“No can do.” Leo slaps something onto the table—the Bible—and then hardens his black eyes on me. “Break the spell.”
My heart freezes up at the sight of the book. It’s been years since I last laid eyes on it—Mom didn’t take it out of hiding very often after the last scare—and I’m surprised to find, to remember, actually, that it’s plain. Only the title—The Witch Hunter’s Bible—written in faded gold, Gothic-style script, and the two dull gold latches that secure the covers, distinguishes it from any old book. Yet despite its plain appearance, it feels important. It is important—Mom lost her life for this book. I take a shaky breath and focus on Leo. “Untie me first.”
So many unthinkable horrors have happened because of this Bible. And if I unlock it now for Leo and my plan doesn’t work, everything will only get worse. Pressure builds in my chest.
“No.” His tone and the hard lines of his face leave no room for argument. I do it anyway.
“I need my hands to break the spell,” I say. It’s at least partly true. I don’t really know how to break the spell, but my hands were involved in at least half the magic I’ve learned so far.
“It’s true,” Bishop says, then grunts when Armando lands an elbow in his stomach.
Leo watches me for a long moment, and I try not to squirm under his stare.
“Fine.” He walks behind me. Something cold presses between the rope and my skin, and the ropes come loose. I rub my raw wrists. “Now do it,” he says. “No more wasting time.”
I take cautious steps up to the table. Pressing my palms against the cold metal, I lean in toward the Bible resting in the spotlight between my hands.
Leo knocks on the table. “Anytime now.”
I swallow, focusing my attention on finding the heat in my core and pulling it into my chest. As soon as it’s a thought in my mind, the power surges like I lined my insides with accelerant, igniting my chest with a pulsating ball of fire. I move the heat to my fingertips, press them to the Bible, and close my eyes, willing the spell to break. After a minute or so, I open my eyes.
“Did you do it?” Leo leans across the table, practically vibrating with anticipation.
“I think so.”
If I was trying to hide my uncertainty, I failed. Leo scurries around the large table and snatches up the book. I hold my breath as he fumbles with the latch.
“You liar.” He slams the book down so hard the sound echoes through the room, then pokes a finger into my shoulder, hard. I flinch. Spittle flies out of his mouth as he speaks. “I can’t open this. You haven’t broken the spell.”
A million different emotions—regret, disappointment, fear … mostly fear—slam into me all at once. Why did I think this would work? I’m an idiot. Of course I can’t break the spell. I’m a beginner; this is way beyond my scope. But I can’t let Leo see how I’m feeling.
I shake my head adamantly, my throat tightening as though I’m using a boa constrictor for a scarf. “Let me try again. Please.”
Leo’s chest heaves, but he allows me to move around him to reach the Bible. This time, my hand is shaky when I press it to the Bible. When the heat stings my fingertips, I focus on the latch, on popping it open. Sequere me imperio movere, sequere me imperio movere … When the latch doesn’t budge, I wipe sweat from my temple and repeat the words aloud. “Sequere me imperio movere, sequere me imperio movere, sequere me imperio movere.”
Of course it doesn’t work.
Leo lets out what can only be called a battle cry and reaches for me.
I stumble back and hold a hand out to stay him. “Just let me try one more time. Th-that’s it—once more. What could it hurt?” Tears sting my eyes, and an uncontrollable sob rises from my chest. The full weight of my mistake presses on me. Leo will kill all three of us, and if what he said about Aunt Penny being a witch is true, he’ll go after her next. Even after what she’s done to me, I don’t wish that on her.
I pick up the Bible and clasp it firmly in my hands.
Aunt Penny. Why isn’t she helping me?
Tears stream down my cheeks.
Her nervousness, the way she looked at me before I left—she must have known what was going to happen. Why did she let me do it? Why didn’t she try to stop me? And then I remember her advice when Devon and I left for the dance. If you need help, call … oh, who was it? Some weird name—Alice or something. But I’m sure it’s important now, and not just some friend of hers who could give me a ride home if I were too drunk to drive.
“Do it!” Leo hisses in my ear.
“I am.” What was the name, oh God, what was it?
Leo paces behind me.
“Alice F-French. Alica French. Alica Francis, uh, Alica Franz.”
“Alica Frangere?” Bishop pipes up.
“Shut up!” Leo yells.
That’s it! “Alica Frangere.”
The room silences, and I open my eyes.
I nod at Leo. “Okay.”
He gives me a long look through narrowed eyes, then snatches the Bible up. This time, when he fumbles with the latch, it pops open with ease.