I’d learned from Preceptor Ickes and Alton a few things about the Children of Chaos and how we were connected to them. I, for one, understood that I was directly connected to Gaia, as an Elemental. Light and Darkness, however, had a different role to play in a magical’s life, from what I remembered. Those with Darkness were drawn to the danger and death side of Chaos (though not necessarily to inflict it, per se). Light was more attuned to nurturing and growth. Gaia was, in her way, connected to Light, for example, which was why an Elemental was, most of the time, drawn to Light. I had to do a little more digging as to what Light and Darkness did to our magic, though. The details were rather fuzzy in my mind.
Moving on to complete the file, I found myself saddened by its conclusion. I read out loud this time, just to fill the silence that had begun weighing heavily on my shoulders.
“The Grimoire was never completed. With approximately 75 percent of its pages filled with wondrous new charms, spells, hexes and cures, thoughts, impressions and memories, it would be one of the greatest literary and technical creations of contemporary magic… had it been finished. An incomplete Grimoire will not have the same power and influence as a full one. The spells can still be used, but they wouldn’t be 100 percent efficient. Once a spell is recorded into a Grimoire, Chaos somehow makes it official and universally applicable. It’s a process we’ve never fully understood, but rather went with…”
Now, I was officially curious. Extremely curious.
The Grimoire was never completed because of what happened to my father—he went berserk, murdering several magicals and… my mom. Shortly before that, according to Finch, my dad had gone back to Katherine Shipton. And it was after they got together that he went all mass-murdery, and everything changed.
The one thing that everyone got wrong was me. They’d thought I was still in my mother’s womb when she died, and they weren’t able to do an autopsy because my mother had been turned into ashes.
Tears streamed down my cheeks, but I kept reading. I couldn’t stop now. I once again raised my voice, aggravated by the silence around me.
“Hiram Merlin disappeared for three years after killing Hester. The entire magical community mourned. The covens were in an uproar. A manhunt followed, but Hiram eluded them each time. Meanwhile, Katherine Shipton had gone on her own killing spree, killing dozens of high society magicals for reasons still unknown. The motives behind all the murders committed by both Hiram and Katherine were never discovered, nor could we verify that they were still together during those three years. Once Hiram surrendered, he claimed he was innocent. His alibis, however, didn’t support his statement. The evidence was against him. The judicial authorities were never able to establish any other connection between Katherine and Hiram either, beyond their affair. It was considered an amorous triangle gone horribly wrong and treated as such. Hiram was tried and… executed…”
My voice faded.
I exhaled, put the file on my bed, and got up. I’d had enough of that epilogue. I knew what happened afterward, more or less. There were too many gaps in this known timeline for me to ignore them, though. Plus, the few memories I’d recovered of my father, along with the pre-murder stories about him and Mom, spoke in his favor. I had a hard time imagining him as an enraged or cold-blooded killer.
The one thing I needed to know more about, in the meantime, was the Grimoire.
Since it was also used as a journal to record important moments in a magical’s life, I was certain I’d learn more about my parents, if I could get my hands on it. It was supposedly back in New York, but I knew where I could find more information about it. As part of a lead investigative team, and especially after my contributions to Finch’s apprehension, I had unrestricted access to the most sensitive parts of the coven, including the Forbidden Section and the Secret Archives.
I also wanted to get a better look at a Grimoire, just so I could understand what it looked and felt like. It had been bugging me since I’d first laid eyes on them. The little devil on my shoulder insisted that I should do it, and I didn’t even think to object.
It was past midnight when I left my room and quietly made my way to the Forbidden Section. The hallways were mostly dark and quiet. Everyone was probably already asleep—like I should’ve been, since I had to get up early to continue the family visits.
“Tribus. Quattuor. Septem. Aperi Portium,” I whispered the customized spell for this particular room. I touched the doorknob and heard the lock click.
I slipped inside and, just as I was about to close the door behind me, a foot came through, blocking it. It wore a black shoe. My first thought was Wade for some reason, but as I pulled the door back and looked up, I found myself surprised.
“Garrett,” I murmured.
He stood in the doorway, wearing a sheepish smile. He had his usual cream pants, crisp white shirt, and loose, dark red tie, his dark hair freshly buzz-cut on the sides. His eyes were the color of a midnight sky in that light.
“Sorry, I just saw you in the hallway,” he replied. “I was curious why you’d still be up at this hour.”
