Soul of a Witch: Chapter 10

With the radio tucked under my arm, I followed Callum as he led me to the library.

Trailing behind him, I took the opportunity to observe him more closely. His marble-like skin wasn’t entirely perfect; he had scars all over, most of them very small but some were larger, puckered and discolored. There were a couple that looked like puncture wounds, as if he’d been stabbed.

He’d known my name centuries before I was even a thought. Over all those years, he’d been searching for me. Waiting for me.

“Blessed Hygieia, this house needs cleaning!” Grandma exclaimed. “The state of it! The dust! The first thing we’re teaching you is some proper tidiness spells. Can’t have you living in such squalor.”

Callum stopped before a set of doors, surrounded by an elaborately carved wooden frame. “This is it. The Grand Library of House Laverne.”

He snapped his fingers, and the doors swung open.

My jaw practically hit the ground as I walked inside. Three floors rose above me, sheltered beneath an arched ceiling covered in a mural of the forest’s flora and fauna. Shelves covered every floor, labeled with small golden plaques to denote how the books were sorted. Sconces lined the walls, flames flickering behind frosted glass, bathing the books in warm light.

“The witches of House Laverne were always incredibly studious,” Grandma said. “Our kin and companions likely would have devoted all their time to the discovery of deeper knowledge if it hadn’t been for the Deep One stirring up bullshit.”

Laughing at her expletives, I stopped to stare at a shelf of ancient leather-bound books. As delicately as I could, I pulled one large volume from the shelf and flipped it open. Neat lines of elegant handwritten text covered the pages.

“Why was this place abandoned?” I said. “Why would anyone ever want to leave?’

“The Deep One’s growing power made staying here too dangerous. Many of our young witches chose to leave, believing it would be safer to put distance between themselves and the coven, rather than fight to keep the God contained.” Grandma sighed heavily. “Your mother was one such witch. She left and never looked back. I fear I may have driven her to it. Having a diviner for a mother was not easy for her. I tried too hard to control her, to change the course of her fate. The coven was dying and she was a bright, talented young witch. She did not want to spend her life hiding in a forest.”

As I made my way up a spiral stairway to the third floor, a strange object caught my eye. From a distance, it appeared like a large mechanical wardrobe. Numerous gears and springs turned and pumped all over its surface, and it ticked as if a thousand clocks were contained inside, all keeping a different time. It was at least ten feet tall, set into the wall, composed of brass and iron. It had two doors, but they were sealed, with no handles or keyholes in sight.

“This is the heart of the library, the vault,” Grandma said. “Grand Mistress Sybil built this to protect our most precious knowledge. All of her research into the gods is contained within. Not even a ghost like me can penetrate its magical barriers.”

“How does it open?” Cautiously, I brushed my fingers over the bronze surface, and it was cold to the touch. “There are no keyholes.”

“Sybil’s grimoire is the key. It was lost after her death, and taken by the Libiri. I believe your father currently carries it.”

Despair rushed through me. No wonder my father guarded that grimoire so carefully. “Then we can’t get in. Mama always said grimoires were impossible to steal.”

“That isn’t technically true, although they are certainly difficult to steal. A grimoire cannot be stolen from the one who carries it by force or deceit. But grimoires are tied to the family they came from. All claims of ownership are trumped by the fact that you are a Laverne witch, and that book has always belonged to us. You’ll be able to steal it, if you can find a way to do so safely.”

My father treated the grimoire like it was the most precious thing he owned. He never allowed anyone else to hold it, even touch it.

“He sometimes locks it in a drawer,” I said, my hands shaking as I contemplated what I had to do. “Or in his briefcase.”

“You’ll find your opportunity,” Grandma said. “You’re a clever young woman. Kent underestimates you, and you can use that to your advantage.”

But I barely heard her. The wraiths in the halls and the beasts lurking in the woods — those didn’t scare me as much as my father did. They didn’t scare me as much as leaving here and feeling the God’s eyes on me again, poking around in my head, probing for weakness.

Would It see I was a traitor? Would It know how deep my blasphemy had become?

Sweat broke out on my forehead and cold chills went up my back. My lungs were tight as I stumbled, bracing one hand against the wall. Setting down the radio as I shook, I pressed my back to the wall and closed my eyes, willing the dizzying nauseous to stop.

“I can’t go back,” I said breathlessly. “I can’t. You don’t understand, my father won’t — he won’t —”

With a rumble like thunder, Callum was suddenly perched on the railing in front of me. But I was still trying to simply breathe in a normal pattern, instead of frantically gasping for air.

“I don’t want to go back.” I was disgusted with how desperate, how pathetically frightened my voice sounded. “He won’t trust me after this, he’ll be suspicious. He won’t let me go, Grams, he won’t ever let me.”

“He can’t keep you,” Callum said. The viciousness in his voice snapped against my panic like a rubber band, shocking me out of it. He stepped down from the railing, moving with a feline-like grace as he came over to me.

I lifted my eyes, looking at Callum with a mixture of shame and defiance. Was this what he’d hoped for while he was waiting for me? A woman who hyperventilated at the thought of facing her own family?

He reached out, and his clawed fingers brushed along my cheek, wiping away a tear. Then they trailed down, tracing over my arms until he eased them apart. He took my tightly clenched hands, slowly straightening my locked fingers. His movements were so gentle, so unexpected, that my panic melted away into fascination.

“If you need to go back, I’ll be waiting for you,” he said. “I’ll be watching. If your father tries to keep you, I’ll ensure you escape. I’ll bring you home.”

“Home…” I whispered. “I don’t know if I’ve ever really had a home.”

“Home is wherever I can keep you safe,” he said. He was still holding one of my hands, embraced between his palms. Irrationally, I longed to lean into his touch. I wanted to press myself against his chest, and finally, after so long, just be held.

I wasn’t supposed to trust him. Yet, when I looked into those jet-black eyes…I did.