Evangeline and Jacks stumbled through the door together. The room was cold, and she thought it held the scent of apples, but that might have just been Jacks.
A skylight provided just enough illumination for Evangeline to see walls of haphazard bookshelves broken up by a fireplace, a scuffed desk piled high with papers, a sofa of dark amber velvet, and a pair of mismatched armchairs. Theyâd stumbled into someoneâs private library. She just hoped the owner didnât return while they were hiding there.
As soon as the door shut behind them, Jacks pulled away and fell on top of the sofa, head resting against one of its velvet arms, long legs dangling off the end.
âJacks!â She tried to shake him awake, hoping she could get him to answer at least one more question before he fully succumbed to sleep. If heâd been more alert, he would have never admitted to asking Poison to cure her or to help lure her to the North. Not that she was entirely shocked; sheâd gathered from her first night there that Jacks had been expecting her.
âTell me more.â She softened her voice. Maybe she could get him to think she was only part of a dream. âTell me what you want inside the Valory Arch.â
Evangeline stopped shaking his shoulder and smoothed back a lock of golden hair that had fallen across his sleeping face. She wondered why heâd dyed it before. If heâd been in disguise, the blue was a terrible choice; it was far too bold and arresting. Not that the brilliant gold was easy to ignore. Even without the vampire allure, it tempted her to stare, and it felt incredibly soft against her thawing fingers as she ran them throughâ
Jacksâs hand covered hers, cold and firm atop her fingers. âBad ⦠ideaâ¦,â he murmured.
She snatched her hand away. She hadnât meant to touch him like that. Jacks was not a thing to idly touch. He wasnât even a thing she liked. Although, as soon as she had the thought, she knew it wasnât true. Not anymore. Evangeline wasnât ready to say they were friends, but after last night, she no longer felt as if they were enemies.
An enemy wouldnât have spent the night with someone to make sure he didnât turn into a vampire. And an enemy wouldnât have held her quite so close or tasted her neck the way Jacks had. Evangeline knew heâd wanted to bite her, but his tongue on her neck hadnât been just about biting.
She didnât want to think too much about itâsort of like the jeweled dagger sheâd taken from the crypt and placed in the sheath at her hip. She was glad Jacks no longer felt like her enemy, but it would be dangerous to let it go further and consider him a friend.
Evangeline allowed herself one small smile as she felt the ruffled cape heâd placed across her shoulders. Then she stepped away from him.
A paper rustled under her footâthe newsprint Jacks had been holding.
Sheâd thought before that heâd clutched the crumpled black-and-white sheet like a blanket because heâd been so tired. It probably repeated the news she was wanted for murder. But one glance at the headline changed her mind.
The Daily Rumor
THE CURSED BRIDE AND THE NEW CROWN PRINCE
By Kristof Knightlinger
Itâs official: the new crown prince, Tiberius Peregrine Acadian, is engaged to Marisol Antoinette Tourmaline, also known as the Cursed Bride. I know many of you will find this difficult to believe, but I would not have printed these words without confirmation from Prince Tiberius himself. âIt was love at first sight,â he said. âThe moment I laid eyes on Marisol Tourmaline, I knew that we were meant to be together.â
Iâve heard whispers that many members of the royal court are upset that Prince Tiberius plans to wed before his brotherâs body is even in the grave. Of course, there are also rumors Prince Apolloâs body has gone missing, but no one in Wolf Hall is talking about that.
The wedding will take place tomorrow morning, and one canât help but wonder why this event is happening so soonâ
(continued on page 6)
Evangeline did not have page 6. But she didnât need to continue reading. She had been trying to give Marisol the benefit of the doubt. She didnât want her stepsister to be a murderer or a monster. But all Evangeline could think was that Marisol had used another love potion to put Tiberius under a spell.
And Evangeline feared that wasnât the only thing her stepsister had done.
Evangeline had suspected Marisol of Apolloâs murder, but she hadnât been able to think of a reason her stepsister would want to murder Prince Apollo until now. With Apollo dead, Tiberius was the crown prince. Once he married Marisol, he would become king and Marisol would be queen.
It would have been easier to just put a spell on Apollo, but perhaps Marisol had tried and it hadnât worked because Apollo was already under Jacksâs influence. Or Marisol just found Tiberius more attractive? It was hard for Evangeline to really comprehend any of it.
When Evangeline thought of Marisol, she remembered the way sheâd hugged her before the wedding as if they were really sisters. But what if that hadnât been an I-love-you hug? Maybe it had been an Iâm-sorry-Iâm-going-to-kill-you hug.
It was still a little incomprehensible to think that her stepsister had tried to murder her. But Evangeline had also never imagined that it was Marisol who had cursed Luc, yet sheâd done it.
