Chapter 15

Chapter

Fifteen

Z ane’s house is the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever seen, like nowhere I’ve ever been. Even the Institute isn’t so grand and spacious. It’s more like a castle than a house. There are turrets and a skywalk that connects one part of the house to another as if one part was added on later and the two pieces needed linked. The brick is whitewashed and the roof is solid black.

The doors are twice as tall as any regular door and Zane pushes one open then smiles when he looks back at me. I’m still marveling because I don’t know anyone who lives like this. “Come on.”

I follow him inside and stop and look around.

Fuck. There is a statue in the foyer. A statue of a woman in a long robe with a leaf headdress and closed eyes. She’s holding a flower and looking down.

“Dad turned Mom to stone when I was a baby.” He says it so matter-of-factly and off-handed, I can’t tell if he’s being truthful or not.

I stop walking. “Really?” His father’s a witch, I know that much. But generally spells like that don’t work on other witches, and no way would he have that kind of power if his mother wasn’t one.

He shakes his head. “No.” And he laughs. “Mom saw that statue when they went to some statue park a few years ago and she bought it.”

“After this week, I think anything is possible.”

He smiles and holds out his hand and pulls me through the house so I don’t get to see much other than passing glimpses of rooms. One room seems to be a showplace for a very black, very large grand piano.

“You play piano?”

“Chopsticks.” He laughs. “My mom plays.”

The library is as big as the one in town, with as many books, and this one has a painted ceiling. “Wow.”

“Yeah. My dad loves books.”

“And the ceiling painting?” It’s of cherubs and angels and harps and clouds.

“Took him years. And then years of being seen by chiropractor to fix his neck.” He looks up and pretends to paint like I wouldn’t understand his joke.

“It’s impressive.” And that’s an understatement. It’s detailed and colorful and makes me feel like I’m actually heading toward heaven. He smiles and we move on through the library to stand in front of a wall. “It’s a nice wall.”

He chuckles and my heart does a little dance even though he’s dropped my hand. “It’s more than a wall.” He gives it a little push and it slides back to reveal a staircase.

Well, now staring at a wall makes sense. Although, it occurs to me that I don’t know him very well. I don’t know why he all of a sudden likes me, why he’s brought me here, why there’s a wall in his house that slides open to reveal a stone staircase that seems to descend into darkness. He walks in, turns, and looks at me again. “You coming? ”

I look around him to see if I can see anything below. “It’s dark.”

“They’re motion lights. As we walk down, they’ll come on.” I look again and he smiles. “I would never hurt you, RJ.”

“I know that.” I wave my hand and chuckle, snort too. “Of course.” I follow behind him, holding onto his shirt as I tiptoe down the stairs. “You’re not a serial killer or a syphoner, are you?”

Not that I expect him to tell the truth if he is, but I wait anyway.

“No.” He stops after we’ve made a slight curve and turns on the step to look at me. Right now, we’re about the same height. I can see every fleck of gold in his brown eyes, and can smell the woodsiness of his cologne. It’s all very heady.

His gaze lowers and he looks at my mouth. I know he’s going to kiss me. I want that kiss more than I want anything in my life. I lean in, and he looks at me. “I’m sorry, RJ. I didn’t bring you here for this…”

I nod. Of course he didn’t. I’m not his type. Although I’m going to need him to stop sending me messages that make me think he might want to kiss me.“No worries.”

I walk past him because I can’t keep standing on the step feeling like an idiot, gazing at him with all that want and need and desire unrequited. It’s more humiliating than I can almost stand and if I wasn’t here to try to figure out how to help Aimee, I would probably leave.

When I get to the bottom of the steps he’s close and he reaches around me to flick on a light. The upstairs was impressive, decorated professionally and with a spare-no-expense kind of budget. But the basement is populated with game consoles, a jukebox, three big-screen TVs hung side by side by side and some theater seating in front of them, some stand-up arcade games, a pool table, and a foosball table.

“Damn, I forgot to bring money for tokens.” I look over my shoulder at him and he smiles as I walk around the room, exploring, touching the cool, smooth wood of the pool table, pressing buttons on the arcade games, flipping the little men around on the foosball table.

He smiles. “No tokens necessary. Maybe we can come back and play after this mess is all straightened out.”

