Page 42 of Death Card

I lift the rope and crouch underneath, letting it fall behind me. Quickly, I approach the first bookcase and drag my finger along the cracked spines. Some of the titles aren’t in English. I recognize one as French and another as maybe German or Dutch. One is written in ancient runes that I have no hope of translating.

The other shelves are more of the same. I’m beginning to lose hope that I’ll find anything useful. I shut my eyes and call on my intuition to guide my hand. A feeling draws my gaze down to the bottom shelf. I kneel down on the carpet to peer at a thick leather-bound book that sends alarm bells ringing through my head. A spider darts into a crevice as I pull the book from its place on the shelf.

The title is printed across the front cover in gold foil that glimmers in the shadows.The Compendium of Demonology.

Blood rushes to my head as I gingerly open the front cover. A message is written in cursive script in the margin of the title page.

Dearest Gloria,

Your mother was one of the most courageous, hardworking women I have ever known. She would be proud of all that you have overcome and all that you have done for your beloved family. I pray this will offer you the protection you seek and assist you in your quest for retribution.

Love,

Your godmother

My vision tilts as the wordretributionflashes before me. This may not be direct proof that Gloria has targeted us, but it does prove that she has knowledge of demons—and that she has a vendetta against someone.

Before I can change my mind, I grasp the book with both hands and whisper, “Disappear.” My fingers tingle as I focus all my strength on glamouring the book. After a pause, its pages grow translucent in my hands. I stuff it deep inside my backpack, beneath my wallet and keys. Anyone who reaches insidemy bag will feel it, but no one will be able to see it without reversing my invisibility glamour.

After slipping my arms into the straps, I stand and take a peek around the other shelves. While there are a few more books written in English, they aren’t anything out of the ordinary, just spell books and lists of herbs and potions.

As I’m headed to leave, Orion’s voice grips my mind.“Mikaela, they know.”

I take off at a sprint, ducking beneath the rope and darting into a nearby aisle. From between the shelves, I peer out and see a large man stalking up the steps. His biceps strain the fabric of his shirt, and his nose is crooked and red as if it’s been broken a time or two.

A brunette in a moss-green blouse and jeans follows at his heels. Her hair is held back with a gold headband, so I have a full view of her face.

Aria.

“Ri, where are you?”

When I peek back toward the stairs, they’re gone. I make a run for it, but a meaty hand grasps the strap of my bag and yanks me backward. I land hard on the carpet.

The muscled man sneers at me. “Not so fast, little witch.” His canines have been filed into sharp points.

I swallow past the lump in my throat and rack my brain for a spell I can use to get myself out of this, but my mind goes blank.

Aria steps out from behind the man with her fists resting on her hips. “You must be Mikaela.” Her voice is nearly devoid of emotion except for a hint of amusement. Her eyes are lined in green, and her lips are a shade of blush pink.

She extends a hand to me, but I don’t take it. She shrugs and tucks her hands into her pockets. “What’s a Witch Queen doing in my family’s bookshop?” Her eyes narrow.

How does she know that? No one else should know about my ascension. We don’t exactly go advertising our business to other covens.

She and the massive man share the same cold blue eyes. But where he’s all sharp edges, her features are delicate, from the slope of her nose to the angle of her jawline.

“Where’s my brother?” I demand.

“Follow me.” She turns on her heel, and the man grasps my arm and yanks me to my feet. Over her shoulder, Aria says, “We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

Getting caught wasn’t in the plan, but there’s a silver lining to this. Now I’ll have my chance to face down a Hightower witch. If I play my cards right, I might get her to tell me the truth, or at least evidence damning enough to satisfy Gramps.

18

Aria leads usthrough the employees-only door downstairs. We’re met with a wall of cardboard boxes stacked nearly to the ceiling of the cavernous room. She maneuvers through a maze of boxes to a set of swinging doors. They open up to what looks to be a lounge space. There’s a workspace with an assortment of bookbinding tools and a stack of books that have seen better days.

On the other side of the room is a kitchenette with a round wooden table where my brother is seated. His hands are clasped together atop the table. Golden threads of magic bind his wrists together.

I whirl on Aria, but the mountain of a man tightens his grip on my arm.