17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

H e hadn’t known his exact plan until a few minutes ago: destroy the book.

Yet, he spent the entire walk from Olivia’s house looking over his shoulder. Each time he did, he expected to see her chasing after him, eyes burning, determined to stop him. Each time, there was no one. Each time, his resolve hardened further.

It was funny. He did not want to be stopped, but a part of him wanted her to try. Or at least care enough to come after him. That had been his first mistake, letting himself get this close to her; it only complicated things. His second mistake had been letting her into his heart. In the end, she had chosen magic, just like his father had.

The man had valued magic above everything else, even the love of his family. Where was his father now? What had become of him? Not that it mattered. But the similarities between the two situations were not lost on him—one person with magic, the other without it and magic was the thing that tore them apart. Olivia made that clear when she chose her magic over him.

But his father would not win. Olivia would not win. Magic would not win, not this time.

As he stepped into the copse of trees that housed the book, the rest of the world fell silent. He could feel the change in the air, the charge of magic as if he had just crossed some invisible barrier. He glanced around. He was alone.

There was the book, exactly where he had seen it last—resting on that old tree stump, surrounded by the remnants of the protection spell cast only yesterday. He did not understand how they could just leave it here unprotected. Although, he supposed they had very little to worry about. All the people in this town worshipped magic, or so it seemed—even those who had none.

Let him be the one to teach them all a lesson. Too little, too late.

He walked forward, stopping just before he reached the altar. He could not be too careful. He had assumed they had no spells guarding the book, as Olivia hadn’t mentioned anything. But she had lied to him about what the protection spell did and after the way she had reacted earlier, he had no reason to believe she would not lie about this. A lie of omission, maybe, but a lie all the same.

He waited a few minutes, his body tensed and ready to spring into action. But there was nothing.

He took a few more steps until the tips of his sneakers hit the wood of the tree stump. Slowly, he reached down to place his hands on the book.

It was smooth and warm beneath his fingertips. The magic a steady beat. Almost soothing. This was only the second time he had felt it. The first being the night of the festival. It occurred to him now that the magic was likely calling to him, like it sensed that he was now ready to accept its existence, where before he would not have.

Why had this gift, as Olivia called it, not been given to him? He had always believed in magic. His mother had encouraged that belief, telling him stories of witches who brewed magic potions and children who could fly. That last part he knew wasn’t real, but that first part, he now knew for sure that it was.

For the first time since this all began, he let himself feel some anger towards his mother for hiding this part of herself from him. He had clung desperately to those magical stories after his father left. He’d have given anything to know that there was some truth to them.

But he could not pretend that this was still only about his mother. Maybe if he had never spoken to Olivia this morning, things would be different.

Because knowing her had shifted something in him. He would not deny that. His intention had been to admit his true purpose for coming to town, beg her forgiveness and hope that she listened. That maybe she would convince him to let go of his plans.

Instead, she had added fuel to the fire. Now he wanted to show her how wrong she had been. His mother was innocent. Maybe she had never wanted magic in the first place. Maybe she had only been trying to get rid of it. Why should she be punished for that?

His anger only made him more determined to see his plan through. Someone else might have seen this as an opportunity to take magic for themselves. But not him. No, he just wanted it gone.

He glanced down at the book, his hands still resting on its cover. It was such a plain thing—brown leather with nothing but an M on the cover. If not for its thick size, it could be mistaken for a simple journal. Maybe that was a type of defense mechanism to draw less attention to itself. He flipped open the front cover.

There was an inscription on the first page that read:

Spell book of Melissa Adler. Town founder, Addersfield.

It was her magic that helped protect the town. From what he understood, based on what Olivia had told him, the book did not give the witches their magic. But it did strengthen it. If the book were to be destroyed, it would be like trying to steer a ship with no sail. They would be lost and eventually, their magic might die out altogether.

He began flipping through the pages. He could see that various spells and potions had been added over the years. There was a spell for everything. Finding lost objects, levitating things, starting fires, locating people, turning reflective surfaces into mirrors. Even things like ways to make your hair grow longer and ways to ward off evil.

Some pages looked well-loved; others looked virtually untouched, as if those particular spells had been created for a specific purpose, used once and never used again. Maybe even not at all. Each page held a signature, presumably of the person who’d created the spell. Some pages held several signatures. On those, there were often additions or changes to the original spell. The pages themselves were an odd juxtaposition. The oldest ones looked almost like leather. Whereas the most recent ones were written on plain old printer paper.

Everything was well documented. But the organization left something to be desired. There were no dates on any of the pages and there was no way to tell where a particular spell might be in the book. A person could probably guess if they knew who had created it. But he would have killed for an index.

He kept flipping, hoping to find something written by his mother, but he did not recognize any of the handwriting. It was possible he had simply missed it; the book was huge. It was possible she had never created a spell, though her journals told a different story. Or maybe losing her magic meant her contributions were erased from the book. He was inclined to believe the latter.

Flipping to the most recent page, he found an entry with Olivia’s signature.

Brownies—For encouraging openness and honesty in relationships.

Then a list of required ingredients along with a recipe for said brownies. Flipping back, there were a few more spells involving cakes, pies, and cupcakes. There was even one that could be mixed with lemonade.

Apparently, Olivia liked to weave magic into her recipes. Another thing she had failed to mention to him. He had eaten his fair share of her treats from the first day he had stepped into town. Had she ever used her magic on him? Before he had seen her this morning, he would have said no. He trusted her. Now, he did not know what to believe.

He closed the book and paused to consider his options. He looked, but he doubted there would be any kind of spell in the book to take away someone’s magic. A spell hadn’t taken away his mother’s magic; at least, he didn’t think so. It had simply disappeared. Some twisted trick pulled by her witch ancestors from beyond the grave.

He could try creating his own spell, not that he really knew how to do that. But he did not want to use magic. He touched the book, thumbing the pages as he considered his options. Destroying the book would not destroy magic but it would eventually deplete it.

Maybe he could burn it. That would certainly do the trick.

There did not seem to be any kind of protection on the book. He had been able to come here and look into it. But could he actually take it?

He curled his fingers under the back cover and lifted.

It was surprisingly light for how hefty it looked. He glanced around the clearing again, still waiting for someone to barge in on him. But no one came.

He would not burn the book here. That had the potential to be very destructive. No. He would take it down to the beach. It seemed a fitting place for his time here to come to an end. Once it was done, he would leave and never come back.

As he stepped out from between the trees, the book tucked underneath his jacket, his phone buzzed in his jeans pocket. His heart soared for one brief moment, thinking that maybe it was Olivia. But he quickly shook that thought away.

He had somewhere to be, and he would not stop for anything.