Chapter 7

Carrow

It didn't take long to get cleaned up and borrow a shirt from Grey. It was far too big, but I tied it at my waist and rolled up the sleeves.

The worst—best—part was that the shirt smelled like him. I drew in a deep breath, though I knew that wasn't smart. His scent filled my head, sending me back to the last time we'd kissed. Heat thrummed through my veins, and my skin prickled with awareness.

"Are you ready?"

Grey's voice dragged me from my thoughts, and I blinked at him, returning to the present.

I stood in his living room, right in front of the bookshelves. He'd just changed and stood at the door to his bedroom, looking handsome as ever in dark trousers and a sweater. His jaw was no longer slightly swollen, and his hair was damp from a shower.

"Yes. Let's go." As much as I wanted to spend the night there with Grey, the thought of the answers the book might hold got me moving.

We left the tower in silence, passing Miranda at the hostess station and the guards at the front door. When we were in the courtyard and alone, Grey spoke. "The seer mentioned your past as being important to this, but you've never spoken of it."

Somehow, I wasn't surprised to hear him mention it. He was right—I never spoke of it.

"That's because I hardly ever think about it," I said.

"Really?"

I nodded. "As a child, I became very good at compartmentalizing. It's a useful talent."

"I'm aware."

I looked up at him, spotting a wry grin on his face. We were passing a brightly lit shop full of potion bottles. The lights from within flickered in his eyes, which were shadowed with misery, no doubt at the memory of his past. Of course he'd be good at compartmentalizing after the life he'd led.

"I guess we have that in common," I said.

"What?"

"Pasts we don't think of."

"I can't imagine yours is full of murder and terrorizing you'd rather forget."

"It's not. But you need to remember that you weren't in control then." We passed a coffee shop, the interior bustling with people who laughed and talked. It was a such a contrast to our conversation.

"I may have been controlled by the monster within, but it was still me who did those things. I bear responsibility." I could feel the burn of his gaze, and I looked up to catch him staring at me. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, "What are you trying to forget?"

"Nothing as bad as your memories. Not nearly." But still, I hated to think of it. Hated to speak of it.

Somehow, though, walking on the quiet street made it easier to face. There was just enough distraction to keep me from sinking into it, and I didn't have to make eye contact, which helped.

"Tell me," he said.

"It's all very human and mundane," I said. "Just a miserable childhood that I would like to leave in the past."

"Yet, somehow, it's connected to this."

I sighed, nodding. He was right. If we wanted to get to the bottom of this mess, I'd have to revisit the past I'd done such a good job of suppressing. "My mother died shortly after I was born. Car crash." Again, the ache that I'd numbed for so long. Being forced to confront my past made me face how much I missed her.

"And your father?"

"An alcoholic. Barely knew him, even though we lived in the same house." I shuddered at the memory. He occupied the place of bogeyman in my mind, a shadowy figure whom I'd forced into the closet.

"He sounds like a miserable bastard."

"He was. Logically, I know that alcoholism is a disease, and part of me feels for him. He never got the help he needed. But then there's the rest of me…the child that lived with him. That feared him…"

He reached for my hand, gripping it tight. "I wish I could go back and save you."

The tiniest bit of warmth glowed against the coldness of my soul. "Thanks. But it didn't last forever. I grew up and got out. Met Beatrix. Things were better then."

My throat tightened at the memory of my friend. A bird's cry sounded from high above, and I looked up.

The raven flew overhead, following me once again. We were nearly to the library, only a few blocks away, but quite far from Eve's shop, where the raven usually spent its time.

What was it with that bird? If only the seer hadn't been so opaque.

"Were both your parents magical?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Not my father. And my mother…I don't know."

"You don't think of her?"

"Absolutely not." Just the idea of it made my heart hurt. "There was a time when I wondered about her. I was still little enough to have fantasies that she would come and get me. But those got me nowhere. Eventually, I grew old enough to realize they were ridiculous and hurting me. So I stopped thinking of her." My technique had worked for the longest time, too.

No longer.

"That takes a powerful will."

"One thing I've got. I don't know when to quit—even when it would be smart." My drive had kept me doggedly going after criminals in the human world. Had gotten me arrested for a murder I didn't commit. "So my mother must have been a supernatural?"

"Yes, more than likely. Magical talent is most often genetic. Given what the seer said, I think that's the case for you."

I nodded. How such an ancient book was going to tell me about my past, I had no idea. But it was our only lead.

