“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.
“This place is great,” he said, his expression melting into one of amazement at the sight of all the books. It was like watching a little kid at an amusement park, so deliriously excited that they don’t know where to head first. In his enthusiasm he stumbled but caught himself on one of the bookcases.
“It’s my ballet training coming through,” he said with a smile as his face turned charmingly pink. The he bounded off into the stacks.
As Charlie devoured the titles on the shelves, I walked around quietly, taking in the magnitude and splendor of the collection. Many of the books, though ancient, weren’t particularly frail. They’d been so well taken care of that age had only affected them slightly. There were books in strange blocky print, dating well back into the 1600s. There were books in all kinds of languages, in mysterious prints and symbols. Some sections were full of dry, academic-sounding titles. Others were filled with books so exotic looking that I was actually frightened to touch them.
As I turned down one aisle, it was as if the books were whispering to me. I glanced over their titles. I couldn’t read any of them. They looked like German to me, lots of huge words starting with das or der. Still, even though I couldn’t understand them, I wanted to touch them. I wanted to pull them from the shelves. I wanted—this one—Edelsteine und Metalle, whatever that meant. I needed this book. Gently I slipped it from the shelf. It seemed warm to the touch, as if I’d been holding it for a long time. Surprisingly there was nothing on the front cover. It was plain green book, covered in cloth, obviously very old. I flipped it back and looked at the spine again, but I now saw nothing written there.
I almost dropped the book in shock.
“Charlie!” I called, my voice husky.
He came right around from the row behind. I explained what I had seen and offered the book to him. He took it, examined it all over.
“Edelsteine und Metalle,” he said, holding the spine out for me too see. “Something and metals.”
I looked at the spine again. There was the title, in gold letter in the greenish black cloth. It hadn’t been there a second ago. I was shaking a bit now, and he put his hand on my shoulder to steady me.
“It must have been spelled with some kind of glamour or concealment spell,” he said. “That’s all. You’re not going crazy. Let’s have a look at it and find out why it was being hidden. This is a private family library, so it’s kind of strange for a Rowanwand to hide a book from a relative.”
We took it over to the reading table and switched on the light. Charlie began to page through the book. In the first moment we could see it was definitely not a German textbook on something and metals. It was handwritten, in English. It looked like a Book of Shadows, with dates at the tops of the pages. Charlie’s eyes grew wider with every page.
“This is Máirin’s book,” he said, looking up, his eyes full of awe. “Oona’s daughter. No one’s seen this book in years. How the hell…”
Máirin’s book. That was what I had found. The story of the family witch, down here, in the secret Curtis family library. This was where my mother had experienced a frightening telekinetic episode. There was too much magick, too many feelings tied into this house. I chose this moment to become completely overwhelmed. Even though I tried to will them back, I felt tears well up behind my eyes. Charlie looked up in alarm and saw my eyes glistening.
“What is it?” he said, setting his hand back on my shoulder.
“All these weird feelings,” I answered, rubbing my eyes. “All of these strange things I don’t understand.”
As much as I knew he was dying to look in that book, he slid it aside and turned all his attention to me.
“It must be really hard to have to deal with so much magick at once,” he said. “Just try to relax. I’m right here. Nothing that’s happened is too out of the ordinary.”
“Everything is out of my ordinary,” I moaned.
Instead of reading, we sat there for a while, talking. I found myself telling him about the dark wave and how frightened I had been. I told him about Hilary and all the things that had led up to my running away—all of the really personal things that I’d left out of my first explanation. I finally explained that I had a problem with telekinesis and that that what I was trying to find out more about.
“The newest thing,” I explained, feeling my defenses collapse under the calming weight of his hand on my shoulder, “is that I can feel other witches around me. I can sense their feelings. I can sense my mother here, even though she’s gone. I like the feeling of connection, but it also scares me. Everything comes so fast now. I’m never expecting any of it.”
Then he leaned in, and his look took on a new level of seriousness.
“Can you feel my senses right now?” he said.
My body seemed to freeze in time. My heart stopped. I didn’t breathe, didn’t move. Everything was anticipation. I could feel him. He was going to… what?
He came in close, took my face in one of his soft hands, and kissed me.
I’d never been kissed before, and I’d been kind of worried that I wouldn’t know what to do when and if it ever happened. Luckily I didn’t freak out or accidentally bit him or anything. I pressed to his mouth and responded naturally. He slipped his hands behind my neck and pulled me closer. Warmth…so much warmth. A universe of warmth. As he pulled away, he looked at me in happy surprise.
“I…” He seemed to catch himself speaking bit didn’t know what to say. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw you yesterday.”
Could I speak? Did my mouth still work? Was my voice going to come out all funny? Only one way to find out.
“Me too,” I said. “I mean, not kissing myself. You know. You.”
Smooth, Soto. Smooth.
Fleeting concern zapped through my brain. What about Brigid? What did this mean? Those feelings were numbed when I felt the sensation again. He wanted to pull me into him, and I wanted him to wrap his arms around me. But the flow cooled quickly, like we’d blown a fuse, and all the power went down. We must have become aware of it at the same moment. We sat very still and listened.
Someone was upstairs.
13. Attack
September 24, 1952