With that, Nero springs out of my room and onto the oak branch. Without a backward glance, he slinks down the tree before silently dropping to the ground and prowling off into the darkness.
I worry my lower lip as I stare after him. That oaf better not get himself hurt. And he better stay warm.
I sit on the edge of my bed. I’m utterly spent from a day of moving, and I need to take a shower and try to unwind, but my body still buzzes with energy. Now that I have a moment alone, I want to explore. There are new smells, new sounds, and a heady thrum of power in the air itself that I want to acquaint myself with.
Decision made, I push off the bed. I’m nearly to my door when I hear rustling from the oak tree outside. A moment later, Nero quietly hops into our room.
“Back already?” I ask. “I thought you’d be out exploring all evening.”
He comes up to me and rubs against my thigh before plopping down on the blanket he stole from me once more.
“I was just about to leave,” I say. “Want to explore some more with me?”
In response, Nero yawns in my face.
“Fine. I’ll be back in a little bit.”
I grab the doorknob and head out of my new room, closing the door behind me. Halfway down the hall, I hear claws scratching against the back of the door.
Fucking cats.
I walk back to my room and open the door. Nero glances up at me, then silently slips out. I look at the inside of the door and—
“Holy Mother of Magic Mushrooms, Nero, why do you have to be such a beast?” Several deep claw marks have gouged the base of the door, and wood shavings litter the ground.
Cats, man.
The lights in the hallway flicker. They look like a relic from a century ago, and judging by the magic sputtering off them, I’m guessing they’re as old as they appear.
I head down the stairs to the first floor. This level is full of common rooms, most of which I have seen only in passing.
I head toward the house’s sprawling library, Nero padding along beside me. When I enter, I don’t see anyone inside, all the plush velvet sofas and chairs empty. On the far side of the library, a massive fireplace holds the dying embers of a banked fire.
And then, of course, are the books. Hundreds and hundreds of them nestled neatly into almost every square inch of this place.
I move through the room, stopping to touch this book or that, all while Nero follows beside me. Many of the tomes are moth-eaten, their gilded lettering rubbed half away and their pages yellowed. I bite my lip as I read the spines of books written in Latin and Ancient Greek, the old languages as familiar to me as the face of a dear friend.
Farther in, I see books on Nostradamus’s writings and the Dead Sea Scrolls and several other dated texts, some religious, some not, and some occupying that space people like to call heretical. It’s a space we witches have lived and died in.
There are historical books on witches and witchcraft, as well as books that analyze general spellcraft. It’s all very academic, and I relish every bit of it.
When I get to the far end of the library, near the stone fireplace, I hesitate. To my left, an ornately carved door is set deep into the wall. Magic pulses softly from it.
Shimmery wards run along the edges of it, locking the room from supernaturals unaffiliated with Henbane Coven.
I used to be one of them. In fact, the first and only time I tried to open this door was sometime last year when I was visiting Sybil. I can’t remember why I came into the library or why I tried to enter the room, but I definitely remember getting shocked. Part of me is certain the same thing will happen now.
Only one way to find out.
I reach for the handle. My hand closes over the metal knob, and I wait for a moment, readying myself for the wards to lash out at me.
Nothing happens.
Below me, Nero nudges my leg, as if to tell me to hurry up. It must be nice for him, not having to worry about getting fried by protective magic.
And I am still worried. I haven’t opened the door after all.
I take a deep breath. No time like the present.
I turn the knob and pull. Above me the ward flares brightly for a moment, and yet…no painful spell lashes out at me. Instead, the door creaks as I open it. Beyond the threshold is darkness.
A second later a wave of power crashes into me, and I stagger back. It isn’t a ward striking me or anything of the sort. It’s simply magic. Lots and lots of cloying, potent magic. I practically choke on it all as I grope around for a light switch.
I don’t find one, but in the darkness, I can just make out a lantern set next to the door, a partially melted candle inside. A lantern but no matches.
I sigh.
Going to have to use magic for this.
I pick up the lantern and scowl at the wick. “Oh, how I hate making up a new spell. Just light this fricking flame from hell.”
Whoosh.
A crimson flame bursts to life inside the lantern, and maybe it’s just me, but it looks a little demonic.
Um.
Shit.
Pretty sure I just summoned a bit of hellfire.
I glance at Nero. “You saw nothing.”
He stares unblinkingly back at me.
I worry my lower lip as I step into the room, lifting the lantern with its red flame. Not even one night in, and I’m already breaking the rules by using dark magic.
I can’t focus on those thoughts for too long, however, because the sight around me takes my breath away.
“Grimoires,” I whisper.
Hundreds of them. They’re packed along the shelves, their conflicting magic rolling off them. It’s already making my head throb; it’s like being sprayed with dozens of clashing perfumes.
There’s a long table that runs down the middle of the room, presumably where you can read over the books.
“Can’t sleep?”
I yelp, nearly dropping my lantern at the voice behind me.
I swivel around and face another witch, one who probably also lives here.
Her gaze drops to my lantern. “That’s some interesting light you’ve made for yourself.”
“Uh…” This is where I get kicked out not a day after I move in.
“It’s a head rush, isn’t it?” she says, stepping up next to me.
At first, I think she’s speaking about dark magic, but then I notice her attention is on the grimoires around us.
“Mm-hmm,” I agree, even as the throbbing in my temple increases.
“Many of these were supposedly written by coven members who lived here, though some of them are far older.” She gives me a conspiratorial look. “Maybe one day you or I will have a grimoire stored in here.”
The thought is so wild, it distracts me from the fact I’ve been caught almost literally red-handed with dark magic.
“I’m Kasey, by the way,” the witch says, holding out her hand.
I take it. “Selene.”
“I know. I saw you at the harvest party—you made an entrance with that familiar of yours,” she says, her gaze drifting down to Nero.
“Uh, yeah, he’s really a sweetheart. Totally misunderstood.”