We arrived at the library a moment later. Golden light shone from the small windows on either side of the door, which was unlocked. I slipped inside, Grey close at my heels.

"Back here," Seraphia shouted.

I followed her voice toward the rear of the library, where she'd set up a workstation at a large wooden table. It was covered with books and various small tools—knives and brushes and little pots that glowed with light.

She looked up from her seat at the table, her dark hair messy and her eyes shadowed. She still wore the ratty T-shirt and jeans, and she looked like a far different woman than the one I'd first met outside my shop.

Something was up with Seraphia.

I hurried to her side. "Have you been working on this all day?"

"Yes."

"You look exhausted." I stared at the book, hoping it hadn't been completely devouring her time and energy.

"It's not the book's fault. I've got some…things going on." She shook her head. "But don't worry about that. Look here." She pointed to the book, which lay on the table underneath a small lamp, then maneuvered a large magnifying glass over the golden clasp.

Grey crowded close, and we both peered at the book. Beneath the magnifying glass, it was possible to see tiny grooves carved into the metal. She pointed to them. "This is the lock. There's no key for it, but I think you're meant to put a liquid in there. It would travel through the grooves, into the interior, then open it. But I have no idea what type of liquid, and if we get it wrong, the journal will probably self-destruct."

"It's my blood," I said, remembering what the seer had told me.

Seraphia's gaze flicked to me, eyebrows raised. "Blood makes sense. How do you know it's meant to be yours?"

"A seer told us. It's something to do with my past."

"An ancestor of yours might have written this book, then?"

"Maybe."

"Okay, then." She pointed to the book, indicating the three small holes drilled into the metal clasp. "I think two of these holes are meant to trick you. Ignore them. Place a small drop of blood in this hole near the edge. That's the proper starting point."

I drew in an unsteady breath, wondering what we were going to find. It'd been so long since I'd thought of my past, and now I'd been handed a gift.

"Here." Seraphia handed me a small dagger. "It's clean."

I took it, then raised it to my finger and pricked. The blood welled, and I dripped a tiny droplet into the hole in the golden clasp. Through the magnifying glass, we watched the blood race along the intricately curved channels. It shot through quickly, and magic began to glow around the book, brighter and brighter, until the clasp was so brilliant, I had to squint. With a pop, the clasp broke open, and the front cover lifted slightly.

"Perfect!" Seraphia picked up the book and handed it to me. "You should maybe read it on your own, if it's about you."

"Thanks." I took the book, feeling the faintest pulse of magic.

She shooed me toward the door. "Now go. I have some things I need to do."

"Thank you."

She nodded and led us out, then shut the door quickly behind us.

Grey turned to me. "Let me walk you back."

I nodded, tucking the small book into my pocket.

"You'll read it tonight?" he asked.

"That's my plan. I don't think I could wait any longer."

"I don't blame you. And you found it in the Shadow Guild tower?"

I nodded. "Eve's raven pointed it out to me. Landed on the box and started pecking like its life depended on it."

"That's odd."

As if it had heard us speaking about it, the raven appeared overhead. It flew below the low-hanging clouds, swooping silently through the air. I thought of the seer's words: find the raven.

We reached my flat a moment later, and the raven disappeared. I turned to Grey, who stood over me, silhouetted against the moonlight. The glow highlighted his cheekbones and strong jaw, made his silver eyes glitter with warmth.

He was impossibly beautiful, and my gaze moved to his lips.

I wanted to invite him inside. Desperately.

But the book hung heavy in my pocket, a reminder of what was at stake. So much. I needed to focus. If he came up, there'd be only one thing I would pay attention to, and it wouldn't be the book.

I drew in a breath and leaned upward, pressing my lips to his. I kept the kiss chaste, even though desire pounded through me like a stampeding animal. I wanted to pull him against me and feel the heat of him.

"Carrow," he murmured against my lips.

His hands gripped my waist, and I gave in, just a little bit. I raised my hands and clutched at his shoulders, pulling him against me. Heat tore through me as his lips moved expertly on mine.

My thoughts began to blur as I became nothing but feeling. I kissed him like my life depended on it, trying to cram everything I could into that short moment.

A bird's cry distracted me, pulling me from the kiss. I drew back, panting. "This is a bad idea right now. I…can't be around you if I want to read the book."

He nodded, his eyes dark, and stepped back. "Of course. My control is…not what it should be."

"I'll see you tomorrow morning and let you know what I've discovered."

