by Kim Chance
I turned back to Maggie, whose face mirrored my own amazement. “I probably shouldn’t have done that. I’m guessing that was a pulse?”
“Looks that way,” Maggie replied, and she started laughing. “God, Styles, if you get your Hogwarts letter before me, I’m gonna be so pissed!”
The look on Maggie’s face was so comical I couldn’t help but laugh.
It was surprising how easily the sound spilled out, how easy it was to laugh off the anxiety that was gnawing at me from the inside out. Was I really accepting that this was my fate?
I glanced over at the rosebush that was continuing to bloom and flourish, and then back at Maggie, who was still giggling. “I’m a witch,” I said, and for the first time since I’d discovered the truth, the word didn’t seem so foreign. It would still take some getting used to, but it was a start.
“So,” Maggie asked a little while later, “what’s the next step in all of this?”
I sighed. “I have to talk to Gareth.” It was the logical thing to do, but I was dreading it. I was so angry with him for lying to me, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to calmly and rationally discuss the issues at hand. What I really wanted to do was punch him in the face.
“Does he know you know?”
“I assume Serena has told him by now. I had a few missed calls from him.”
Maggie scrunched her nose in thought. “What do you think he’ll say?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “But he’s got some serious explaining to do.”
A short tritone chime chirped from inside my bag. Sighing, I dug around until my fingers wrapped around my phone. “Maybe that’s him now.” I slid my finger across the screen to read the text.
The number was unfamiliar, but as I read the message, a smile crept across my face. “It’s from Ty.” A rush of adrenaline shot through me, and my heart fluttered. “I didn’t even know he had my number.”
“Oh, I gave it to him.”
I rolled my eyes. “Gee, thanks, Maggie.”
“You’re welcome,” Maggie replied, her cheeks pulled up into a devilish grin.
I snorted and turned my attention back to the text. “He wanted to make sure I was okay.”
“How sweet!”
“I guess so.” I tossed Maggie the phone so she could read the message. “But all things considered, why in the world is he still talking to me? Last night was like a freaking episode of the Twilight Zone. What normal guy would be into that?”
“Eh, normal is overrated,” Maggie replied matter-of-factly.
I thought of the sympathetic look in his eyes as I’d spilled my guts about all the freaky stuff that had been happening, of the reassuring pressure of his hand in mine. Most of the guys I knew would’ve run for the hills by now. But Ty hadn’t.
I took my phone back from Maggie and stared at the screen, contemplating a reply.
“Hey, Styles?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re blushing.” Maggie giggled and then winked at me.
“Oh, shut up!” I reached over to smack her, but she darted out of the way with a laugh. “I am not. I’m just trying to figure out a response that doesn’t make me sound like a complete psycho.”
“Say what you want, Styles. But I can read you like a book.” Maggie smirked again and started making kissing noises.
“God, Maggie! What are you, five years old?” I pulled a comic book from the messenger bag around her shoulders and tossed it at her. “Here, read about that green lamp guy and quit distracting me.”
“Lantern,” Maggie corrected. “It’s the Green Lantern!”
“Whatever. Same thing!”
Maggie mockingly gripped her chest as though she were in pain. “You wound me, Styles. You wound me.”
“Maggie!”
“Okay, okay.” Maggie threw her hands up in surrender. “Be sure to tell Pretty Face I said hello.” And with one final kissy noise, she turned her attention to her comic book.
With Maggie’s teasing voice echoing in my ear, I recalled the moment Ty had brought me back from the brink with Josephine. The whole evening was starting to blur together, and the moments after Josephine’s appearance were the fuzziest of all.
Yet, I could distinctly remember the feel of Ty’s hands, the way his fingers had pressed into my back as he held me. I could still see the worry burning in his eyes as he tried to calm me, and the very thought of how his strong arms had wrapped around me, forceful yet gentle at the same time, was enough to get my heart pounding again. I remembered the undeniable feeling of security I’d felt wrapped in his arms, the sound of his husky voice murmuring words of comfort in my ear. I shivered just thinking about it all.
Beside me, Maggie giggled. “I saw that, Styles.” She eyed me suggestively, and this time my whole face ignited, betraying me. “I knew you were thinking about it.”
I rolled my eyes and quickly tapped out a short reply on my phone. I hit send and tossed the phone back into my bag. “You’re something else, Mags.”
“I know. That’s why you love me,” Maggie replied sweetly, flipping her comic book shut with an audible snap.
“Oh, yeah? Well, that’s debatable.” I laughed. “Now, come on. I should get going.”
“Heading home, then?”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “Gareth will be home soon. It’s time he and I had a talk.”
Gareth’s truck was parked in its usual spot in front of the house. I parked next to it and opened my car door, wincing as the creaky hinges grated against my frazzled nerves.
I walked slowly up the walkway. I hated how nervous I felt; I’d wanted to confront Gareth with strength and confidence, but now that the conversation was moments away, I was the exact opposite of brave. I was a lamb being led to the slaughter.
Stop it, Lainey. He’s your uncle, not an executioner. I straightened my shoulders and walked toward Gareth’s office. It was where he spent most of his time when he was home.
