greater than all of that. But we are still making choices, and they will never be purely our own with no other influence. Even if we were raised on a deserted island all on our own, we would be a product of that upbringing, would we not?”

“You’re really annoying to talk to,” Max said conversationally.

Rory snorted and then clapped a hand to his mouth belatedly to cover it, but Mr. Jones just laughed, and even Peter looked amused.

“Oh, you’re not wrong,” Peter agreed drolly.

“Eh, when you get as old as me, you say what you mean, and sometimes, people don’t like that.” Mr. Jones didn’t seem bothered.

Max shrugged. “Yeah, I started doing that about two decades ago.”

Rory actually thought the two men would get along extremely well once they got past the antagonism and came to respect one another’s bluntness. But unfortunately, he doubted there’d be much time for making friends.

“So,” Mr. Jones said, pale blue eyes gleaming, “would you like to see the spellbooks?”

Chapter Eleven

Max

Max had wondered if any of the books were actually in this room. It was huge and ostentatious. If anyone could get away with such a prominent display of magical books, it was someone rich like Mr. Jones, but it still seemed like an unwise choice. What if there was a leak in the library or someone needed to come clean the chimney? Could you always ensure it was a witch or a shifter? Did the books have charms cast on them constantly?

“Yes,” Max confirmed, “I would love to see the spellbooks.”

He was still kind of annoyed by all the hoops he’d just been made to jump through, but he could respect the man’s desire to ensure he’d found a reputable Spellreader. If Max had heard about the man and his collection, then he surely wasn’t the only one. Had others tried to take advantage of him over the years? Had they been less scrupulous about what spells they were willing to take or tell people about?

People being the way they were, there was probably someone out there who would pay good money for a spell that would cause unending pain to the person you cast it on, couldn’t be ended with the undo charm, and had no counter built into the spell. And that just… no. Max didn’t want something like that to exist in the world, as he’d amply demonstrated.

Fortunately, it seemed like Mr. Jones didn’t either, and Max thought they were actually going to get along.

Peter wheeled Mr. Jones over to a bookshelf. It was filled with tooled leather volumes that looked old and well-preserved, but they didn’t look different than any other shelf in the library.

Only then Mr. Jones reached out and tipped one of the books.