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CHAPTER ONE

I fold the carefully written note and tuck it into the back pocket of my jeans. Stepping inside the ornate entrance to the Boston Public Library, I soak in the quiet after the noise of traffic sounds outside.

The ambience inside the library should be relaxing—it would be on any other day—but I’ve been planning this visit for months and I don’t expect it to go smoothly.

My fingertips linger at my waist. I try to ignore the urge to check the contents of my pockets once more. I carry a handwritten spell in each of them, spells I’ve spent a long time researching.

I pray I don’t need the one in my left pocket, but I’m prepared to use it if I have to.

The library’s entrance hall takes my breath away.

I climb the main staircase to the second level, passing the carved stone lions on my way up.

To most people, the lions are a testament to history and learning, but to magical beings, they’re a warning.

The supernaturals who guard this place will not tolerate an intrusion like the one I’m planning.

I’m about to break all the rules in the book, but I’ve run out of options. The library is my last hope.

I left my usual heels at home, opting for a pair of whisper-quiet ballet flats that allow me to creep through Bates Hall once I reach the second level.

The arched ceiling curves high above me while the sunlight hitting the solid wood tables and green lamps on either side creates an ethereal glow inside the elongated room.

Taking a deep breath—my last calm breath—I stride toward the wooden table at the front of the room where the librarian sits, studying a thick book that lies open in front of her.

She’s a petite woman with piles of sandy-brown curls spilling across her shoulders.

She’s dressed smartly in a skirt and suit jacket, her spectacles perched on her nose.

She looks like a typical librarian, but I know better.

It’s impossible to sneak up on her. Her back stiffens as she senses my approach. She swivels in her seat, her shoulders rigid and her gaze narrowed, giving me a quick assessment.

Identifying me, she fails to hide the fear in her eyes fast enough.

For years, I was a recluse, remaining in my home on Saber Lane. I spent my time dispensing harmless spells for random clients like the good little witch that I was. I believed I had no say in my life, that I was damaged beyond repair and could do nothing more than wield the most basic magic.

But I’ve since learned that I’m much stronger than I realized. What’s more, I associate with people who make killing their business. My friends are assassins who excel at their craft.

The librarian quickly relaxes, a forced slackening of her shoulders and unclenching of her fists as she rises from her seat.

A haughty expression replaces her surprise. I know what she’s thinking: I can’t be here to challenge her.

This library is the stronghold of the Boston Order of Angels. Nobody is stupid enough to take on one of their warrior angels within their home. Let alone me —a witch whose power is damaged.

“Tanzanina Gray,” she says, keeping her voice low and unobtrusive. “This is an unexpected surprise.”

I force my teeth to unclench. Nobody calls me ‘Tanzanina’ unless they want trouble. Tanzanina was the name my mother used to call me, and it holds a sacred place in my heart. Ever since her death, everyone calls me ‘Tansy.’

“Hello, Iriel,” I say, satisfied when she jolts with surprise. The angels guard their true names in the same way that I guard my full name. “My visit was inevitable. You have something I need.”

Quickly hiding her surprise, she gives me a nonchalant stare. “What might that be?”

She knows exactly why I’m here. And I know that she knows. But it looks like we’re going to play a little game.

“I need the revival spell contained in The Blessed Grimoire,” I answer, maintaining a pleasant tone. “Give it to me and I’ll leave you in peace.”

The Blessed Grimoire is hidden among the books in this room.

It will be concealed in plain sight, masquerading as an ordinary book—like a dictionary, or an encyclopedia, or even a memoir.

It’s cloaked in protective spells that prevent it being found by anyone who doesn’t already know its location. I need her to lead me to it.

The aura of light around her silhouette brightens as she braces for attack. Humans can’t see auras, but most magical beings have one—all different. It’s how I can tell another supernatural’s species without having to ask.

Among the people studying at the tables behind me, there are multiple shifters and a vampire. So far, I haven’t seen any other angels, but I’m certain they won’t be far away.

Iriel’s voice lowers to a soft snarl. “You can’t have it.”

Every syllable she speaks grates on my nerves. The back of my neck prickles, telling me she’s drawing on her angelic powers.

I take a step toward her despite the threat. “I need it?—”

“To repair your power.” She gives me another haughty stare. “Your pride will be your undoing, Tanzanina.”

I press my lips together. Nobody has ever called me ‘proud’ before. Stubborn, prickly, defensive—but not proud.

The librarian’s condescending tone intensifies. “When your mother died in that unfortunate incident, you were left half a witch. It’s common knowledge among the angels that you can’t remember spells—despite the power burning inside you. You are no match for me.”

Normally, I would take a deep breath at this point and force myself to calm down, but I deliberately allow her patronizing tone to rankle me.

It’s true that I can’t remember spells. I have to read them aloud, which is why I carry handwritten notes in my pockets.

But if I become emotional enough, I can access my instinctive power and react without thought. It doesn’t happen often, and it’s only triggered by pain, but I’m counting on my magic to show itself today.

I clench my teeth. “You will give me The Blessed Grimoire, Iriel.”

She squares her shoulders and tips her chin. “You can’t have it. The revival spell is too dangerous to be let out into the world.”

“I’m aware of its danger, but it’s my last hope.”

Her jaw clenches before the smallest measure of pity passes across her expression, her eyes taking on a lustrous glow.

“You know I can’t give it to you, no matter how compelling your reasons.

That spell can revive the dead, bring back lost memories, mend broken objects, rekindle an old romance…

Whatever you need revived, it can do it.

But the result will be chaos. Everything happens for a reason, Tanzanina.

Part of your power is gone and it is meant to remain gone. You will not get the book from me.”

I sigh inwardly. Sure, the revival spell could bring back my ability to remember spells, but what she doesn’t know is that I don’t want the spell for myself.

I casually hook my thumb into the top of my right pocket, pressing against the handwritten spell inside it.

She takes my moment of silence as acceptance of her decision. “I bid you well, Tanzanina.”

I shake my head. All that destiny crap. I accepted it once. Not anymore. Now I believe in making my own future.

With a calm movement, I lay my hand on her arm, keeping my tone pleasant. “I’m not leaving without it.”

She leans back, edging away from my hand, glancing at my face. “Do you intend to do this the hard way?”

Her angelic power tingles beneath my fingertips. Currents flow through her body. If she releases her wings, she’ll be able to access her full power. She’s physically stronger than me, faster than me, maybe more powerful than me, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.

I smile. “I enjoy the hard way.”