Marisol had also acquired Northern books of magic so dangerous LaLa and Jacks acted as if Marisol was a villain just for owning them. Marisol could have easily been the witch whoâd gone to Chaosâs crypt for the malefic oil.
The motive was the only thing that didnât feel entirely right to Evangeline. She could understand her stepsister putting a love spell on someone. But she couldnât imagine Marisol killing multiple people for a crown. That didnât seem like something Marisol would do. But maybe Evangeline didnât really know what things Marisol would do.
Evangeline flashed back to the horrible words sheâd overheard Agnes say:
âLook at you. Your complexion. Your hair. Your posture is like a damp ribbon, and those circles beneath your eyes are hideous. A man might be able to overlook your little cursed reputation if you were something to look at, but I can barely tolerate the sightââ
Evangeline believed in love and fairytales and happy endings, because that was what her parents had taught her. But Agnes had told Marisol that she was unattractive and unwanted. Was that why she had done all this?
It was all so ugly either way.
âJacks, wake up!â Evangeline put a hand on his chest, hoping the touch might jolt him awake, but his sleep was so deep, she might have suspected him dead if not for the rise and fall of his chest and the steady beat of his heart.
His heart.
It really was beating. It might have felt a little slower than a human heartbeat, but Evangeline didnât let her hand linger. She would have liked his help for this, but if he didnât wake up soon, she couldnât spare the time to wait for him.
It wasnât just that Evangeline needed to prove her innocence or that she wanted to save Tiberius from the person who might have murdered his brother. Evangeline wasnât physically capable of merely sitting in this lost library and waiting. She needed to know if she was right about Marisol.
And she knew exactly how to do it. There was a way to prove if Marisol was either innocent or guilty. Evangeline needed to find a cure for a love spell. If it worked on Tiberius, it would reveal Marisolâs guilt. The same for her innocence if the cure failed.
But Evangeline would have to work quickly to discover a cure and administer it before tomorrow morningâs wedding.
According to Luc, vampire venom could break a love spell. But Evangeline didnât want to risk another visit to Chaos, and infecting Tiberius with vampire venom might cause more harm than good.
Sheâd have to find another way.
After lighting a fire in the hearth, Evangeline wandered closer to the bookshelves. It seemed a little too coincidental that sheâd find a spell book with an antidote for a love potion, but at least it was a place to start.
Tall and scuffed, the bookshelves covered nearly three-quarters of the libraryâs walls, and their owner did not care much for organization.
For example, on the first wall of shelves, nearest to the front door, Evangeline found a number of different books about time travel, but none of them were grouped together. They were scattered haphazardly, placed next to volumes on topics like the color blue, how to write poetry, an encyclopedia for the letter E.
Having determined these shelves did not hold any spell books, or cookbooks disguised as spell books, she moved on. She was about to attack another set of shelves when she noticed the desk in the cornerâor, more specifically, the pop of color that came from the bottles of Fortunaâs Fantastically Flavored Water sitting on top of the desk. They came in four flavorsâluck, curiosity, sunshine, and gratitudeâand all were tied together with an elaborate purple bow that clashed with the rest of the room.
She shouldnât have touched the bottles; they were clearly a gift. But one look at their brilliant colors and she couldnât help herself from picking up a cerulean-blue bottle of curiosity.
Her throat went suddenly dry as she tried to remember the last time sheâd had something to drink. Sheâd never tried Fortunaâs Fantastically Flavored Water, but sheâd seen it on several occasions, and like the bottleâs label, she was curious.
The liquid bubbled on her tongue, and it tasted like cotton andâsafety pins? It was far from a fantastic flavor, and yet she finished the entire drink.
She meant to put the bottle back and return to her task, but she was still thirsty. She grabbed a shiny bottle of luck, wondering if it might taste better. The liquid inside was a sensational shade of green, but it tasted of grass and old celery.
How were these drinks so popular?
Unless it was not the flavors that actually drew people to these waters? Evangeline studied the gleaming green bottle in her hands. Maybe the drinks inspired some sort of thirst compulsion? Despite her best efforts to put the drink down, Evangeline couldnât help but continue to guzzle the bottle of luck.
When she finished, she was tempted to grab yet another. And she might have done it if she hadnât noticed the pile of missives sitting next to the lovely bottles.
Evangeline didnât make it a habit of reading other peopleâs correspondence. But she was giddy with physical fatigue and the strange rush provided by the drinks, and she noticed something familiar about the folded letter on the top of the pile.
The note was in her handwriting, and it was addressed to Lord Jacks. It was the letter sheâd written him last week.
She picked through a few more notes. All of them were written to Jacks. No wonder the bell had been ringing so wildlyâthis place belonged to him.