Page 41 of My Faire Lady

Boden slumps onto the chair in the corner of the room. The wood groans beneath him, and he tilts his head back. “You’re the strongest Murrell witch to live, Scarlet. It has nothing to do with you.” He shifts forward, settling his elbows on his thighs. “Maybe we’re looking in the wrong spot. Fates knows your ancestors hid treasures all over this land, the hoarding magpies they were.”

Stars wink in the night sky behind him—the twilight glow long gone from the shingles that coat the rooftop of our compound. Thin wisps of clouds shield the widening moon, and come this time next week, it’ll be full. A silver, watchful eye. Magic will be at its strongest, and if there’s a way to stabilize it, next weekend is the most reliable time to do it.

“We must be doing something wrong.” I slouch in my seat, and Nesbit weaves between my ankles. “If losing the magic was ever an option, they would have made it easy to find the way to fix it.”

Something catches Nesbit’s eye, and she leaps out from under the table, padding to the corner where two shelves meet. The fire crackles in the hearth—its logs charmed to light whenever it drops below a comfortable temperature.

All this magic, all these spells, and none of it is what we need.

“Have you figured out how Lottie stabilizes the magic?” he says, even though he knows I haven’t. “I’ve sorted through her mind a couple times, and there’s definitely no magic in her or her lineage.”

I glare at him. “You’ve been going through her thoughts?”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” He shrugs. “Most humans all think about the same things, but Lottie’s thoughts are all so loud—screaming at her. She worries about everything. But there’s always a bright spot tucked inside.” His piercing blue eyes meet mine. “Whenever she thinks of you, this warm light washes over her dark thoughts.”

My heart stutters, but I fold it inward and set my jaw. “That’s not helpful.”

“It could be, if you give yourself the chance to get close to her. Who knows? Maybe she’s the cure. Maybe she’d want to stay here, with you.”

“She doesn’t.” I curl my hands against the lip of the table, nails pressing arcs into the soft wood. “And I’d never ask her to.”

“So, you’ll just push her away?”

I stand from the chair, its legs digging grooves in the floor. “She has an entire life ahead of her. She wants to move to Scotland and go to university.” I hesitate, chewing on my words, deciding how bad I want them to sting. But fuck it, he’s already reading my mind anyway. “I know exactly what it’s like being stuck here, never getting to experience a normal life. I’m not doing that to Lottie.”

His face softens. “I’m not saying you have to make her. Your mother didn’t force your father to live here. He chose that all on his own, because he loved her. It’s a gift, Scarlet, to give someone a choice.”

“I hardly know her, and you know what would have to happen if she says no.”

He doesn’t so much as blink. “But what if she said yes?”

I scoff, pushing the spell books across the table, to the piles we’ve made throughout the last few weeks. “What, and let her be haunted by the life she’s missing out on because of me? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if she was caged here, slowly losing the life from her eyes.”

“Maybe that’s exactly the issue,” Boden says, his voice barely above a whisper.

But I catch the double meaning, and he leans back in his chair, pleased to have the final word. I tear my attention away from the window before I can examine my reflection; study the life that has drained from my eyes over the years.

Nesbit chirps and digs her paw into the gap under a bookcase, reaching into the far corner. Her talons scratch against the floorboards, and I circle the table, crouching beside her.

“What is it, girl?”

She lets out a string of chirps and gnaws at the shelf. I ease her out of the way and shove my hand underneath, fingers splayed. I brush the edge of something, and it rolls away from me. Furrowing my brow, I stretch my hand as far as it’ll go and coax it out. I brush off the dust clinging to the edges and turn to Boden, my voice weak.

“It’s a scroll.”

His eyes widen, and I stand, hovering the scroll over the table as I gently unknot the leather scrap at its center. Boden steps closer, looking over my shoulder as I unroll it.

I squint at the letters, but they’re nonsensical, illegible. I rotate the paper, but they only muddy farther.

“Is this some sort of ancient language?” I say, flattening the paper on the surface of the table.

“Not a language.” Boden shakes his head, dragging a finger over the first symbol. “That’s code—one I haven’t seen since the war on magic. The Murrell witches used this to communicate when letters were being intercepted.”

I rotate the page until I think I’m looking at the top, and pinch the charm of my necklace between my fingers. A blackbird sits at the top of the paper.

“This has to be it,” I say, hope building in my chest as I flip it over. “The answer to saving the magic. Do you know how to translate it?”

He gnaws on his bottom lip and shakes his head. “I don’t even know where to start, but at least we’re a little closer.”