The Unnamed Project

THE UNNAMED PROJECT

I f I could go back a year, to visit the me who binge-watched sitcoms and read fairy tales to fill the void created by separation from the world, what would I tell her?

Adventure will come?

All-consuming love is real (and often annoying)?

Fairy tales lived are far scarier than the ones in the story books?

Life is fuller when filled with friends?

Teachers are hornier than teenagers and will make out everywhere ?

Barron lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Rowe, please tell them to stop.”

I glance up from my computer, where I’m transcribing the translations from my family’s grimoires into the database we set up. “Let them celebrate. Aspen’s leg is now healed enough that he no longer needs a cane.”

A week has passed since we returned from our adventure in Silver Hollow, where Aspen got himself hurt by a juiced-up curse determined to prevent us from saving their barrier. Thanks to the healing power of stinky poultices, the deep slices he received on his thigh are all better.

“When Dr. Lopez cleared him, I don’t think she meant for him to—” A loud bang sounds in the bookshelves behind us, and Barron shoves his chair back from the table to stand. “Okay, all feet will remain on the ground while in my bookstore!”

Ignoring them, I poke at the keyboard with two fingers, transcribing translated content from ancient family spell books that haven’t left Hartford Cove since the small town was founded.

The digital library project is a labor of love—and tedium. It’s hard to say at this point which feeling is more predominant. With the Germanic Wendall grimoires finally in proper English, we’ve made significant headway. Now comes identifying spells that serve the same purpose and determining which is the more user-friendly version .

Aspen is supposed to be doing the job of deciding the danger levels with all his vast knowledge of ring tests, but someone keeps distracting him.

Another crash sounds.

“Doggy style is better for your recovering injury!” I call out helpfully.

Or not so helpfully, judging by the glare Barron directs my way. “When I gave you the use of my shop for your translation hobby?—”

“Epic Grimoire Digitization Project,” I correct. “Or, This Project Spells Freedom. We’re still ball-parking it.”

He ignores me. “—it did not come with an open invitation to defile my books.”

I snort. “Like you and Jesse have never defiled your books.”

His cheeks redden. “We’re mates, and this is my store, so what happens after hours is our business.”

“And every other wolf shifter who can smell it when walking through the door the next morning.” Sometimes, not having super senses comes as a relief.

“Our apologies, Barron.” Aspen reappears, straightening his pale blond hair. “Things got a little out of hand for a moment, but we are calmer now. ”

“You’ve got a little something…” I wave my hand around my lips.

Brow creasing, he wipes his mouth, then stares at the crimson on his fingertips before whipping toward Mel, who saunters out of the bookshelf behind him. “You said this was smudge proof.”

She smirks at him without an ounce of apology for the lipstick smeared all over her face, too. “Must have read the packaging wrong.”

“I think you’re more of a winter.” I tilt my head to the side as I study his pale skin. “That shade of red does nothing for your complexion.”

“Noted.” He snatches a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his mouth. “And we’re calling this the Global Database for Spellcraft.”

“Wow, you make it sound so exciting.” I stifle a yawn, glad he’s at least on board with this project now. “Soon, witches across the world will know how to banish naked snails from their gardens.”

“Wait, that can’t be right.” Barron grabs the notebook I’m working from to see the reference number in the corner.

He digs through the pile of grimoires on the table and locates the original spell. Reading under his breath, he lifts a pencil to fix the translation. “The word should be slugs . ”

“Naked snails sound more exciting.” I update the database. “Slugs are gross.”

Barron passes the notebook back. “Can’t people just buy slug repellant at the home goods store? Why use a spell to do it?”

“It can.” Aspen slides into one of the open chairs, lipstick still on his face. “But a witch’s garden is important if they use it for spellcraft, and adding chemicals or natural slug repellents can affect the outcome.”

“Down with chemicals.” I poke away at the keyboard, not bothering to take my attention off the screen. “Up with magic. If you’re no witch, then buy organic.”

Mel claps her hands. “Good rhyming. You’re getting better.”

Aspen lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Please don’t encourage her.”

“You’re too rigid.” Mel’s expression hardens as she leans over him. “If you keep stifling her creativity, she’ll never want to learn more.”

His ice-blue eyes narrow. “She did fine in Silver Hollow without needing to rhyme her way through spell casting.”

So much for amore . They’re back to butting heads over me. Again .

“Sure would be more productive if you guys would help.” I stab at the keyboard. “That’s why you’re here, right? To separate innocent slug deterrents from spells that can get a witch killed?”

He gives me a grudging nod. “It is.”

“And you , Melody Bellthellamew Bramble, are here to review the charms cousin Aris mailed over.” I push the box toward her. “I’m not sticking one of these rings on my mate’s finger before I know he won’t die a slow and agonizing death from sunlight the second he steps outside.”

“Uh-oh, she used all three names.” Barron snickers. “Someone’s in trouble.”

Mel shakes her head at me. “How do you even remember my middle name?”

“My mind is amazing when it comes to embarrassing details.” I wiggle my fingers at the cotton fluff poking out of the top. “Now, make with the inspecting.”

