gushing about this abjuration prodigy who uses their library. She was practically fangirling.”
She plopped an oversized scoop of ice cream into my bowl. “So, long story short, we have a meeting tomorrow at seven with an abjuration sorceress. You and I don’t need to learn a thing.”
“Perfect.” I stuck spoons in our bowls. “And we can ask if she’s ever heard of these sorcerers, too.”
“Good idea.” Grinning, she lifted her bowl like it was a glass of wine. “Cheers, Robin.”
Laughing, I clinked my bowl against hers, then spooned an icy glob into my mouth. “So, we’ve got a lead on the amulet’s magic. It’s something, at least.”
“I mean, we still don’t have the amulet,” Amalia mused. “Plus, Claude’s got psycho sorcerers helping him now.”
“Don’t forget whatever mysterious thing he got from Varvara.” I sighed. “And we’re back to square one on finding them, since Zylas blew their lair to smithereens.”
She sighed too.
“But hey.” I waved my spoon. “We have a scary demon mage on our side now.”
“Do you think Zylas is happy to have more power in our corner, or would he rather not share the spotlight?”
I snorted and ate another bite of ice cream. “I don’t think he knows how to feel about Eterran. They’re enemies, but maybe that doesn’t matter outside the demon world.”
“Which reminds me.” Amalia propped a hip against the counter. “Are you going to tell Ezra and Eterran that you’re trying to send Zylas home?”
“I don’t know.”
“If the amulet works and they separate, you realize what that means, right?”
It meant an unbound Second House demon would be loose on Earth, with no contract binding him.
“Let’s wait for now,” I murmured. “I think … I’d like to talk to Tori first.”
Amalia nodded. We ate our ice cream, the muffled sound of the shower filling the quiet. I set my empty bowl in the sink and turned on the tap, watching the white porcelain fill with water. As the bowl overflowed, my eyes lost focus and a memory resurfaced.
“Tomorrow night,” I whispered.
Amalia pulled her spoon out of her mouth. “Huh?”
“The old sorcerer said to Claude … he said the array would be ready tomorrow night.” I looked up, my face cold. “How on earth are we going to find and stop them in one day?”
My head hurt.
The coffee table was covered in pages torn from my notebook, my scribbles covering each sheet. Rushed notes, half-finished translations, angry slashes through my mistakes. Reference books sat in a stack beside a bowl of fresh strawberries, but the texts hadn’t been much help.
The words Anthea had used to describe her work didn’t seem to exist anymore. At least not in the Ancient Greek dictionaries and lexicons I had.
Saul had said they’d proceed with their spell “as long as we get a clear sky,” which meant they needed either starlight or moonlight. I’d been flipping from spell to spell all afternoon, searching for a mention of astral conditions in the grimoire. Anthea had been a dedicated experimenter. The grimoire might contain earlier versions of the spells Claude had stolen.
But between my inability to translate most of Anthea’s notes and my total lack of knowledge on what spells Claude had, I was fishing in the dark.
Huffing angrily, I slumped against the sofa, my legs sprawled under the coffee table. Useless. If only I could’ve stolen the grimoire pages back. Even if Claude had made copies, at least I would’ve known what he had.
I straightened with a sigh and plucked a strawberry from the bowl, the green tops removed and sugar dusted over them. Nibbling on the end, I stared toward my bedroom.
Zylas had spent the night prowling the neighborhood, ensuring Claude, NazhivÄ“r, and the sorcerers hadn’t tracked us to the apartment. He’d returned just as dawn broke, his eyes dim with fatigue. I’d relinquished my bed to him—though I could’ve let him crawl onto the mattress with me. There was no reason I had to leave so he could lie down.
A slow blush warmed my cheeks.
As I popped the rest of the strawberry into my mouth, my gaze slid to the grimoire. Unable to resist, I started turning its pages again. Past the spells. Past the House descriptions. Past Myrrine’s heartsore account of how she’d feared she’d lost her Vh’alyir, and her indecision over whether to share her feelings.
I kept turning the pages, searching for the next glimpse of her name.
Finally, I found it. Tearing a fresh sheet from my notebook, I began the translation, my heart in my throat as I