Page 48

The scent of old paper clung thick in the air—earthy, ink-sweet, tinged with the sharpness of leather bindings and secrets long sealed.

Whispers drifted like ghosts between rows of ancient shelves, hushed reverence hanging in the vaulted stillness.

The entire place felt like a sacred inhale, like the world holding its breath around knowledge too precious to speak aloud.

Gentry walked ahead of me, a quiet guide beneath the cathedral hush.

He led me down a discreet staircase, tucked behind a column carved with ivy and saints, into a secluded alcove where the air seemed older still.

Here, the texts were preserved with almost religious care.

He donned white gloves before pulling select tomes from their resting places, each movement deliberate, delicate. Ritualistic.

“Here,” he murmured, holding up a looking glass for me to peer through.

I leaned in and forgot to breathe.

Beneath the magnifying lens was a 16th-century document, its ink faded but legible, the script painstakingly neat.

It chronicled the hanging of five women, the first recorded witchcraft trial.

Alice had stood accused of silencing her twin sister, of cursing an infant to death, of summoning ailments and ruin across their town.

The other women were condemned by association.

Witches by kinship, or merely friendship. A cult, the record claimed. Her cult.

What Gentry had tried to tell me before was that at the time of Alice's disappearance, the other women who were to stand trial lost their tongues. Cut from their mouths. Texts heavily suggest that it was Alice's way of silencing them from speaking out against her.

“From what I’ve gathered,” Gentry said, eyes still on the document, “there was deep-rooted tension between Maggie and Alice. But I haven’t been able to determine what exactly caused it.”

He adjusted his glasses. “Maggie married Lord Stanton’s son, Alban, rather suddenly. Then came the pregnancy. And not long after... odd things started happening. Crop rot. Fires in the night. A stream overrun with frogs.”

“And that was Alice’s fault?” I inquired, voice low.

“There’s nothing concrete in the records. Only hearsay. But there was an incident in the village square. Words exchanged. Witnesses. And then Maggie lost her ability to speak.”

I pressed my lips together. That matched the curse. The one I knew too well. The one that took what you cherished most and made it disappear. Like your voice, your humanity.

Gentry began carefully tucking the documents away, his movements tender and precise. He cleared his throat as he sealed the last case. “Not that it’s any of my business,” he said, not quite meeting my eyes, “but why the sudden interest in Alice Tempest? Why now?”

His bluntness startled a laugh out of me. Honest, unguarded. I thought back to what Nemo had told me. About truth. About how it might be the key to freedom, if I was brave enough to unearth it.

“Can I buy you a drink, Gentry?”

It wasn’t necessarily my most brilliant idea to drag a knife across my palm after I’d been drinking, but I wasn’t drunk.

Still, the red liquid pooled quicker than I’d imagined.

But I couldn’t decide what hurt worse—the pain caused by the blade, or the twist my heart did when Grim did not appear.

Not even to reprimand, or toss the knife away.

Gentry’s eyes grew wide, watching with rapt fascination as my skin slowly knit itself back together. Leaving no evidence but a drop of blood that fell to my shirt, as if it had never happened.

“How did you discover that?” He looked up at me, his expression curious.

I shuddered, my brows pinching together.

“OH…ohh… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” Gentry stammered, realization dawning on his face.

“It’s alright. It was only once, before I learned it was impossible.

It was a low for me.” The memory was painful, but the bitter heartache I’d felt as I made the choice was even worse.

That was a rough year. Decade, perhaps. The only spark of light was that Death appeared and carried my battered body to shore through the angry waves.

He held me close as my body healed itself, every nerve and stretch of skin.

My fingers found his charms at my neck, rubbing the discs in a soothing motion, calming the pieces of me that still cried out for him .

“If you don’t mind me asking… how old are you?”

I wiped my eyes with the back of my sleeve, returning my attention to the sweet professor before me. "One hundred and forty-seven.”

Gentry jerked back, his glasses falling down his nose once more as his eyes bulged from his head. “That’s a long time. I mean you’re not old—I mean you don’t—”

I laughed, a real laugh. The kind that illuminated the darkness that began to take up room inside me. “It’s alright. I am quite old. But no, I don’t look it.” Although I wish I did.

“I’ll help,” he announced, grabbing my hands.

Second guessing himself, he pulled away, but I reached forward and held tight.

“Thank you, Gentry. Truly…”

“What! Are you kidding? You’ve just given me the best gift I could ask for. It’s all real… magic . And the opportunity to aid a beautiful woman break her centuries old curse? A curse I just happen to be an expert in. I’d say fate was real too.”

He had no idea…