She pulls one of the thick silver bands from the box and coos in delight. “Oh my gosh, there are little fangs and a sun on it.”

“Aris does like adorable things.” I tuck a long curl of red hair behind my ear. “She tried to keep me, too, but Haut said no. ”

Barron sets aside the stack he’s been working on. “What’s it like knowing you have family out there?”

“Weird.” My nose scrunches. “Like, should I call her? Do cousins do that? What would we talk about?”

Barron gestures to the grimoires on the table. “Magic?”

“Boo.” I give him two thumbs down. “Besides, she’s a super cool charm witch who can take a sunlight spell and turn it into adorable jewelry. I’ll come across as stupid if I try to discuss that with her.”

Aspen arches one eyebrow. “Or you’ll appear interested in her and learn something in the process.”

“And you have exciting stories you could tell her about kicking ass and taking names!” Mel chimes in, her voice brimming with excitement.

“What do I say when she asks how I kicked ass and took names?” I scowl at my screen. “Sock lightning is way cooler in practice than in description, and no one is impressed by winging it. Better to remain a mystery than reveal how I bumble through life.”

“Bumbling is how we make mistakes and grow,” Aspen says, and Mel nods along, my two mentors back in sync and united against me. “If we don’t push our magical boundaries, how will we ever know what we’re truly capable of?”

“Give me time to adjust my perspective. This isn’t as easy as discovering the existence of wolf shifters.” I drum my fingers on the cool surface of the table as I consider their words. “I’m not ready to dive headfirst into having a family .”

Barron props his chin on his hand. “Is that why you’re so anti-baby Rowe?”

I gape at my friend. “Who have you been talking to?”

“ Everyone .” He waggles his eyebrows. “The whole town is eager to meet the next Wendall generation.”

“We are not discussing this.” I throw my hands up in frustration. “You have an entire coven of witches to pester for babies now! I am not singular in the magic world!”

“Maybe not singular , but certainly unique, my little snowflake.” Mel pats my hand. “Once you explore your potential, you’ll realize that embracing the unknown is the biggest adventure of all.”

I shake my head at her. “I have no idea what you’re saying, but you sound like a bad fortune cookie. ”

“Make it rhyme.” Aspen’s lips twitch. “That may help.”

My focus shifts to him. “Shall we expect baby Aspens sometime soon?”

Mel chokes on air and turns red in the face.

“That’s what I thought.” I lift my chin. “I think we can all agree that digitizing these ancient texts is enough excitement for all of us.”

Mel’s mouth opens, then closes.

By refuting my statement, she’ll be admitting to wanting a baby. Sweet, sweet victory.

Aspen frowns at me. “Smugness is unbecoming.”

“No one in my entire life has said I was becoming, so I’m okay with being smug.” I flip to the notebook page and grin. “Oh! It’s the spell I used to turn Tris into a goose! Good times.”

“Let me see that one.” Aspen snatches it. “ To Set Free A Trapped Spirit ? How did this transform Tris into a goose?”

“I phonetically read the German version out loud.”

He glances up at me. “Without any of the ingredients?”

I reach out and grab the second oldest of the Wendall grimoires. “Want to see if I can replicate it? ”

Interest gleams in his eyes. “Yes. Transformation is difficult. To do it without ingredients or ritual?—”

Mel smacks him. “Don’t encourage reckless spell-casting!”

“Bumble, but don’t be reckless. Learn through mistakes, but don’t repeat successes.” I huff out an annoyed breath. “And you wonder why I resist this whole magic business.”

“Experimentation done with the right safety precautions is how we gain new knowledge.” Aspen passes back the notebook. “Which is why we’re being careful with this project of yours. We don’t want witches attempting dangerous magics outside of the supervision of a teacher.”

Barron leafs through a stack of spells. “How will you guard the knowledge?”

“Witches take tests to prove their mastery of our crafts.” Aspen pulls out his wallet and opens it to show a card. “We’re registered with unique numbers, like social security cards, which we could use to grant access to specific parts of our database.”

I frown. “Registration requires a witch to be part of a coven that has access to these tests. All the witches in Hartford Cove were rejected from covens, which is why they ended up in the Sunlight Project. We’re creating this database so people like them can learn.”

“It’s a flaw in the system we’ll have to figure out.” He tucks away his ID. “After what happened in Silver Hollow, it’s apparent our community needs to preserve and share its spellcraft. However, we still need layers of security and authentication before someone can access the grimoires.”

Silver Hollow was a wake-up call for Aspen, both in seeing how easy it is for a witch’s grimoire to be taken and how not sharing knowledge almost exposed the paranormal to the world. Again.

But I see his point about needing some restrictions, even if I hate it. “What about those witch gatherings? The ones that travel around so covens can find new members? Could ring tests be administered there?”

“It would require a council-approved test administrator and proctor, but it’s possible.” He taps his pen against the table. “The paranormal council will need to approve the informal setting, but we can include it in the presentation.”

I snap upright from my laptop. “Wait, what presentation?”

He frowns in confusion at my confusion. “The one we’ll be giving to the witch council to gain approval to launch our website.”

Agitation bubbles within me. “When did we decide this for our website?”