I don’t want to get my hopes up. But my hopes have other ideas.

He holds out his hand and I slide my palm over his. He laces our fingers together as he leads me to another door. It has a push button device on it and he inputs some numbers into the keypad and the door makes a whooshing sound as it opens.

“It’s like a vacuum seal.” He smiles and we walk inside together. It’s another giant area, but it’s painted stark white and there are about twenty or twenty-five bookcases along the wall, each covered with glass and lit by a pendant light that hangs over the top.

Each case has a series of books sitting next to one another. On the shelf that he opens, one is leather and two are canvas. He pulls out another shelf from near the middle of the case and picks up a leather-bound book, flips it open and nods, then hands it to me.

It’s heavy. Smells old. Pages crackle when I turn them. “Wow.” He waves me to a table that is old and ornate and probably the table where some English king planned his wars in medieval times or celebrated his victories in his great hall after. The table has a couple of more modern chairs on each side .

When he pulls out a chair and smiles, I sit and he leans over my shoulder with one hand on the table the other on the back of my chair. “This book is a history of the Institute.”

On the first page, there is a hand-drawn picture of the Institute’s two center buildings.

The second page is written in Latin and I flip past it because I don’t have a good enough command of the language that I can translate without staring at the words for a while. I don’t want to embarrass myself.

Each page is a mixture of English and Latin and I read through some of the English parts. The Institute for the Arts and Sciences of Magic was established in the year 1824. I probably learned that in some class somewhere. It was necessary at the time to provide education and history to those with power and ability.

It goes on for pages and pages and pages about the history of the Institute. And then in 1964 the Institute burned entirely to the ground. “ In 1979, after the fire destroyed the original Institute and depleted the stored magic inside, the Institute was rebuilt. At this time, there was a dedication brick built into the foundation of the last building built which is the middle building on the left side. ” He reads the words over my shoulder.

“Left side as we look at it?” I look at Zane because this is important. I don’t know why, but that dedication is important.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs.“But maybe if we find out and we find it , we’ll be able to figure out if it’s involved and why.” I like that we’re on the same page about it. “I know where to find a picture of the nine first families.”

“How can they be the first families if they’re our parents?”

“They’re the first families at this version of the Institute.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know all the details, but what I know is that when the Institute burned, the magic from the original first families infused in the buildings that protected the witches inside burned up with it.”

“So, this version of the Institute is protected with the magic of our families?”

He nods. “I think so.” He flips through the book, holding his spot with the fingers of his left hand while his right turns a few more pages “Bradbury, Steros, Hadley, Deville, Strain, Dupree, Tempest, Murick, and Foster are the first families. There’s a picture at the Institute.” He’s not reading. It’s apparently common knowledge.

I stare at the book as he continues reading right up until he closes the book and looks at me. “You can borrow the book if you want.”

“Oh, no.” I do not want to be responsible for this thing. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” But maybe he has information on some other shelf in here, since the size of this place rivals that of the Institute’s library. “Do you have any books here on syphoners?”

“I don’t know. There’re a lot of books.”

“Then I guess we better start looking.” I pull my lower lip between my teeth and half smile because I have a picture in my mind of the two of us shoulder to shoulder, singlehandedly finding the information to save us all and restore Aimee’s powers.

He smiles and glances at me. “Fine with me. We can stay here all night trying to find whatever you want.” His hand is warm at the small of my back as he guides me toward a line of shelves at the back of the room. “This is where we keep the oldest books. The ones written before the first Institute was ever built.”

I lay my hand on the glass over top of the books. There’s power in this case. It’s pulsing, as if the bookshelf has its own heartbeat. The covers are different from the others. Some are made of fabric, others of leather, and still others are only yellowed pages stitched together with twine.

We spend hours going through the books. First, because they’re so fragile, and second because some are hard to read and we both have to try. Instead of going twice as fast by reading a book each, we spend twice as long trying to figure out what is on the pages.

Every once in a while, I catch him watching me and I smile at him. I don’t know what’s going to happen when this is all over, but I’m savoring these moments where he’s so close to me I can feel the heat of his body, his chest pressed against my back as he reads over my shoulder, his arm around my side, hand on the table beside mine.

We’re three or four books into our investigation when he pulls one from the cabinet that is glowing when he sets it on the table. I’m afraid to touch it.

