“For the wedding. I’m thinking melon and mint. Supposed to be really hot next spring.”
Cal laughed out loud, the first time I’d ever heard him do that. “It’s a plan. See ya, Sophie.”
“Later,” I called after him, suddenly struck by a pang of sadness. Archer had called out, “See ya, Mercer,” at the end of nearly every cellar duty. I’d never hear him say that again.
It sucks that we miss people like that. You think you’ve accepted that someone is out of your life, that you’ve grieved and it’s over, and then bam. One little thing and you feel like you’ve lost that person all over again.
I thought about him sitting in the corn mill, waiting for me. What had he wanted to tell me so badly that he’d risk his life to say it?
I tightened my fingers around one of the jagged shards of pottery so hard that I nearly drew blood. “It doesn’t matter,” I murmured. The whole Archer thing was beyond done. And, I reminded myself with a glance upstairs, I apparently had way bigger problems than a messed-up love life.
chapter 23
Dad’s office was actually one of the smaller rooms at Thorne. Inside was pretty nice, though. There was a cherrywood desk and ivory carpets, plus comfortable leather chairs and sturdy-looking bookshelves. He also had nice view of the river.
Dad was at his desk when I opened the door, doing what all British people do when they’re freaked out: drinking tea. I leaned against the door frame. “So…this sucks, right?”
He waved me into the office. “Close the door behind you.”
Once I had, Dad opened one of the desk drawers. The grimoire looked even worse in the bright light of his office, but there was still a sense of menace coming off of it that made me want to cross my arms over my chest.
“I glamoured another book to look like the grimoire, and remade the glass,” Dad said to my unspoken question. “Still, I’ll need to get it back soon. The glamour won’t hold forever.”
He threw the book onto his desk, where it landed amid all the paper. “I’ve looked through it three times already. The possession ritual isn’t in here.”
Gingerly, I lifted the book and opened it. I’d felt the magic coming off of it even when it was in its case, but I still wasn’t prepared for the wave of power that hit me. It felt like when you stick your face out the window of a fast-moving car. My lungs burned and my eyes watered just looking at it. My stinging eyes scanned the first page, but there were no words I could make out, only strange and unfamiliar symbols.
Still, I recognized one of them. It looked a lot like the mark Dad had put on the Vandy’s hand when he’d banished her.
Before I could even turn the first page, I dropped the book back on the papers. “Holy hell weasel,” I breathed.
Dad nodded. “Now you see why I had to let you do the majority of the heavy lifting while opening the case. There was no way I could have used that much magicand had the strength to search for the ritual.”
“Now you tell me.” I sank down into one of the leather chairs opposite Dad’s desk. “How did you even know what you were looking for? There aren’t any words in this thing.”
“It wasn’t easy. Even I didn’t realize how powerful this book is.” He opened the front cover, and I winced; but since I couldn’t see the pages, I didn’t feel the magic this time. Dad, however, visibly shuddered. “This grimoire was written in the language of angels.”
“Shouldn’t that be, like, harp music or chanting, and not hard-core hieroglyphics?”
Dad either wasn’t listening to me, or he chose to ignore that. “What I don’t understand is why justthat ritual was taken,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Of all the rituals, why that one?”
“And when did someone take it?” I added.
Dad blinked at me like he’d just suddenly remembered I was in the room. “What?”
“That book has been in that cabinet since, what, 1939? 1940? So did someone rip that page out sometime over the past seventy years, or was it torn out before the grimoire was even locked up?”
“I hadn’t thought about that.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Curiouser and curiouser.”
Startled, I glanced at him. “I say that sometimes.”
Even with his face tight with worry, Dad managed to look a little amused. “It’s fromAlice in Wonderland. Appropriate, don’t you think?”
Yeah, except that our rabbit hole was a heck of a lot darker, I thought.
I pretended to study the bookcase in the far corner. I’d expected boring books about Prodigium history or shifter economy, and there were a few of those, but I also noticed some recent fiction, as well as several Roald Dahl books. Dad went up in my estimation another notch.
“Do you think whoever—or whatever—raised Daisy and Nick had that piece of paper?”
“They would’ve had to.”
I turned back to him. “And that’s bad.”
“Worse than bad.” He leaned forward. “Sophie, Virginia Thorne raised a demon to use as a weapon. I can only think that whoever raised Nick and Daisy had similar motives.”
I blew out a breath. “Dad, this is a total cluster…um, a mess.”
He flashed me a wry smile. “I think the word you were about to use is probably the best summation of the current situation.”
“So what do we do?”
“There’s nothing we can do right now except wait and see how it all plays out.”
I tapped my fingernail. I’d never been very good at concealing my emotions, and fear was practically making my internal organs shake. Whoever had that ritual could technically raise a whole army of demons if they wanted to. And if Prodigium had that on their side in a war against The Eye? I fought back the image of Archer lying broken and bloody at the feet of some demon, of all that horror spilling out into the human world as it had before. Trying to keep my voice light, I said, “Well, waiting is lame-sauce.”
“I’m not sure I know what that means, exactly, but I think I share the sentiment.” Dad put the grimoire back in his desk, closing the drawer with a soft click.
I hoisted myself out of the chair. “Dad, do you really think finding out who did this can stop a war from coming?”
“I don’t know,” he said quietly. He was looking at me, but I got the feeling he wasn’t really seeing me. “I hope so.”
As far as reassurances went, it wasn’t great, but it would have to do.
I was almost to the door when Dad said, “Before you go, Sophie, would you tell me why you’ve been carrying a Saint Anthony’s medallion in your pocket for the past two days?”
“Huh?” Then I remembered the coin Archer had given me. Reluctantly, I pulled it out of my pocket and handed it to Dad. “It’s just something I found. How did you know I had it?”
He turned it over in his fingers. “I could sense the magic.” He glanced up at me. “Saint Anthony’s medallions are very powerful objects. Witches and warlocks used them in the Middle Ages, usually if they were travelling. You could give them to someone and use them to telepathically show your location. Very useful if you got lost or captured, both of which happened quite often in those days.” He flicked it back at me. “I’m actually not surprised you found one. We have dozens in the cellar at Hecate.”
Well, that explained it, then. Secret demon hunterand thief. Man, did I know how to pick ’em.
I entertained the idea of going back to bed, but when I opened the door to my room, I discovered Nick and Daisy waiting for me. Nick was holding the picture of my mom, while Daisy lounged on my bed, flipping through my copy ofThe Secret Garden.
“Is this your mom?” Nick asked. “She’s a hottie.”
While Nick no longer set my teeth on edge, I still wasn’t crazy about him—or Daisy for that matter—pawing through my stuff. “What do you guys want?”
Nick whistled through his teeth as he placed the photograph back on my nightstand. “We were just coming to check on you. Heard you got hurt doing a spell today.”
