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Finndryl picked up the book with even more care than he’d shown the scrolls earlier. But when he held the book up to the moonlight, though the book shimmered, his hands remained the same, beautiful in their mahogany tones.

They did not glow. The magic did not seek him out as it did Lore.

“I don’t feel any stronger, nor do I feel theSource, as you say the book has.” Finndryl dropped down beside her, handing the grimoire over. “Well, I suppose that is just another way that the book is unique. It chose you, and so you have access to itsSource.”

So many thoughts were racing through Lore’s head. She felt a little dizzy. She thought that with Finndryl’s help, she could finally tease out the grimoire’s secrets. But the more she learned about magic—orSource—it seemed as if she gained more questions.

She’d always been able to see the magic swirling around Duskmere, though it did not enter the town. It appeared something, or someone, kept magic outside of Duskmere. Were there others in Duskmere who could see the wisps as well? Or was it just her? She wished she’d asked, but her mama’s voice came back to her, urging her away from the forest where the wisps lived, refusing to broach the taboo subject of magic. Lore had just never made the connection, and now it was too late. There wasn’t another human around to ask.

“Do you think the Edgemoor Library would have any scrolls on the grimoire? Your scholar may have called them legends or myths, but in my experience, there is always truth hidden within a good story,” she said.

“I’m sure there are, but I wouldn’t be able to grant you access. Only those who attend the academy, esteemed alumni, orthe very important or wealthy have access to the ancient archives. The grimoire is at least one thousand years old, correct?” He coughed, gaze skittering away. “I am also, sort of, banned from the library.”

Disappointment bloomed in Lore’s chest. Why couldn’t anything just be easy for once?

At least there was something else to focus on. “You must tell me the story of how you got banned from a library.” The only one she’d ever been to was cursed. But in books, libraries were the most magical of places, ones that celebrated knowledge and welcomed all.

He grinned, his sharp canines glinting in the candlelight, and rubbed the back of his muscular neck. “Let’s just say that if the scholar had denied these scrolls that I brought with me today, I would have found my way in tonight and simply taken them. Only, I wouldn’t have gotten caught this time.”

“This time? What was so worth taking?”

“Younger me didn’t care about being caught or whether a plan was reckless. The scrolls weren’t even that important; I just wanted to see them, and they had denied me access. I was a student, but I was neither important enough nor wealthy enough, so the scholars at Edgemoor wouldn’t give me access. If my sister was here, she would probably chime in about how I’ve always had a problem staying out of places I wasn’t wanted.” Finndryl’s grin turned sheepish.

Lore smiled in return. “I think that might be true for both of us.”

***

The two went to work and the next two weeks blurred together in a haze of lessons. Lore and Finndryl poured over tomes asthick as a candle and translated spell after spell. Despite their best efforts, some remained untranslatable, their words too indecipherable for even Finndryl’s mastery of four languages.

Although Lore was exhausted from the day’s work and Finndryl was often sticky and tired from the tavern, Lore learned to translate the ancient symbols and words. She learned to read and write them and even to recite them, carefully.

Sometimes, their fingers would brush when they dipped their quills into their shared inkpot and the shock would startle Lore. The brief contact birthed a quick heat that shot from the brush of their hands to her core, and the feel of his fingers against hers would linger long after they’d closed their books for the night.

It wasn’t long before she yearned for the day to end, for the patrons to leave, and for Finndryl to step through the little door that led to the kitchen.

Lore was a fast learner. She’d always had a love for languages, and the first time she translated a full page of the grimoire on her own, a passage about a special bark that could combat the effects of certain poisons, she glanced up, startled.

Finn’s eyes met hers and his nod and accompanying rare smile spoke volumes. The edges of his full lips pulling up sent a thrill through her. The sight of his black eyes watching her, pools of ink so dark they could tell a thousand stories, trapped her. The heat radiating from his broad chest, the sureness of his muscled shoulders pressed near her own, and the spicy scent of him stirred something in her.

Lore lay awake that night, feeling guilty and missing Asher. She wished she could tell him everything she’d learned. She yearned for him to return.

And yet, in the moments right before sleep, she would wonder.

What was building between her and Finndryl?

Lore tried to bank those feelings, suppress them, but despitehow often she chased the thought away, it kept finding its way back. A stubborn, inconvenient thing. She would give anything to have Grey with her right now. He always had advice for when her emotions were involved.

***

Although Lore picked up the language quite quickly, it was weeks before she successfully harvestedSource. Unless she was holding the grimoire, she couldn’t hold on to it. She could coax moonlit wisps to her palms, feel the warm tendrils of their lights wiggle in her hands and begin to bleed into her, but they always slipped from her grasp.

It was frustrating, but not as frustrating as daybreak.

At night, Lore could soak in moonlit power, which filled her up and made her stronger and faster. She could even swear that food tasted better at night in those woods, but when the woods turned mauve with the coming dawn, the power within her would dissipate like grains of sand through her fingers. Dawn brought with it the acrid taste of longing.

Eventually, she and Finndryl exhausted the collection of both the Tal Boro library and its scholar, without a single mention of a book even remotely like the grimoire or a whisper of someone being able to seeSource.

But it wasn’t all frustration. The first spell Lore successfully cast was a spell for Asher and Isla. It took three nights of sitting among the clovers while surrounded by the hazelwood trees for them to get it right.