"It's here," I said suddenly.
He looked back at me.
"You feel it?" he said.
"Yeah," I replied, looking around for some sign of a doorway. Unless they were keeping it in an old box under the lawn darts, I didn't see anywhere they could be hiding a library in this place.
"Okay," he said, glancing around, too. "We've got to move all of this away from the walls."
With a quick motion he pulled off his sweater. Underneath he was wearing a dark blue T-shirt printed with just one word: FRED. I noticed that his arms were covered in very light freckles as well and that they were surprisingly well-defined. I guessed he did more that just work on math problems, or else he had some really heavy pencils. Then I decided to stop gawking at his arms and look like I was actually here to help. I pulled off my sweater as well and threw it down on his.
Together we shifted everything away from the wall by at least a foot or two. When we were done, Charlie pulled his athame out of his messenger bag. It was entirely made of highly polished silver, with a Celtic engraving around the handle and a round piece of black onyx set at the very top. Slowly, working right under the ceiling, he ran the athame around the walls, moving a bit every time he made a complete pass. He had to go around about two dozen times to cover the whole area.
When that revealed nothing, he started on the floor, passing the athame carefully over every inch. He had to stop every few minutes so that we could rearrange the furniture. Again nothing, the straightened up and stared down at the floor, puzzled. The he slouched against the wall and squinted around with an intent expression, tapping his athame in his palm.
"I have an idea," he finally said. "But it involves the both of us. It's possible that because you're a blood relative, the door will be revealed to you more easily. So together we're going to do a nochd."
"Should I close my eyes?" I said, keeping a very straight face.
"I expected that," he replied with a wry grin. "Here." He held out the athame to me, handle first.
I pointed to the athame. "Can I… hold that? I mean, is it sacred or something?"
"Well," he said, "it's a magickal tool—so, yes. It's sacred. But it belongs to me, and I have no problem with you using it. Whether or not it works pretty much on you. Magickal tools function when the user brings their magick to them."
"You mean, like the toaster only works when you plug it in? Then it can use its bread-charring powers."
"Exactly." He nodded with a smile. "The tool is the toaster. You're the socket."
I accepted the athame, and he fished through his bag and removed a white candle and a piece of chalk.
"I'll cast the spell," he said. "We're going to see of your energy can guise us. I'll lead you as we go, so don't worry."
"Okay," I agreed, feeling weird with the heavy athame in my hand. "How do I hold it up? Up, or down, or out…"
"Just let your arm fall naturally by your side," he said, expertly drawing a circle around us. Then he placed the candle in the middle, between us, and drew a series of runes around it in chalk. Standing, he lightly took hold of my right wrist, gripping just below the handle of the athame. He flashed me a look to see if I was ready, and I nodded.
"Aingeal," he intoned.
The candle snapped to life. I guess I shouldn't have been so startled. I'd seen both Morgan and Evelyn do that. Still, to see Charlie do it surprised me.
"Sinn sir ni keillit," he continued. The metal of the athame grew warm. He tightened his grip on my wrist—not enough to hurt me, but enough to have a firm grasp. "Tar er ahs, seòl heen."
I saw now why he had tightened his hold. My arm began to quake, and for a moment I thought I might drop the athame. He locked his hand around mine and looked down at me. Magick was flowing through us, between us. I could feel his strength as he controlled its flow. I’m not sure if it was the magick or simply being so close it him, but my heart started beating like crazy. It seemed so loud that I actually thought he would be able to hear it.
In one movement our arms rose together—mine started to come forward, pushing his back. It was pointing the athame to a spot on the floor. He couldn’t see it because it was behind him, but a square appeared in that spot. It was made of symbols, very finely drawn in a bluish light. I wanted to say something, but I thought it might ruin the spell. As it was, he seemed aware that something was happening, even though he couldn’t see what I saw.
Giving thanks to the Goddess and the God, he ended the spell, but he held on to my hand for a moment. We said nothing—just stood there, looking at each other. I felt the warmth of his body and could smell the faint smell of laundry detergent, some kind of spicy men’s deodorant, and faint traces of sage smoke. Charlie smell. So nice. As he gazed down at me, I realized that he was the only person who could really stare at me like that without my wanting to turn away or hide my face. I could actually look him right in the eye and not flinch. Even though his expression was serious and intent, his mouth still retained its wide, happy curve. It was as if he was born to smile and make others smile. Such a nice mouth.
Such a what? What was I thinking?
Unintentionally I pulled away. He backed up, as though I startled him. His face was flushed, and he didn’t seem to know where to look for a moment.
“There’s a… thing on the floor,” I mumbled, pointing.
“Good!” he said, quickly kneeling down and snapping out the candle flame with his fingers. “That’s what was supposed to happen. We did it. Good work.”
I brushed the chalk circle away as Charlie sprawled flat on the floor to examine the symbols up close. I saw him working his way all around the square. By now my mind was everywhere it shouldn’t be. I could only see the length of his body, the way the sleeves of his T-shirt tightened around his upper arms, the speed of his movements.
Cousin’s boyfriend, I kept saying to myself over and over and over.
“Okay,” he said, getting up to his knees. “This shouldn’t be too bad. Finding it was the hard part. The seal itself isn’t a tremendous piece of work.” He reached back for his bag and started rooting through it again, producing a handful of runes.
“Have you got a whole magick shop in there?” I asked.
“No ma’am,” he said. “Just the basics. Some candles, chalk, athame, runes. All the things a witch should never travel without, especially when they’re trying to break into other witches’ private library.”
I gulped, feeling a pang of guilt as he set a rune in each corner of the box, then put the white candle in the center. He muttered a spell quietly to himself. The candle winked to life again, and over the next few minutes, as he spelled and tapped his athame around its perimeter, the dusty patch of floor revealed itself to be a wooden door with a round handle.
“Voilà,” he said, looking up in satisfaction. “One trapdoor.”
“That was amazing,” I told him, completely awed. “You’re like a safecracker.” He didn’t reply, just gave a nervous little laugh.
When we opened the wooden door, we found a switch that turned on a set of overhead lights. They revealed a set of tiny steps that dropped almost straight down into a darker room. Charlie went down first, then offered up his hand to help me down. He had to bend down, as the low ceiling didn’t give him much clearance.
You’d think a room under a house like this would be musty and dirty, but it was spotlessly clean. The walls and floor where made of smooth stone. There was an air filter and dehumidifier. Every inch of space was carefully utilized. The walls were completely set with shelves, and several freestanding floor-to-ceiling bookcases sat back-to-back in in eight rows, the pathways between the rows of books were narrow, just large enough for one person to pass through with a step stool. In one corner there was a small antique reading table with a lamp and two chairs.