Page 33 of Lunar Desires (Celestial Magic #2)

RILEY

T he smell of cookies filled the kitchen.

Nothing like some late-night baking to lighten the mood.

Pfft. I was hardly in a light state of mind. More like restless, totally lost, and ready to scream the roof off this mansion.

After a hot shower, and light-years away from sleep, I came downstairs to make my one and only specialty—chocolate chip cookies.

The last time I’d seen Drake, he’d told me the witchcops had killed the other Uncle Jonathon, acquiring another stone—meaning we now had the red, yellow, green, orange, purple, and blue. Only the pink remained with the leverage part of my uncle, stuck in Faerie.

How did you get those stones, arsehole?

Aaron had identified more details about them. Destroying them did take a great force, resulting in a destructive explosion. Also, there was an interesting detail about them slipping away from the non-fae as a result of failure. Which explained Uncle Jonathon’s baffled reaction over us having them.

Nasty little things.

After me almost burning to death, Drake scooped me off the ground and carried me to a car the witchcops provided and drove us back in silence, me sobbing in the back seat. In a ball, not coping. Then he’d put me in my bedroom, kissing my cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” he’d said. “I’m here if you need me.”

He’d come back with the updates, but I hadn’t seen him in two hours.

Okay, fine. I’d surmised he was giving me space, not avoiding me. So, I could stop being a sulky little biatch. Ugh. And I wasn’t mad at him for shooting me. What choice did he have? He’d been smart to stop me.

Check me out, not being mad. Something to throw in the face of the darkness.

As I prepped a third batch of cookies, I winced as the memory of my arrogance flashed behind my eyes.

I’d been so convinced breaking the blue stone would kill him. So sure of myself, so consumed with rage it blinded me to everything other than getting one up on him.

“No more,” I told myself. “No more.”

Being emotionally battered and bruised left me exhausted. Whatever power hummed in me from the moon, I didn’t care. I just wanted peace and cookies and to hide away for at least a week.

With blobs of cookie dough all lined up, I slid them into the oven.

This house would be kept in sugary treats for a good while. I had a lot to bake before the night was through. And since I didn’t want to wake anyone with karaoke, I chose baking as my coping mechanism instead.

The memory flashed again, my stomach in knots.

If the stone had broken…

No. This was all about cookies, not death.

So much had already been about death and blood and all the bad stuff.

“Just let me have this,” I said, preparing another batch of sugary goodness.

Erin found me later, just after midnight, surrounded by tub after tub of cookies.

I sat on a stool at the kitchen island, mulling over the possibility of going for thirteen batches of cookies. You know, to make a baker’s dozen worth.

“This scent is enchanting,” she declared, a notebook in her hands. “A midnight snack may be in order here.”

She was a big fan of my cookies.

“Help yourself.” I gestured to the sweet treats.

Rather than indulge, she pulled out a stool, laying the book on it. “I’ve been looking for this for months.” She gestured to the black-and-gold tome, an embossed, golden Mickey Mouse on the cover.

“What is it?”

“Your mother’s diary.”

My interest was seriously piqued. “Really?”

A soft smile lifted her lips. “I know you’ve been struggling with the magic inside you. How it’s changing you.”

I nodded, my mood sinking from the cookie highs. “God…” I rubbed my eyes. “Maybe I should just sleep the day off.”

“Not before you read this.” She tapped on the notebook with her finger. “I think this will help.”

Juliet Aurora’s diary. Could I bring myself to read it? I mean, I’d read Uncle Jonathon’s, but his words only elicited feelings of disgust. Every damn sentence dripped with vanity and malevolence.

My birth mother’s would be a different kettle of fish.

“I’ll leave it with you,” Erin said. “Now. May I indulge myself before I lose my mind?”

Staring at the notebook, I mumbled a yes. Curious, scared, and feeling a headache coming on.

“Those cookies are so wonderful. Thank you.”

Eyes still on the notebook, I said, “You’re welcome.”

“I don’t know what I’ll do if you ever stop baking them.”

I chuckled, her obsession easing my headache a smidgen. “Hint taken. No ceasing of my cookie duties here.”

She patted my leg affectionately. “I’m glad it worked. I’m sly when it comes to sugar.”

I traced a finger across Micky Mouse. “Was she a Disney fan?”

Erin popped the kettle on. “Massively. Would you like a tea?”

“No, thanks.”

What was her favorite film? Which character did she love the most? Were the answers in these pages?

God, I’d love to ask her these questions in the flesh.

