5. Morgan

Two nights.

That’s how long it’s been since seeing the vision of the book and those fiery eyes.

Two days and nights of relentless searching, and yet, nothing. Every lead turns cold, every hunch results in a dead end. It’s disheartening, to say the least.

Now here I am, slumped at a table in a corner of the hostel’s bar, my frustration simmering like a pot about to boil.

Where could I have missed a clue?

The library at the edge of town? The gift shop with a few shelves of books in the back? The new age store down that winding alley?

As I’m about to take another sip of my drink, a shadow looms over my table.

And then, with a suddenness that makes me jump in my seat, a book lands with a thump on the surface.

Brown leather binding. Worn, yellowed pages.

The book.

How in the world…?

I jerk my head up and freeze. Because a guy a few years older than I am towers over me. And those fiery eyes—the ones that have been etched into my mind since I saw them floating in my blood—lock on mine, flickering with unreadable emotion as they soak in the sight of me.

Slowly, breathlessly, I take in the rest of his appearance. He’s casually dressed, his hair is a tangle of dark curls, and there’s a ruggedness to him that suggests he’s no stranger to the outdoors. But it’s those eyes, fierce and bright, that mark him as someone extraordinary.

Someone not to be messed with.

“I think you’re looking for this,” he says, and with as much confidence as when he plopped the book down on the table, he takes the seat across from me.

I blink, struggling to find my voice. “How did you?—?”

“You’ve made quite the stir in Zermatt, searching for this thing with such single-minded determination.” He smiles, both mysterious and amused. “I couldn’t help but take notice.”

His voice is smooth and calm, with a slight accent common for people in this region, even though his English is basically flawless.

“My name’s Blaze,” he introduces himself. “I’m also a witch.”

My eyes dart around the room, making sure no one’s listening. Thankfully, everyone at this hostel is either drunk, telling animated stories to each other, or hanging out with groups of backpackers near the center bar.

Besides, if anyone overhears, I can just use my fire magic to hypnotize them and make them forget all about it.

“Nice to meet you, Blaze,” I say, my heart beating at a million miles a minute. “Your parents have an interesting sense of humor, since, you know, we have fire magic and your name is Blaze. Like flames…”

I stop talking, my cheeks heating at the realization that I’m rambling.

“I’d ask your name, but I’ve heard through the grapevine that you’ve been introducing yourself around town,” he says once I’m done, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Unless you like keeping secrets, Morgan?”

I freeze, since he’s right. I do keep secrets. It comes with the territory of being a blood witch.

But he’s waiting for a reply.

The longer I wait, the more suspicious it will look.

“I don’t like keeping secrets,” I say truthfully. “And I haven’t been lying about my name.”

Although, now that he’s mentioned it, maybe I should have.

“I didn’t think so.” He sits back, as if we’re old friends, and studies me with an intensity that takes my breath away. “I wouldn’t have come here with this old thing if I didn’t trust you.”

I search his eyes for any sign of deceit or hidden motives, but all I find is honesty. An openness I hadn’t anticipated.

But I didn’t come here to make friends.

I came here to get a job done.

And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

“What do you want in exchange for the book?” I motion to it, aware that such transactions always come with a price.

And, judging by how ancient the book looks, I expect it’ll have a high one.

“It’s not up for sale,” he says simply. “It’s just a loan.”

“And why are you trusting me with this loan?”

He leans forward, his eyes never leaving mine, as if he’s getting ready to share the biggest secret on the planet. “I’m trusting you because years ago, my mother told me that someday, a beautiful girl with a comet shooting behind her ear would come looking for this book. She said that when she does, I need to trust her and deliver it. So… here we are. I’m trusting you and delivering.”

My hand wanders to the comet tattooed behind my ear—the fire symbol I got at the same time as my sisters. Zara has a flame on her cheek, and Willow has a phoenix around her wrist.

As I touch it, a chill runs down my spine.

Because his mother foresaw this moment.

Is she like me? Can she see the future?

No. It’s not possible. There are no other witches with my type of power.

At least, none that my sisters and I know of. Which, I suppose, doesn’t mean they don’t exist.

“Your mother sounds remarkable,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “But how did she know all of this?”

His expression closes off, a shutter coming down over those fiery eyes. “That’s all I can share for now,” he says, the finality in his tone making it clear I shouldn’t push him.

“Understood.” I nod, even though there’s no way my curiosity will go away that easily. “And I appreciate the trust you’re placing in me with this... loan. I’ll get it back to you as soon as I find what I’m looking for. What’s your number, by the way? So I can let you know when I’m ready?”

I stop talking and push my hair off my face, realizing I’m rambling again.

Why do his eyes affect me so much?

“You won’t need to find me to get it back to me,” he says. “Because you’re going to be with me.”

“What?” My magic flickers to life inside me, warning me. Reminding me to stay vigilant.

Because if this guy plans to kidnap me—or something of the sort—it won’t be long until he finds out exactly what kind of witch he’s dealing with.

“Relax.” He raises his hands in a gesture of peace, giving me the faintest hint of a smile. “The book’s magic is tied to me—to my family’s lineage. The ink only reveals itself when I’m nearby. Without me, it’s just a collection of blank pages. So, if you plan on reading it, you need me with you, whether you want me here or not.”

I want him here.

I so, so want him here.

But instead of admitting it, I narrow my eyes at him, remaining on guard. “You expect me to just take your word for it?” I ask.

“Try it.” He motions toward the book. “Open it now, in front of me. Then take it into the next room, open it again, and see what happens.”

It’s a simple suggestion. One that would confirm his claim without any real commitment on my part.

So, with a wary glance at him, I flip the book open.

The pages, under the dim light of the bar, are filled with text. Small font—rows and rows of it—along with intricate symbols and drawings that dance before my eyes.

How much knowledge is stored in these pages?

My heart races with excitement. I want to start from the beginning and read all of it until the very last page.

But this isn’t the time for that. So, I tear my eyes away from the book and refocus on Blaze.

He’s watching me with curiosity, amusement, and something else I can’t quite place.

“Well?” he asks—a challenge buried in a single word.

I close the book, stand up, turn around, and head into the next room. It’s a small, adjoining lounge that’s mostly empty at this hour.

After confirming that the few people inside it are too wrapped up in each other to be paying attention to me, I open the book again. My heart pounds as I do, half-expecting and half-dreading what I might find.

The pages are blank.

Completely, utterly blank.

Blaze is telling the truth.

And if I want to know what’s in this book, then I’m going to have to trust him and spend a seriously long amount of time with him.

Which, honestly, I don’t think I’ll mind in the slightest.