Page 59

“I never learned,” I say carefully.

“Of all the things, you can’t even learn Mondurian. All of you are so quick to forget the past,” she mutters under her breath.

Mondurian? This book is Tartarian Tongue, but Josie knows it by something else. I’m not even sure what to make of that.

She opens it back up flipping to a page near the middle. “This one was my favorite.”

“Favorite what?”

“Story. You really don’t know what this is?” she asks incredulously.

“No clue. Tell me.”

“It’s Davös Hoyas. She used to say it was all made up.” There’s nostalgia in her voice, quiet and sad.

“Pretend I’m an idiot,” I begin.

“Pretend?” She furrows her brow, and I laugh.

“I have no idea what you just said.”

“Li Labo o Davös Hoyas. The Book of the Dark…there really isn’t a word for it in our language. It would be akin to saviors or destroyers. The king and queen of the Mondurians.”

“Saviors or destroyers? That’s a big leap.”

She shrugs with indifference. “Not really, depending on how you look at it.”

“You owned a copy?”

“Until…” She sounds haunted.

I want to push her further. To explain what she means, but I don’t think she’ll tell me.

“This was the story of the Hoyas. I always thought it was romantic, but Vivian said it was morbid.”

“Vivian can read Mondurian?” I don’t even know how to process what she’s saying. No one, I mean no one, speaks this Mondurian, and here Josie is just rattling off complete phrases like it’s nothing.

“No, she wasn’t interested in learning. Her mother, like you people, called it the Tartarian Tongue. She liked to listen though, even if she tried to pretend she hated it. Her favorite was Pandora.”

Tartarian Tongue, indeed. Before Magic fizzled out, they say witches wrote their spells in Tartarian Tongue that way no one could read them, and use them against their will. This mystery woman who taught Josie must have been a witch, and quite an old one. By all accounts they’ve all been burned. Maybe Josie is a witch, too.

“So this Pandora. Was she the queen?”

Her eyes scan the pages, flipping through them with grace. The way she bites her lip and squints her eyes in concentration is mystifying. How can someone so violent look so innocent?

“No, she was just a dumb bitch who…” She looks as if I’ve slapped her.

“What is it?” I pry.

“Nothing. I can’t remember. It was a long time ago.” Josie snaps the book shut. “I went through most of your shit in here, by the way.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

She gets up, slides the ancient book back into the slot where she found it, and wanders out into the hallway, signifying that she is done with the conversation. Intelligence, beauty, and now she speaks an ancient lost language.

I take her cue and follow her out of the door. Instead of going toward the living room, she heads in the opposite direction, opening the next door and disappearing into the darkness. I’ve never had someone invade my space like this.

She pops her head out. “What is this?”