“Read it,” Erin added. “Show it to Isaac. I think it will help.”

I rubbed out some ache from the back of my neck. “Thanks.”

“You are most welcome.”

Five minutes after Erin left with a cup of tea and six cookies, I took the notebook into the library.

My mood brightened a little, as it always did in the mansion’s library.

Grander than grand, still upholding the gold-and-terracotta décor of this house, the mahogany bookshelves were huge, lining the curved walls from floor to ceiling on two levels.

Filled with rare editions of literary classics, historical texts, fantasy series—all sorts of things.

You want it, this library probably had it.

And it sported plenty of cozy spots to curl up with a book.

My favorite was a terracotta loveseat by the huge window overlooking the sea.

Something about it soothed me, giving me the warm and fuzzies.

I took the notebook to it, got myself comfortable, and prepared myself to begin reading my birth mother’s words under the glow of a Tiffany lamp.

“Here goes,” I whispered, counting myself down. My fingers trembled, my heart hiccuping nervously.

On the first page was her name, written in elegant cursive, possibly in black fountain pen ink. Nice. I was often complimented on the prettiness of my handwriting.

“Got it from you,” I said.

Okay. Next page. First entry dated forty years ago at the creation of shadow magic and House Kingwood. Juliet wrote about her determination to end this threat, to fulfill her destiny with her siblings.

Sadly, when the Battle of Coldharbour Downs hit fifteen long years later, her hope diminished, reflected in every turn of the page, her determination fading.

Page after page of desperation, lamenting her failure to wrangle her siblings into action.

Details about Uncle Jonathon’s arrogance, saying that he knew they’d win.

How slow and steady always wins the race, which Juliet rebutted with a ramble about how they were at a stalemate with House Kingwood.

They needed to go harder and faster. Kane Kingwood already had too much support.

I didn’t know much about the former Star—Aunt Janet. In this diary, Juliet was a lot more favorable toward her than her brother, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t frustrated.

But she did mention something about Aunt Janet following her heart more than her head, led by love. Or, as Juliet put it:

Dragged by the chains of romance. She’s a puppy on a leash and I’m sick of it. Where is my sister the fighter? What happened to The Star who beat the Winchester Coven in our early days? I miss her so much.

What am I going to do?

I didn’t know the Winchester Coven. Probably some arseholes gunning for power of whatever back in the day.

Short paragraphs of misery followed. Seven years were missing, jumping to the year of House Aurora’s downfall.

God, how was this helpful to read? A study in what not to do? Yeah, cheers. As if my own internal anguish wasn’t enough, I had to read about my mother’s?

Mother. Mum. God, it didn’t feel right to think or say. Which made zero sense when I called Johnathon and Janet uncle and aunt respectively. Why not the same for Juliet?

I guess I wasn’t ready to let go of Emily Croft being my mum.

It took a few more minutes of leafing through the diary to find a section about Juliet’s love for Disney. Cinderella was her favorite, a film to temporarily escape the sorrow of a broken heart in the dark days after her fall.

She longed for her own fairytale, to escape this hell.

Then came some stuff about Dad. How she’d met him on Coldharbour’s main beach one late February night.

Went walking on the beach to think. Wandered to Rainbow Mile, sat on a bench to watch the lights. They are always so pretty.

Erin says I should not walk on the beach alone. But the sea and the wind help so much. So what if someone spots me? Let them spit at me. Let them spew their hatred. It isn’t anything I haven’t heard before.

Anyway, I met a wonderful man, thanks to my walking. He asked to join me on the bench. And I let him, despite the risks. I get so lonely, and his face is so gorgeous. He offered me some of his rum-and-raisin fudge he bought from Frankie’s Fudge. Delicious. Like his blue eyes.

We chatted until sunrise. About everything. By Hecate, it felt so good.

His name is Daniel.

I think I’m smitten.

I think I’ve found my prince.

You’re not the only one, Cinderella!

So, they met at Coldharbour’s main seafront—Rainbow Mile. Cute.

The diary skipped ahead a few months.

I’m pregnant. I can’t believe it. I’m going to be a mother.

But it’s wrong. I shouldn’t bring children into this.

Daniel says we can run away, that he’ll leave his wife. But how can I let him? And I hate myself for breaking up a marriage.

Still, I love him so much. I wish we could run away and raise our children together.

A somber weight hunched my shoulders, forcing me to take a moment before turning the next pages.

Triplets! In Hecate’s name! I am pregnant with the next generation of Aurora witches!

A few pages later.