I felt like a kid caught with a poopy paper bag, ready to drop it on the neighbor’s porch and set it on fire. My face burned. I still had my guard up, especially around Garrett, even though I had full access to the place. I figured the old habit of sneaking into forbidden places died hard.
“Um. I was just… researching,” I said.
Garrett raised an eyebrow. “In the Forbidden Section?”
“Yeah. I’m looking into Grimoires.”
“Why? I doubt Preceptor Ickes would let you study one up close, unattended,” he replied.
Ugh. I’d forgotten how seasoned Garrett was in coven matters. We hadn’t talked much since the Finch incident. We’d exchanged a few words in the hallway now and then, but nothing that could be considered an actual, meaningful conversation. He’d already apologized about his nasty words regarding my Merlin origins, so there wasn’t really bad blood between us, but, still, I’d been wary of attempting any form of friendship with him again.
My foster experiences had taught me to be on my guard at all times, especially after someone did me wrong. I applied it in full in the coven, too.
This time, however, a thought crossed my mind: maybe Garrett could help. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to be nicer to him.
I sighed. There was no point in lying to him. “I want to know what a Grimoire looks and feels like,” I said. “And I want to find out where my parents’ Grimoire is.”
He blinked several times, then nodded slowly.
“Well, I don’t think you should look at a Grimoire by yourself,” he replied. “I’d be more than happy to show you one or two, for you to get an idea. They can be quite… intense.”
“Okay. Thanks,” I whispered, and stepped aside.
Garrett entered and closed the door behind him. The Forbidden Section was an enormous room with shelves covering the walls from top to bottom. There were hundreds of boxes in all shapes and sizes, scrolls and notebooks, along with an entire portion encased in charmed glass, where they kept the Grimoires. They’d had to put a spell on them and treat them as Bestiary creatures, given that they practically oozed energy and influenced magicals. In the middle, there were reading tables with chairs and empty notebooks.
My favorite thing about the notebooks was that they were magically rigged to prevent people from stealing spells from the Grimoires. Even if a witch or a warlock had access to a Grimoire for research and, instead of simply taking notes, they copied the entire spell or the chant required to cast it, the text vanished as soon as they set foot outside the room.
The coven sure knew how to protect its assets, though there was always a bit of wiggle room for failure. Case in point—Kenneth. He’d gotten that curse somehow, and we didn’t know how the Ryders had gotten it.
“The Grimoires are high-level clearance only,” Garrett said, stopping in front of the glass section. “You wouldn’t be able to get through this without the proper spell. I doubt Alton would give you access before your Pledge.”
That seemed reasonable, making my impulsive visit to the Forbidden Section sound downright ridiculous. “I didn’t know that.”
“That’s cool. I’m here and happy to help,” he replied, giving me a half-smile before he placed his fingers on the glass and whispered a spell. Wisps of light shot across the glass surface, lighting up the many symbols that were normally hidden. He opened the glass door and took one of the leather-bound journals out. “Let’s see what this one’s about,” he added.
“How are you allowed to open that?” I asked.
“Alton put me in charge of curating the Grimoires for the next couple of months,” he explained. “The task is given in rotation to avoid any of us being influenced in a negative way. Like I said, these babies can be pretty intense.”
He walked over to one of the tables, then placed the Grimoire on top. It was a big and heavy-looking thing, with a solid black leather cover and a multitude of strange etchings on its spine. I didn’t recognize any of the symbols.
We sat down in front of it, and Garrett untied the leather strings holding its cover and pages together. It looked rather old, with yellowed paper and a multitude of scribbles on the edges. The first page drew my attention. The writing was an attempt at elegant cursive, with curves and swirls, but sharp and scratchy throughout. To me, that denoted a feminine nature with a dark, rough side. Someone who tried to fall into a certain category, but could not quite rid herself of the demons within.
The second most interesting aspect was that it was written in French, and I could understand every single word. Garrett noticed my confused frown.
“It’s written in French,” he said.
“I know,” I replied.
“Then what’s wrong? You look troubled.”
“I don’t speak French. I never learned it. Yet I understand every word. How does that work?” I asked.
He chuckled. “It’s magic. Grimoires are written in different languages to throw humans off, if they ever come across one. But a magical will always understand the tongue of Chaos,” he explained. “It’s in our DNA, I suppose.”