Aspen’s frown deepens. “We agreed that precautions are necessary. If we want to use the ring tests to determine a witch’s abilities, we’ll need the witch council’s approval to access their testers. We also need a method for categorizing new spells added to the site to ensure they’re placed under the correct tier.”

Barron sits back with a groan, and Mel winces.

Slowly, I close my laptop and turn to face Aspen, ensuring that he has my undivided attention. “This is an open-source database. Grimoires don’t restrict how far ahead witches can read. While I agree some spells shouldn’t be used casually by untrained apprentices, we’re not asking for permission to share this database or allowing a third party to control access.”

He lets out a long sigh, like I’m the problem here. “Rowe?—”

“No!” I thrust to my feet. “Under your policy, I wouldn’t have access to any of my family’s spells! Not all witches have council-certified teachers to sift through their grimoires and determine what they can or cannot do! You’re not expanding knowledge for witches everywhere; you’re making it harder to share it!”

Aspen stands, too, irritation flushing his cheeks. “You’ve never even met the witch council! Why are you being so difficult?”

“I’ve met Mel’s moms!” I fling a hand toward my mentor, who ducks to avoid getting smacked in the face. “In under two seconds, without getting to know me, they decided I needed you as a babysitter! If we go to the witch council with my website, they’ll react the same way you did at first and put a kibosh on the whole idea!”

He shakes his head. “If you try to release this database before speaking to them first?—”

“They’ll what ?” I thrust my hands onto my hips. “Are you going to tell me there’s a rule about witches not sharing their grimoires through the internet?”

“Well, no…” His gaze sweeps over the table littered with my family’s spell books and their translations. “But only because no one has ever been so reckless as to consider transcribing them and putting them out there for all the world to see. The human world, might I add.”

I wave that away. “There are plenty of websites already out there with spells and rituals on them. This will be no different.”

He throws his hand up in frustration. “Except these will be real spells!”

“No presentation.” I jut out my chin. “No third-party dictators, deciding what goes on the website.”

“Absolutely not?—”

“Who votes to throw Aspen off the Free Spells for All Witches Oppressed by the Council Project?” I thrust my arm into the air.

Barron’s hand follows, and he gives Aspen an apologetic shrug. “Brigade for life.”

Mel’s hand twitches, and Aspen gapes at her. “Don’t you dare.”

“You already knew I was a rebel when you agreed to this assignment.” She raises her hand. “Sorry, Aspen, but you’re off the Grim Project.”

“Oh, I like that!” I grin at her. “This is why you’re my favorite.”

Barron’s brow lifts with skepticism. “I thought Tris was your favorite.”

“I have room in my heart for more than one.” I pick up my laptop and tuck it under my arm. “Meeting adjourned. Barron, take away Aspen’s keys to the bookstore. ”

“He doesn’t have keys.” Barron straightens the stacks of notebooks. “I don’t lock the doors.”

Weird ass small-town practices. Or maybe it’s just a wolf shifter thing. If someone steals a book, he’ll be able to smell who the culprit is. It makes using his shop as a home base for the Grim Project a lot easier, though.

Aspen comes around the table. “Rowe, we’re not done discussing this?—”

“Nope! It’s been voted on.” I hustle toward the door. “So sad for you!”

“I’m your mentor. You can’t ignore me.” His long legs have no problem keeping up with me.

So much for dramatic exits. Damn my shortness. Nothing good has ever come from being bite-size.

“Stop following me. It makes it too hard to storm off.” I step out into the cold and shiver as an icy wind cuts through my sweater.

I forgot my jacket and scarf, but it’s too late now. I’ve gone too far to turn back.

“Fine, I’ll give you some time to cool off.” Aspen shoves his hands into his pockets. “But we will discuss this further. And we can take a full vote on how to move forward.”

Dammit. We need to stop meeting at my house. Aspen is banking on Haut siding with him. My wolf shifter mate is too cautious.

No loyalty in that man.

I warm up on the long walk home, the uphill driveway a workout for my thighs.

By the time I sweep into the house, steam rises from the top of my head.

The scent of fresh bread greets me when I step through the door, and I stride into the empty kitchen. Three golden, rosemary loaves sit cooling on the island, a pot of stew bubbling away on the stovetop.

This must be what it feels like to have house elves that magically make dinner.

I set my laptop down on the dining table, next to two steaming mugs of coffee. “You can come out. It’s only me.”

The door to Haut’s bedroom creaks open.

Zane appears, his tangerine-red hair pinned back and an apron protecting his black shirt and pants. “You’re back earlier than expected.”

“Welcome home, Rowe,” says a soft voice as Esme, Zane’s mate, joins us. “You gave us a fright.”

“Sorry about that.” I pat my frozen cheeks. “I should have texted to let you know I was alone. ”

“No, don’t apologize.” She wrings her hands. “This is your house. We’re the intruders.”

“Fugitives,” I correct her. “And my house is your house.”

Which will continue to be the case until we can figure out how to get the paranormal council off her back.

Zane saved my life once, at great risk to himself, so it’s only fair I return the favor and save his mate from a death sentence.