Pushing the door open, I stuck my head inside.
Two of the four walls of the room were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and a large antique desk sat near a large window with a wide bench seat. The other wall was decorated in large maps that were covered in Post-it notes, Gareth’s neat handwriting scrawled across them.
I’d always loved the way the room smelled of old, well-loved books. Some of my favorite childhood memories were of Gareth and me sprawled out together on the large rug, flipping through antique encyclopedias and atlases, of reading The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and The Hobbit.
I scanned the room and frowned. It was empty. That’s strange.
The rest of the house was quiet, and I’d been certain I’d find Gareth behind his desk, poring over papers. I shrugged, turned toward the door, and stopped.
One of the bookshelves on the far wall was leaning precariously forward, and there was a dim, hazy glowing coming from the right side of the shelf.
I blinked. Maybe it was the sunlight that poured in through the window creating some kind of optical illusion. Or maybe it was the lack of sleep that was making me loopy, but it almost seemed as if the bookshelf had come unattached from the wall and was floating in midair.
I moved closer to get a better look.
I stopped again, my breath hitching in my throat.
It had been an optical illusion after all. The bookshelf wasn’t floating or about to fall over.
It was a door.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I stood there staring, utterly gobsmacked at the door that shouldn’t exist.
What the hell? I reached out my hand.
The hinges creaked when I pushed the large, book-
covered panel even farther away from the wall to reveal a narrow passageway. I couldn’t see much—the only source of light was a small yellow lantern that hung from the ceiling—except
for the fact that the walls were made of large gray stones. I stepped inside.
The narrow passageway was long and winding, with lanterns placed sporadically to light the way. The floor was nothing but dirt.
Where am I? The passageway looked like it belonged in an ancient castle in medieval England, not a conservative, two-story house in the middle of Nowhere, Georgia. Was it possible that I’d stepped through some magical portal, transporting me to another time and place entirely? I shook my head but kept inching along.
The passage began to widen, and after rounding the last curve, I found myself standing in a large, dome-shaped room with walls that were a strange mixture of polished metal and compacted dirt. A web of ropes hung from the ceiling, and there were wide hooks attached to the metal paneling of the walls that held a large collection of weaponry. My mouth dropped open as I took in the assortment of long and short swords, sabers, scimitars, rapiers, daggers, spiked maces, longbows with matching quivers of arrows, and other strange, yet dangerous-looking objects I couldn’t identify.
I turned and nearly jumped out of my skin. Gareth was standing a few feet away, holding a long, heavy-looking sword in his hand. His back was to me, and he was wearing a plain white t-shirt and some loose sweatpants. The sword in his hands was long and curved, the blade a deep copper color.
I stared as Gareth began to move, flinging the blade around his head as though it weighed nothing. He lunged forward, striking the air, and the sword moved so gracefully it might have been a natural extension of his arm.
I think my eyes may have bugged out of my head as I watched Gareth attack his invisible opponent with a skill and ease that bespoke long years of practice. I gasped in sheer admiration and astonishment as he executed a maneuver I’d only ever seen in movies.
At the sound, Gareth whirled around and darted forward, the sword aimed at my chest.
I screeched and threw myself backward, landing hard on my ass. I was more shocked than hurt, but my entire body was shaking as I stared up at my uncle.
“Dammit, Lainey, I could’ve killed you!” Gareth roared, moving the blade away from my chest. He wiped the sweat from his brow and reached down to help me to my feet. “What are you doing down here?”
“What am I doing down here?” I dusted the dirt from the back of my pants. “What am I doing down here?” I threw my arms out. “I don’t even know where the hell I am!”
Gareth let out a long sigh and shifted from one foot to the other as if he wasn’t sure what to say next. “Serena told me—” he started, then shook his head. “No, let’s start with the easy stuff first. You’re in the training room.” His casual use of the term—as if he’d said ‘grocery story’ or ‘library’—sent a surge of anger through me.
“Oh, the training room?” I glared at him. “Well, that explains everything.”
“Look, I know you’re upset—”
“Upset?” My voice was rising, shrill and punctuated. “Now, why would I be upset? Oh, I know! Maybe it’s because I just found out that I’m a witch—a fact that you conveniently forgot to tell me for almost seventeen years! Or it could be that I just got attacked by a freaking tree. And let’s not forget the fact that my house has a hidden dungeon in it where my uncle likes to show off his secret ninja skills and throw around a sword!” I tilted my head in mock thought. “Nope, can’t see any reason at all why I should be upset.”
“A ninja?” Gareth scoffed.
“Fine. Warlock.” I threw my hands in the air. “Whatever.”
The smile faded from Gareth’s face, and he blinked a few times before he spoke again. “Come on. I’ll explain everything.” He walked over to a pair of chairs near one of the weapon racks. I huffed and followed him, plunking myself down in one of the seats.
After he had wiped down his sword with a soft cloth, Gareth hung the weapon in its rightful place on the wall and sat opposite me. “Okay,” he said, his face serious. “Where do you want me to start?”
“How come you never told me the truth about Mom?”
