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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 callheretical. 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 simplymagic. 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 sawnothing.”

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.