"All right." He nodded and left, and I watched until he disappeared into the night.

Heart still pounding, I looked up, searching for the bird that had ruined the moment. There was something up with that little weirdo, and I needed to figure it out.

I saw nothing but clouds and the moon, so I turned and went inside, taking the stairs two at a time.

As I passed Mac's open door, she shouted out at me, "Any luck with the book?"

I popped my head in and spotted her on the couch with Cordelia, each of them holding a glass of wine. I raised a brow. "You're teaching my raccoon bad habits."

"Ha," Mac said. "She's teaching me."

It's true. Cordelia nodded.

"Well, you two stay out of trouble." I raised the book. "Because Seraphia helped me open it, and I've got some reading to do."

"Excellent!" Mac raised her glass in a toast. "Let me know if you need any help."

"Will do." I eyed them both, putting on my serious face. "Remember what I said. You're both adults. No shenanigans."

"Absolutely no shenanigans," Mac said.

Cordelia kept her mouth shut, but there was a gleam in her eye.

I left them to it, continuing up to my flat. I grabbed a bagel out of the kitchen and didn"t even bother to toast it, just shoved a bite in my mouth as I went to the couch. I needed to eat but didn't want to take the time to prepare anything. It was pretty terrible, though.

I flopped on the couch and looked at the book.

A sharp little noise drew my attention to the partially open window.

The raven sat there, staring at me.

The seer had said to find the raven, but the bird was making it easy. "You know, you're getting a bit creepy."

The raven flew over and landed on the cushion next to me, staring down at the book with gleaming black eyes.

"You want me to read it to you?" I asked.

The raven didn"t so much as twitch.

I took a huge bite of dust-dry bagel and chewed determinedly as I flipped open the book.

What the hell?

Like before, the writing was nearly indecipherable. Scribbles that didn't look a jot like English. Or any other language I'd ever seen, for that matter.

I held it up to the bird. "Can you read this?"

The bird said nothing. I hadn't really expected it to, but if this new world had taught me anything, it was that you shouldn't underestimate the language capacities of the furred, fanged, or winged.

I began to flip through the book, looking for a language I recognized. I was really only fluent in English, but I could recognize a few more and was willing to type the text into an online translator.

Unfortunately, nothing clicked.

I dug into my pocket and pulled out Rasla's seal. Holding it up, I looking for a clue in the stone. They'd been stored together, so maybe the seal would help me read the book. I studied the emblem on it. The Celtic design looked nothing like the ones in the book, and his name certainly wasn't helpful. I put the seal back and continued to search the book for anything I recognized.

There was nothing.

Except, that wasn't true. I couldn't read the words, but I could feel something in them. It was like my soul was beginning to buzz with energy. A sense of recognition zipped between the book and me, powerful and strange.

Finally, I turned to a page with several twisty, Celtic-looking symbols. I'd never seen anything like them before—not even on Rasla's seal—but they called to me. Fiercely.

Gently, I pressed my fingertips to the page and felt a jolt of energy travel up my arm.

Magic surged within me, both familiar and foreign. It fizzed through my veins, filling my soul with light. Pressure built, an undeniable need to do something.

The bird squawked, so close I could touch it.

I wanted to touch it.

My fingertips buzzed to press against the smooth feathers, to feed some of my magic into the bird. Instinct drove me—or maybe it was the book, feeding knowledge into my soul. Whatever it was, everything suddenly felt natural. Inevitable.

I kept one hand pressed to the book and raised the other. The bird watched me with wary black eyes, head tilted.

Then it hopped closer.

Shaking, I rested my fingertips against its smooth, ebony feathers. Magic exploded within me, bursting out through my fingertips and into the bird.

Light glowed around the feathered animal, and it squawked loudly. I jerked, nearly removing my hand. But instinct stopped me.

I kept my fingertips pressed to the bird's feathers, letting the magic surge from me into the small creature. The book felt like a conduit or a battery, helping my magic flow with incredible ease and power. I still couldn't read the symbols on the page, but somehow, my soul understood what was happening.

The magic shifted, growing stronger. With it, the bird began to grow. Light glowed from it so brightly that I could no longer see the creature.

The air popped, and power sparked across my skin.

When the light died, the bird was gone.

A person sat next to me.

Beatrix.

Holy fates, it was Beatrix, her red hair gleaming in the light. Shock dropped my stomach to my knees, and I gasped.

My long dead friend…returned?