Page 84 of The Messengers of Magic

Chapter Fifty-Seven

A delaide sat with the journal in her lap, her fingers tracing the smooth leather of its cover.

A soft clack echoed through the room, and she looked down.

The keys on the old Underwood were moving, slowly, deliberately, pressed down one by one by unseen hands.

She stared, transfixed, as metal arms struck the ribbon, imprinting letters onto the page.

Open it , Pen had typed.

She hesitated, the air thick with a strange, ancient energy, one that felt both forbidding and powerful.

Somehow, the journal felt heavier with the weight of secrets it held.

Swallowing her apprehension, she slowly cracked it open.

No burst of light, no pull through time.

Just parchment the color of old tea and ink faded to a soft brown.

Pen’s presence pressed close, stronger than ever. Adelaide could sense him standing just over her shoulder, breath ghosting against her neck, attention fixed on the page.

She cleared her throat and read the first line aloud:

“September 5th, 1582. Today, after a most intense scrying session with Edward, he received word that the device Giordano and I have labored upon these many years must be completed before the Pope enacts his new Gregorian calendar next month.”

She turned, speaking over her shoulder to the empty air. “Pen, this is John Dee’s actual journal. It’s not like the others. Those must have just been field notes.”

She didn’t need a reply to know he’d heard her. But the keys clacked anyway, the carriage shifting forward with a soft metallic ding.

I think you’re right. Maybe it will tell us how the watch operates.

She nodded, flipping the page. “My thoughts exactly.”

Together they read on, page after page, absorbed in Dee’s words, how he had created the Astral Synchronum, the geometry involved, the lunar timing, the spiritual preparation, its intended purpose.

And then came the darker passages, entries inked with urgency, words written by a hand that seemed to tremble on the page.

How, when they’d tried to activate it, something had gone terribly wrong.

Adelaide’s breath caught as she turned to the next entry.

But before she could read on, the chimes at the shop’s front door rang out, their sound drifting down into the hidden room.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered.

Click. Click. Click.

YES

“Me too. Hold on. I’ll be right back. Don’t read on without me,” she said, jumping to her feet.

She sprinted up the stairs, her heart pounding. Whoever had come in couldn’t be allowed to find the trapdoor. As she emerged from the hidden space, she breathed a quiet sigh of relief; the person hadn’t wandered in that far yet.

She quickly shut the trapdoor and hurried toward the front of the shop.

“Addie, are you here?” a familiar voice called.

Adelaide stopped in her tracks at the sound of her name. Carolyn. The last person she’d expected. Honestly, she’d figured it would take coaxing, or maybe even bribery, to even get her great-aunt through the door for the grand opening. And here she was, just popping in.

Truthfully, she hadn’t seen much of Carolyn since moving into the Feather Thorn, aside from a brief visit to collect a few odds and ends from the cabin. She’d wanted to give her aunt time to adjust, knowing that buying the bookshop had likely stirred up unwelcome memories for her.

“Carolyn? What are you doing here?” Adelaide asked as she rounded the corner. Carolyn stood framed by the doorway, bundled in a puffy leopard-print jacket that nearly grazed the floor. There was a strange look in her eyes, and Adelaide couldn’t tell if it was skepticism or old memories.

Adelaide raised an eyebrow. “Nice coat.”

“Thank you. It matches my bag,” Carolyn said with a grin, swinging the purple leopard-print purse side to side.

Adelaide laughed. “It certainly does.”

“Camie found it for me. I’ve been looking for something like this for years now.”

Adelaide blinked. Of course. She’d seen Camie with a leopard-print something tucked into her pile when they’d checked out at one of the secondhand shops in Glasgow.

“She really can find anything,” Adelaide teased. “So, what brings you here? Shouldn’t you have closed up hours ago?” She glanced at the clock; it read quarter past seven.

“Oh, I had a big tea order to pack up for London. Needs to ship first thing, so I had to stay a bit late.” Carolyn sighed.

“Plus, I did promise I’d stop in to see what you’ve done with the place.

I thought maybe we could grab a bite to eat after.

I don’t feel much like cooking tonight, and I haven’t seen you in a few days. ”

Adelaide glanced over her shoulder toward the trapdoor; she’d wanted to spend the rest of the night reading the journal with Pen. To see if there were answers on how to free him, but she couldn’t say no to Carolyn.

“Sure. Let me give you a tour first,” she offered, flicking on all the overhead lights.

Carolyn followed as Adelaide led her through the shop, pointing out the things she had done. She started with the children’s section, then on to the cozy reading nook, and finally to the wall where her paintings hung, each one adding a touch of warmth and color.

“It looks great, lass,” Carolyn said, her eyes glued to her paintings. “You’ve done a wonderful job.”

“Thanks, it’s coming together nicely. I’m hoping to open next week.”

As they made their way back to the front, Carolyn paused mid-step, her head tilting slightly. “Is there someone else here?”

Adelaide tried to keep her expression neutral. “No. Just me. Why?”

“I thought I heard you talking to someone when I came in, that’s all.” Carolyn glanced toward the back. Her eyes didn’t just drift, they searched, like she expected someone to be there.

The silence held too long. Adelaide forced a laugh. “Probably the pipes. Or me talking to myself.”

She swallowed hard. Carolyn definitely knew more than she’d let on. She always had. And that look in her eye said she hadn’t just heard something, she’d sensed it. Perhaps she knew Pen was here.

“Come on, let’s grab that bite to eat,” Adelaide said, forcing a casual tone. “I wanted to ask you more about the guy who owned this place before me, Pen Turner.” She watched Carolyn closely, searching for any sign of hesitation.

Carolyn’s expression barely shifted. “Pen? Well, not sure I’ll have much to tell you. I didn’t really know him well.”

“Oh? Dottie said you two were friends,” Adelaide countered, pressing gently.

“We knew each other, sure, but I wouldn’t say we were friends.” Carolyn’s gaze flickered, betraying a hint of discomfort. “He gave me a book once, and I painted the sign out front. That’s about it.”

Adelaide nodded slowly. “Oh really, what book?”

Carolyn waved a hand, too quickly. “Oh, I don’t know. Something old. It’s in my guest room somewhere, buried under layers of dust, I’m sure.”

And there it was, the flicker again. A too-fast answer, eyes that didn’t quite meet hers.

Adelaide held her smile, but her mind was already turning.

The locked guest room. The shadow she’d seen under the door.

There was something in there, something Carolyn was hiding.

And she could feel it deep in her bones; whatever it was, it had to do with Rowland, Pen and this shop, and she was going to find out exactly what.

“Well,” Carolyn said briskly, turning toward the door, “we’d better go if we want to get into the Royal Mantle before the kitchen closes.” But before stepping out, she glanced over her shoulder one last time, her eyes scanning the rows of books.

“Let me just grab my things. I’ll meet you at the car,” Adelaide replied, watching as Carolyn disappeared into the chilly night air outside.

As the door shut, she spun on her heel and sprinted back to the trapdoor. Lifting it just enough, she whispered down to Pen, “I’ll be back. Wait for me.”

Then, letting it close, she grabbed her jacket and stepped outside into the cold.

Tonight, she would try her best to get Carolyn to slip, to say something, anything, that would reveal just how much she really knew.

And if that didn’t work, well, she wasn’t above pulling a James Bond and sneaking into that locked guest room herself.