“Go ahead. It’s just a spell. I thought it might help us find what we’re looking for.” His smile is softer now than it was. “I’ve been standing beside you all day, breathing you in, and I want to get this all finished, so I can breathe you in at the movie theater, at dinner, at night.”

The words are probably the best I’ve ever heard. He’s got a way of saying things that make me shiver in the best way. I stare at him for a couple seconds before I snap out of the trance and open the book.

The pages flip on their own one at a time—probably thanks to his spell—and then stop. The page is blank. Like every other in the book.

“Maybe it needs a spell to show the words?” I look at him. On one hand, I want to show him that I’m up to the task, but on the other, I don’t want to fail in front of him. I don’t want to look like a fool. Right now, he doesn’t doubt me. Right now, he thinks I’m capable. And I don’t want to prove him wrong. I don’t want him to know that my magic is faulty.

But he’s waiting for me, wants me to cast the spell to make the words appear. I can hear Aimee’s voice in my head. See the words in your mind, hear them in your heart.

I want to, but my doubts are bigger than the sound of her voice. “What if we’re opening magic that could call syphoners from the…abyss?” I want it to sound as treacherous as possible. “What if it’s a trick? Something one of the syphoners put into the book to call up an army of them and your spell awakens it?”

“And what if it’s only a cheap wizard’s hiding spell and we can be the heroes who give the magic back to everyone who was robbed of it?” His confidence is that of a man who’s never failed, whose magic always turns out exactly right. He doesn’t know the pain of setting something on fire by a transposed word that changed the entire meaning of the spell, or a semi-naked history teacher because instead of answers, I said the Latin word for pants.

He leans in and his breath is hot against my neck and ear. “Show me what you can do.”

As far as incentives go, it’s potent, makes me want to succeed. But I can’t move. This book is a jillion years old and if I destroy it…

“Did you know that the spells don’t have to be said in Latin or Romani or Russian or the languages they’re written in? They only have to be said to be understood.”

I stare skeptically, one eyebrow cocked. “Why didn’t they ever tell me that at school?”

“They want us to learn, but just say the spell in English and it works. Every time. I promise.” Well, if he’s promising… I withhold the eyeroll, but he chuckles anyway. “Fine, try a spell on something else first. Not the book.”

Well, there was an idea.

“Okay.” I look at the table across from the one we’re sitting at. I close my eyes and murmur the words. “Pull the chair from beneath the table. Flip it over on the top if you’re able.”

The chair shifts, rocks, but doesn’t move, until it does and it twists, turns, and flips over onto its seat then slides onto the edge of the table.

“Holy shit. I did it.”

He laughs. “Why are you surprised?”

There are about a thousand reasons. None of which I’m secure enough to share with him. Only Aimee knows my secret and I’m keeping it that way.

“All right. Try the book now.”

He could do it and without risk, but I want to prove myself now. And I want to prove that language doesn’t matter. If it’s true, my mistaken magic days are over. Language, as far as I’m concerned, has always been my problem.

I nod at him. “Willow and billow and words of right, show yourself into the light.” I wag my fingers at the book—not that I have to, but magic is half about the flair—and the pages start to wave. Holy shit. “It’s working. Look!” I point at the pages as the words fade in one line at a time.

He nods and rests his chin on my shoulder. “I see, RJ.” He whispers my name and if I turn my head toward him, he’ll kiss me, I know it, but I don’t want our first kiss to be in his basement among dusty tomes that haven’t been opened in a hundred years. And I don’t want it to be because he’s proud my magic worked. I want our first kiss to be emotion and need and desire.

I’m not settling for less. But I have to clear my throat to find my voice. I glance at him then back at the book and start reading. There is a load of information about syphoners. “Look at this.” I point to one of the paragraphs. “ A syphoner can absorb magic from any witch or magically infused object whose power source is visible or able to be used by the witch .”

“So, everyone at the Institute is in danger.”

I nod. “I guess so.” There’s no consolation there. The next paragraph doesn’t make me feel better, either. “ A syphoner can also store or save magic in an object to protect the syphoner from magic madness .”

“What is magic madness?”

I shrug and flip a couple pages to see if there is mention. “Magic madness is an incurable illness suffered when a syphoner, a priestess, a warlock, or a vampire drains the magic of two or more witches with opposite signatures and attempts to join the magic to form a greater power source.” That sounds heavy.

