The light from outside was beginning to turn more golden than blue-gray, and I knew the house would be waking up soon.
I also knew that I really, really didn’t want to give Dad my hand.
“This is why you worked with me yesterday, isn’t it?” I asked, my voice barely audible. “You wanted to make sure I could do this without blowing the library to smithereens in the process.”
Something washed over Dad’s face, and I hoped it was guilt. “It wasn’t the only reason, Sophie,” he replied.
“Okay, but please remember that I still broke a lot of mirrors yesterday. Shouldn’t we wait until I’ve had a little more practice?”
Dad shook his head. “Yesterday afternoon, The Eye attempted a raid on Gevaudan.”
It took me a moment to remember that that was the name of the fancy shapeshifter school in France. “Time is no longer a luxury we can afford,” Dad said. Then he moved the blade over his left palm in one quick flash. I gasped, and he laid his now-bloody hand on top of the bookcase. His blood trickled over the runes carved into the glass, flowing into them. As it did, the markings began to glow with golden light. Inside its box, the book seemed to shudder a little.
I waited for my newfound psychic feelings to kick in, telling me what a horrible idea this was. But there was nothing. Yeah, I felt kind of sick, but I think that was more about the blood than any terrible feelings of dread.
“Sophie,” Dad said, holding out the dagger. “Please.”
I thrust out my hand before I had time to think about it, giving him the palm that was already scarred by demonglass. The pain was bright and quick, and not nearly as bad as I’d thought it would be. Following Dad’s lead, I put my hand next to his on the case, even as I winced, remembering how hot it had been last time.
But there was no heat. I felt the magic covering it, and my powers surged in response. “Now what?” I whispered, unable to take my eyes off my own blood as it flowed into the runes. As it did, the golden light got brighter.
“Do what we did yesterday,” Dad said, his voice low and even. “Picture a human memory. A human emotion.”
Suddenly, I saw Archer sitting in the window of the corn mill again, and a sense of longing flooded through me. Almost instantly, at least a dozen books flew off the shelf nearest to me, the force breaking their spines and sending pages fluttering all around us.
“Something else!” Dad hissed, raising panicked eyes to mine.
“S-sorry, sorry,” I stammered, shaking my head like my brain was an Etch A Sketch that could erase Archer.
Think calm, happy thoughts. Mom. That time you went to the carnival when you were eight, and she let you ride the Ferris wheel over and over again. Laughing. The twinkling lights, the smell of funnel cakes.
My heartbeat slowed, and I felt my powers curl up inside me, safe, ready to be directed.
“Much better.” Dad sighed with relief. “Now, focus on the case and just thinkOpen.”
I took long slow breaths and did just that. My hand was starting to feel cold, and I had the unsettling sense that the case was somehowdrinking my blood. My knees went wobbly at the thought, and I rapidly blinked my eyes, trying to clear the gray fog that was threatening to overwhelm me. I had teleported, and made things appear out of thin air. I had flown, for God’s sake. I wasn’t going to faint opening a stupid glass box.
Still, I’d never felt anything like this, even when doing those hard-core spells. My magic didn’t feel like it was rushing from my feet so much as trickling. And even though my teeth were shattering like I was freezing, I was drenched in sweat.
My fingers were numb, and my hand looked awfully pale, but I kept pressing it to the box. But other than the glowing, bloody runes, nothing seemed to be happening.
Across the case, Dad didn’t look quite as wrung out as I felt. “It’s more than just the case,” he said, his hand slipping on the bloody glass. His voice was ragged. “It’s the book, too.”
The gray spots were getting bigger. “What do I focus on, then?” I whispered. I wasn’t trying to stay quiet; whispering was all I had the strength for.
“Both of them,” Dad answered. “Picture the case opening, and the book in your hands. And don’t lose sight of your human memory.”
My head felt too heavy to hold up anymore, and I lowered my forehead to the case. “That’s a whole lot of stuff to picture, Dad.”
“I know it is, Sophie, but you can do it.”
So I did. I kept Mom’s face in mind, all the while focusing on the case, and the grimoire, and trying very hard not to focus on how woozy and drained I was feeling.
And then—finally—the glass started to move.
“That’s it,” Dad murmured, his eyes bright in his haggard face. “Almost there.”
I’d expected the glass to open, or for maybe one side of it to fall off or something. Instead, it just vanished, like a bubble popping. It was so abrupt that both mine and Dad’s hands fell to the wooden shelf with a loud slap.
Dad reached out and grabbed the book, which looked like any other old, dusty book now that it was out of its magical case. The black leather cover was dulled with age, and it smelled like ancient paper and mold.
As Dad flipped through the book, my knees gave out. I slipped to the floor and leaned against the nearest bookcase. I felt like I was watching Dad from a distance, or like I was in a dream. I glanced down at my hand and wondered if the rest of me was as chalky white as it was.
“Oh my God,” Dad breathed. I felt like I should probably be alarmed by how freaked out he looked, but even that was too much effort.
“What is it?” I muttered drowsily.
He raised panicked eyes to me, but it was like he didn’t even see me at first. “It’s the ritual, it’s— Sophie!”
As I lurched sideways and gave in to unconsciousness, the last thing I saw was the book falling to the floor, its cover opening to reveal a jagged edge of paper.
A page had been ripped out.
chapter 22
When I came to, I was lying on one of the library couches near the big windows with a blanket on me, and Cal was holding my hand.
“Déjà vu,” I said as I watched silver sparks of magic race over my skin. He gave a tiny smile, but his eyes were trained on the rapidly closing cut on my palm. I looked past him and saw Dad standing at the end of the couch, his face etched with worry. Suddenly, everything came rushing back to me. The case, the book.
The missing page.
Dad gave a barely perceptible shake of his head, but I knew better than to say anything in front of Cal. Still, now that I didn’t feel like I was dying from blood loss, I felt every bit as disturbed about that missing page as Dad had looked.
Like he could read my mind—and for all I knew, he could—Dad said, “I want you to rest here for a little while, Sophie. Once you’re feeling better, we can discuss the ramifications of that spell in my office.”
“Must have been some hard-core spell,” Cal remarked as he gently laid my hand down on the couch.
“Yeah,” I said, my mouth feeling like it was full of sawdust. “Dad’s been working with me on controlling my powers. Guess I overdid it.”
Dad walked around the couch and, to my surprise, leaned down to kiss my forehead. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “But I am also very proud of you.”
It was hard to talk around the sudden lump in my throat, so I just nodded.
“I’ll be in my office. Come see me when you’re feeling up to it.”
Once Dad was gone, I flexed my hand, studying the place where the gash had been. There was no sign of it, and I could swear that even my demonglass scar looked a little better. “Okay, so the ability to heal people has to be
