“Jack isn’t an expert on everything,” he muttered.
She straightened. “So is he wrong?”
He ran a hand over the bronze skin on the back of his neck. “He’s right in this case. Women weren’t philosophers in the old days, except a few in secret. But despite the Purgators’ magical powers and charmed pendants, I think they’ve always been terrible at catching the right people. They burned anyone they didn’t like.” He bent over and opened another drawer, pulling out a small, leather-bound book. He turned the pages. “The Pappenheimer family,” he read. His face paled.
“What does it say?”
He shook his head, frowning at the book. “It describes the execution of a family in Germany, but—you don’t want to know the details. Suffice it to say that medieval Purgators were creative with their brutality. But I don’t get the impression the Pappenheimers were actual philosophers either. Just outcasts in the wrong place at the wrong time. There’s page after page of scapegoats, tortured and burned to death.” He shot her a pointed look. “But this was all a long time ago. They’re not doing this anymore. They’re still bound by modern laws.” He closed the book and returned it to the drawer.
She shivered, pulling open another drawer to find a dark brown book, its surface embossed with vines. An etched title read, The Malleus Maleficarum.
Tobias peered over her shoulder.“The Hammer of the Witches. The witch-hunting guide.”
“This is like a museum of torture.” She rolled the drawer shut.
Tobias crossed to the glass bookcase. He rattled the doors. “Locked.”
“There must be a spell book in here that can help us.” She yanked open a drawer in the top row. Inside was a large, royal blue book, embossed with gold stars and letters. Scrapbook, it said in an ornate font. “This is odd.”
Inside, paperclips affixed browned papers to the pages, and on their surface was the looping Angelic writing. She smiled, feeling a sense of relief for the first time since Mariana had been captured. Spells were a rare find, and the right one could help them free Mariana. “Tobias. These are spells, hidden in an old scrapbook.”
He edged toward her, surveying the book. But something in Fiona’s peripheral vision caught her attention—Byron fluttered into the room, circling over their heads. “You need to go, now,” he said in her head. “The guards heard the wailing outside. They’re investigating the gardens, but they’re going to search bedrooms next.” He flew out the door.
Fiona’s muscles tensed as she closed the book, looking into Tobias’s dark eyes. “We can’t fly out of here with the spell book.”
A floorboard creaked outside, and Mrs. Ranulf slurred, “That damn Fury won’t shut up.”
Fiona’s shoulders tensed. Is she drunk? And what is a Fury?
Mrs. Ranulf’s heels clattered across the rattling planks, and Fiona hurried through the cloaking spell, clutching the book in her hand. Not that invisibility solved their current situation. This nutjob might have that burning dust again.
Tobias gripped her arm, pulling her down with him under the desk, and she landed in his lap. He wrapped his strong arms around her legs, pulling her in close so the desk covered their bodies. Beneath her, his body felt warm. She could feel a blush creep up to her ears. She cringed. Stop thinking about Tobias’s body.
Another banging floorboard outside the door sharpened her focus. “Witches!” Mrs. Ranulf trilled. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
Tobias’s muscles tensed around her, his upper arms pressed against her thighs. His breath warmed the back of her neck. Today, he smelled like a cedarwood fire. Focus, Fiona. An insane witch-hunter is coming for you. She clutched the book to her chest.
Mrs. Ranulf tottered in, a pink cocktail in her hand. Her eyes were half closed. “This door isn’t supposed to be open.” She reached into her bathrobe, spilling her drink in the process. “Dammit.” Pulling out the little vial of red dust, she dumped a handful into her palm and blew it into the air. The dust rose in a cloud, coating the room’s surfaces.
So that’s why we’re under the desk. Fiona could feel Tobias’s heart beating through his T-shirt, and his chest warmed her back.
Mrs. Ranulf squinted, looking around the room. She threw up her arms, swinging her empty glass. The crypt key gleamed around her neck. If only the room weren’t covered in Purgator dust, Fiona could snatch it from her drunken body.
Mrs. Ranulf turned, staggering back out of the room. “Nothing up here,” she hollered to no one in particular.
Beneath Fiona, Tobias’s muscles began to relax, but his arms still enveloped her. “We should get back to our rooms before they find we’re missing,” he whispered, his lips next to her ear.
“What about the spell book?”