Gareth sighed. “I was planning to tell you. I had it all thought out in my head, what I was going to say and do, but I could never seem to find the right time.”
“The right time?” I clenched my hands into fists. “You should’ve told me when I was old enough to understand. I deserved to know the truth about my mother, about what happened to her and my dad.” My voice cracked, but the words kept coming. “I trusted you.”
Gareth cleared his throat, visibly trying to keep his emotions at bay. “I’m sorry, Lainey. I was just trying to do what I felt was right.”
His face was pained, and his eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “Children don’t come with an instruction manual, and in your case I didn’t know what to do because I had to keep you safe. That was everyone’s priority. I let that stand in the way of my judgment. Telling you would have been the best thing, I know that now.” He wiped a hand across his face. “But I never meant to hurt you or break your trust. I’m so sorry.”
The remorse in Gareth’s eyes hit me harder than I thought it would. My throat constricted, making it hard to swallow. “What about telling me I was a witch? Were you just gonna wait until I woke up levitating or turned my English teacher into a lawn gnome?”
“No, of course not.”
I fidgeted in my seat, fighting the urge to scream. “You can’t say ’of course not.’ Serena told me about the pulses, how your cloaking spells are failing. Were you planning to wait until something bad happened to finally clue me in?”
Gareth sighed and put his head in his hands. “I was wrong not to tell you, to keep you in the dark about who you are, but this life isn’t easy. There is danger everywhere—people who would stop at nothing to harm you just for who you are, what you can do. I guess I just wanted you to have as normal a life as possible for as long as possible.” He sat up straight in his chair. “Does that make sense?”
“It does,” I replied. “But you should’ve told me.”
“You’re right. I should have.”
A few minutes passed, and then Gareth leaned forward. “It’s true, then. The Continuance?”
I nodded. “Apparently. Although Serena doesn’t really know why Josephine established the bond. She said it’s extremely rare.”
“It is,” Gareth confirmed. “And I think I might know the answer to that.” He took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. “What did Serena tell you about her—about Josephine DuCarmont?”
I shrugged. “Nothing, really. Only that we’re related, and that the DuCarmonts were a very powerful family of witches. That’s why Mom was . . . murdered.” I swallowed. It was still hard to wrap my head around. “Because she was a DuCarmont.”
Gareth’s face was as serious as I’d ever seen it. “Yes, but that’s not the only reason.” He glanced around the room, almost as if he were afraid of someone listening. His next words were hardly louder than a whisper. “Lainey, she was killed because she was the Keeper.”
“The Keeper?”
Gareth nodded. “Yes, the Keeper of the Grimoire.”
“The what? Gareth, I don’t—”
“A grimoire is basically a textbook of magic. It’s specific by coven and contains all of the spells, charms, and rituals performed by those witches. Each coven has one, and the books themselves are very powerful talismans of magic. To keep them from falling into the wrong hands, a Keeper is destined to protect it, to keep it safe. The more powerful the coven, the more valuable the grimoire would be.”
Gareth took a deep breath and continued. “Josephine DuCarmont was the Keeper of the Grimoire. And like her, your mother was as well.”
I didn’t know what to say. I stared at Gareth, trying to wrap my head around the new information. “So Mom was killed because of a book?”
“Yes,” Gareth breathed out. “But Lainey, you have to understand, the Grimoire isn’t just any old
book. The DuCarmonts were the most powerful witches of our realm, and their grimoire contained magic more potent than any other in existence. Power like that—well, let’s just say the DuCarmonts had their fair share of enemies, people who would stop at nothing to get their hands on the book.”
In my mind, remnants of my visions flashed before my eyes: the worn book in Josephine’s hands, the man in black demanding to know where it was hidden, the emerald amulet, the picture of my mother.
“The necklace,” I whispered. “It’s the Grimoire.” I wiped my face with my hand. “Did they take it?”
Gareth looked confused.
“When they killed my mom,” I supplied. “Did they take the Grimoire?”
“Yes.” He frowned. “They did.”
The knot in my stomach grew. I nodded, not sure what to say next.
“The Continuance,” Gareth continued. “I think it’s a warning of some kind.” He began to pace. “You see, Keepers don’t just protect the book. They are the only ones who can truly wield its power. It’s as if the book is the lock, and the Keeper—”
“Is the key,” I finished for him. “But they killed her. My mother. If she was the Keeper, why would they kill her?”
“It’s a well-protected coven secret.” Gareth stopped pacing and faced me. “Your mom told me the night she left. It’s likely that they killed her before realizing she was the only one who could harness the book’s power. Lainey, you have to understand that you are the only living person with DuCarmont blood running through your veins. Which means—”
“By default, I’m the new Keeper.” I sucked in a breath of air. “Aren’t I?”
“Yes,” Gareth said. “Serena thinks you are in some kind of danger, but I’ve kept you hidden from the Supernatural world for years. No one knows you exist.” Gareth’s face was grim. “But you’re strong, like your mother, and the cloaking spells aren’t working anymore. The dryad was proof of that. Lainey, if more people find out about you—”
