Slaying Monsters for the Feeble - Annette Marie Page 0,97

stamped with horror.

She pointed at me and yelled, “What are you doing?”

I blinked. Looked down. Realized what I was doing.

“Ah!” I shrieked. I released Zylas’s head and threw myself off his chest—which I’d been straddling. Stumbling wildly, I bolted away from him. Amalia stared at me like I’d sprouted my own horns and tail.

“It wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—I was just—” I babbled, my face flaming.

She took in my embarrassment, then barked a laugh. “Let me guess. It was for science.”

My blush deepened and I peeked at Zylas. He was nonchalantly eating grapes and ignoring the human dramatics a few yards away. Socks poked her whiskers out from under the coffee table.

Shaking her head, Amalia searched around the floor and found her phone.

“It’s okay—somehow. Didn’t even crack.” She raised it to her ear. “Sorry, Dad. Robin was being a weirdo again. Repeat that … right.” She refocused on me. “Dad asked if the missing pages from the grimoire are all from the back?”

I nodded.

Another pause as she listened, then she asked me, “Are there any drawings of sorcery arrays in the back?”

Frowning, I recalled my examination of the book. “I don’t think so.”

“She doesn’t think so.” Amalia listened for a moment. “Hold on, switching to speakerphone. Okay, say that again.”

“Robin.” Uncle Jack’s tinny voice sounded from the phone. “If the arrays from the final pages were still there, you’d know it. The spells …” He cleared his throat. “I told Claude about those pages. I’d been planning to scan a few to see if he could decipher them, but I never got around to it.”

My worried gaze met Amalia’s. “I think Claude might already have an idea what those arrays are,” I said. “Otherwise, he wouldn’t have had his demon steal them.”

“I think so too,” Uncle Jack agreed grimly. “And I think we need to know what those arrays are, and what magic Claude now has. Get translating that grimoire, Robin.”

“Already working on it. Are you all settled in?”

“Yes. This safe house is much more comfortable than the last one. I don’t think Claude has any more use for me, but just in case …” Another awkward cough. “You girls stay safe now.”

Amalia gave her phone an exasperated look. “We’ll be fine, Dad. You’re the one who almost died.”

“Yes, well …” A third cough. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Yep. Talk to you later.” She disconnected the call, her attention swinging onto Zylas, reclined on the sofa. I saw the question in her eyes—a question I’d been dwelling on too.

Uncle Jack had almost died … and he was only alive because Zylas had healed his mortal wounds. The demon had barely glanced at the man afterward. He didn’t seem to care. Hadn’t acknowledged his summoner in any way since.

Why had he healed Uncle Jack?

Amalia and I both gazed at the demon, then looked at each other. Her tiny, hopeful smile reflected mine. Maybe our hope was silly. Maybe we were being ridiculous, naïve humans, but we both suspected the same thing: Zylas had acted not because he cared about Uncle Jack living or dying, but because Amalia and I cared.

She dropped her shopping bag on the counter. “Have you changed your mind about our evening plans?”

I ignored the swoop of nerves in my gut. “Nope.”

“Then I’d better get changed.” She shrugged off her coat. “I’m not dressed properly for Grand Theft Library.”

“Coast is clear,” Amalia whispered.

Leaving her to stand guard, I slipped down the short hall to a door marked Guild Members Only. Two weeks ago, Zylas had broken through it while tracking the scent of old demon blood, but the librarian had caught us before he could find the source.

We were here to fix that.

The Arcana Historia’s library closed to the mythic “public” in twenty minutes, so we didn’t have much time. Okay, Zylas.

Crimson light bloomed and the demon took shape beside me. He glanced up and down the hall, then used his burglary spell to sever the locking mechanism—a far quieter option than smashing through the door. I followed him into the room.

As before, the worktable was stacked with the achingly familiar tools of book restoration, the scents of leather, paper, and harsh glue permeating the dusty air. The same cabinets lined the wall, one bolted with a rune-engraved padlock.

Zylas glanced at me, nothing but trouble in his eyes. “I am allowed to break it this time, na?”

“Yes.” I urged him on with a wave. “Hurry up and do it.”

Crimson magic swirled over his hand, tiny runes mixed