Jason thought about that for a minute, then asked, “Have you considered reaching out to Armand?”
He hadn’t, but perhaps he should have. Jason’s reclusive grandsire, Armand, was over a thousand years old, and the world’s foremost expert on paranormal folklore in comparative religions. It seemed reasonable to assume that would include Druidism, and that he’d have knowledge of theCodexand whatever lost language it had been written in.
“He lives for things like this,” Jason continued, respect and fondness softening his voice. “If nothing else, he could verify its authenticity.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Brandon agreed. “I’ll speak to Muriel about it.”
They both looked upward as light footsteps sounded from above and the door to the upstairs apartment opened.
“You do that,” Jason said with a smile as he headed for the door. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.” He might need more than luck.
“Good morning,” Muriel said a minute later, handing Brandon a mug of coffee and a freshly baked blueberry muffin. He accepted both.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to. It’s the least I could do. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”
“I’m happy to do it. How are you feeling this morning?”
“Fantastic! I didn’t realize the toll the surges weretaking, but with your magic stabilizing me, I feel so much better. I’m sorry I doubted you.”
Guilt turned the delicious bite of muffin to ash in his mouth. All that bullshit he’d spouted to Jason about delaying the inevitable crumbled in the face of those trusting eyes. “About that… there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Okay.” She sat at the small table, looking at him expectantly. The words were right there, ready to pass his lips and unburden his guilty conscience. Then a series of visions flitted across his mind’s eye—her beautiful face falling as the truth sank in. Betrayal snuffing out the blue sparks in her eyes. Her screams as the Collectors tracked her down and siphoned her magic because she’d wanted nothing to do with him anymore.
“I was thinking… if you’re up for it, I know someone who might be able to tell us more about that book your mother left you.”
Yeah. He was a coward.
7
LEARNING CURVE… WITH DISTRACTIONS
MURIEL
Muriel satacross from Brandon at the small table, cradling her mug. She’d been so focused on his lips that his words took a moment to register.
“Really? Who?”
“His name is Armand Castellano. He's a scholar—over a thousand years old. If anyone has knowledge of ancient magical texts, it's him.”
A thousand years. The number made her dizzy. Her mother's book was old, she knew that much. The pages—what little she’d seen of them—were yellowed and brittle, the binding worn from centuries of use. And the magic that radiated from it was nothing like she’d ever felt before.
“He specializes in paranormal folklore and comparative religions,” Brandon continued. “Ancient magic, lostpractices, that sort of thing. The book would fascinate him.”
Muriel's fingers tightened on the mug. It was tempting, but she had no idea how it would react to anyone besides her. It had shied away from Brandon that first day but seemed to be less bristly now that they were sharing his space.
“I don't know,” she said slowly. “It was hidden for a reason.”
“I understand.” Brandon's voice was gentle. “But if the Collectors are hunting you for it, don't you want to know why? What makes it so valuable that they'd kill for it?”
Yes, yes, she did. The not-knowing was almost worse than the threat of danger.
“Do you think he would...” She hesitated. “Would he try to take it from me?”
“No.” Brandon's response was immediate and certain. “Armand is a scholar, not a collector. He'd want to study it, understand it, but he wouldn't try to claim it.”