He continues reading where I left off. “It is also stated that the nine first families will form an alliance and dedicate their power signatures to the Institute for the Arts and Sciences of Magic. The nine first familiesmust each have a signature which opposes the others so all nine facets of magic are represented.”

Oh great. “So we could be dealing with a syphoner who’s going mad because of the mixed magic that she’s stolen.”

I continue to read down the page. “ To keep the balance of magic in the world, a syphoner will be born into one of the nine first families of every generation to ensure that no magical alliance is overcome by power or the thirst for it. The powers will bind to the dedication but remain separate and distinctive to each of the firsts. A syphoner can be killed only by another syphoner who is holding the weapon of power of the firsts .”

I have no idea what that means, but it makes me wonder who the syphoner is of our generation. I make a note to figure out who has siblings because it has to be someone in Zane’s crew of friends.

Zane walks to one of the bookshelves. “I think we need to know the magical signatures and what facets of magic they are each representing.”

“Why?” It doesn’t sound like a bad idea, but I’m curious as to why he thinks it’s important.

He tilts his head and the light from one of the chandelier lights overhead casts a halo on the top of his head. Fuck. How’s a girl supposed to keep her mind on magical signatures and facets of… whatever when she’s locked in a little room with a guy who looks like Zane Bradbury?

“I don’t know, but we might need it later.”

I nod. “Okay.”

He brings another book back and flips it open.This one is already in English so neither of us has to cast a translation spell to figure out what it says.

He starts by reading silently then looks at me. “Did you know that Ariya Glover was accepted by the academy before she was ever born?” He points to a passage on the page and I read it, uncertain why that matters. “It must mean something, since the rest of us had to go through extensive testing.”

If I’m honest, I didn’t have to go through anything, but Aimee did. So I nod.

I go back to reading my book while he continues reading his .

“This says the first families created Magic of the Scepter.” There are pictures of nine different small wands and one large scepter that appears to be all nine wands put together to form the jeweled base. “That has to be the weapon of power, right?” I tap the page with my fingernail as I hold it up for him.

He takes out his phone and snaps a picture of the pages and the silly girl part of me thinks he’s taking the picture of me. I flush with heat for a second then realize he’s taking the picture of the scepter.

“Weapon of power?”

When he glances at me, I read the passage to him about killing the syphoner.

He nods. “I would think so.” At best, we’re guessing, but there isn’t really anyone we can ask.

“Does your book say what those powers are?”

And now I know why they’re important. When we figure out who the syphoner is in our generation—as soon as we make sure that person isn’t the one robbing others of magic—we’re going to have to get the scepter to them. The legends we’d heard before weren’t complete. No one mentioned the scepter anyway, so we can’t count on that being the total of the information.

He is flipping through his book while I look at pictures of the wands. The Hadley family wand has a blue sapphire protected by twisted wire that extends from the slender silver-and-ivory handle to where they meet a couple inches over the stone. The Illusion Stone.

I tap his shoulder and the touch is electric, zinging up my arm. I don’t know what it all means, but it’s damned pleasant, probably the most pleasant thing I’ve ever felt in my life. More so than it had been in the car.

He turns and smiles. “Yeah? ”

I want to be flirty, tell him that I only wanted to touch him, but that isn’t wholly true. I have an actual reason and remind myself that as soon as we get through this, we’ll have plenty of time for flirting.

“I think I found what we’re looking for.” I point at the page.

“I can’t wait for everything to be back to normal.” His voice is low, almost husky and I ache to hear more, but instead I hand him the book. “The facets of magic are connected to the wands.”

It only takes him a moment to flip through all nine pages and then he grins. “Maybe the wands are in the dedication stone at the Institute.”

I don’t even have a guess so that makes as much sense to me as anything I may come up with, plus I certainly have never seen anything like the picture at our house—the Hadley house. Although, it could be that the house is full of cubbyholes like the one where we found the grimoire, so it could be there and I don’t know.

Having the information is powerful and I feel that in my soul. “Maybe we should go check.” I cock a brow at him. Probably as witches of the Institute and since he is one of the first families, we shouldn’t go anywhere, but the sooner this over, the better.