Page 7

She collapsed against the shower screen and pressed her hot cheek against the wet glass. “I need to get that man out of my head.”

Focus on the mission.

Yes, that’s what she would do. Focus on the mission, the spell, and the work. Ignore the man. With her legs quivering and her breath uneven, Annabelle turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. There was a pizza calling with her name on it.

She dried herself off, wrapped her wet hair in a towel, turban style, and padded into her bedroom.

Searching her drawer for a clean pair of panties, her fingers brushed against the item she’d buried at the back.

With a glance at the door, she grabbed a pair of cotton gloves and pulled the bundle out.

Wrapped in layers of protective paper was a book.

Old and fragile, the vellum pages worn and well used and tied together with strips of leather, it weighed heavy in her hands and on her soul.

One look at it when her boss at Rarity—the rare and antique bookshop where Annabelle worked—had set it aside for assessment, she’d known what it was. A grimoire. A book of spells.

Ancient spells? Maybe, maybe not. Its pages were vellum. The bindings and the cover were of a medieval style. The writing looked like it had been done with ink and quill. But every word written was in English. Modern English. Not Anglo Saxon. Not Latin.

All the same, a careful, surreptitious peek at a few pages was all Annabelle had needed to determine she couldn’t let this book out of her sight.

Or let it fall into the wrong hands. Not these spells.

Blood magic was powerful magic. It’s what made Annabelle’s coven so strong.

Like any magic used with ill intent, the consequences could be devastating.

This grimoire was full of blood magic spells, many of them meant to harm, not heal.

It had taken Annabelle a split second to decide she’d have to steal the book, two days to plan her theft, and a week of waiting until her boss left for another auction in New York, before she could enact her plan.

Now the grimoire sat hidden amongst her underwear.

Annabelle set it on the top of her dresser and lifted the cover, avoiding the ominous splotches of dark brownish-red. How many people had suffered at the hands of this witch?

The night she’d brought it home, after she was sure Isobella was asleep, Annabelle had read the grimoire from cover to cover. With each page, the oily sensation in her stomach had grown. This had been a dark witch, indeed.

The most benign of the spells was one at the back of the book.

She turned the pages until she was staring at it.

A spell to transport a person to the destination of their choice, in the present or the past. Annabelle had wondered at its inclusion.

It had seemed harmless enough. Though with what her coven planned to do with it, maybe it wasn’t so harmless after all.

Who had used this spell in the past? And to do what?

Annabelle’s first instinct had been to take the book to her great aunt, the High Priestess.

Then the Kings had come sniffing around, talking of alliances between the two families, hinting Annabelle wouldn’t have the support of the coven if she were to take on leadership of the coven when Aunt Marjory stepped down.

Something she’d been thinking about for a while now.

The Kings had made a few insinuations, called in allegiances and stirred up old rivalries. The support for her family was waning. The idea Annabelle was strong enough to rule as High Priestess alone, as her great aunt had for the last forty years, they openly dismissed and mocked.

If the Kings were to get hold of this book, if Cordelia were to get her hands on it, there was no doubt in Annabelle’s mind they would use it. Perhaps to take over the coven. If, however, the Jacksons could use it to secure their position, without doing any harm, or perhaps doing some good…

Annabelle had risked sending a photo of the time travel spell to her great aunt.

She’d lied to her, the High Priestess, telling her it was a single page she’d found stuffed in the back of an illuminated manuscript from a monastery in France.

Gabriel’s and Stefanie’s recent arrival was an unexpected boon, lending credence to her story.

They’d tested the spell, of course. Simple tests at first. Changing rooms, changing houses, always in the present.

Two weeks ago, at her aunt’s direction, Annabelle had used the spell to go back in time.

A few weeks only. They’d taken care Annabelle would not meet herself in the past. Whether the time paradox actually existed, neither Annabelle nor her aunt cared to find out.

She’d also been under strict instructions not to change anything.

The trial had been a moderate success. Annabelle had chosen the moment the grimoire had arrived at Rarity.

Who knew what other books the seller might have in his possession.

Unfortunately, she’d missed him by an hour.

When she’d returned, she’d missed her target by several hours.

The spell, it seemed, wasn’t completely infallible.

Would it be less accurate the greater span of time you wanted to cross?

That was something they had yet to test.

A ding from her phone snapped her attention away from the spell. She quickly re-wrapped the book in its protective paper, shoved it back under her panties and bras, and dug through her bag for her phone. A text from the High Priestess.

I’ve arranged for you to meet Gabriel and Stefanie for dinner to discuss our plans. You have a reservation at The Lounge at the Ritz-Carlton at 7pm.

Shit. Face Gabriel again so soon? At least she wouldn’t be alone. They’d be in a public place, and he was unlikely to follow her into the bathroom at the Ritz-Carlton. And Dutton wouldn’t be there. Bonus.

She sighed. There was no help for it. If she wanted this mission, she had to go. She had no choice but to deal with Gabriel.

Wrapped in a towel, she padded out to the living room. Isobella sat on the couch absently flicking through the TV channels, the half-decorated Christmas tree abandoned. Did she seem paler than usual? More…defeated?

Despite the similarities in their names, Isobella was the yin to Annabelle’s yang.

Where she was fair-haired and blue-eyed, Isobella was all Latino, with long dark hair, dark eyes and that beautiful skin Annabelle had always admired.

Where Annabelle was in-your-face outspoken and adventurous, Isobella was more introverted and softly spoken.

But Isobella’s life hadn’t been easy, and there was a thread of steel beneath her quiet exterior that few people ever saw.

Annabelle had thought she’d been bouncing back, smiling more.

Taking a leaf out of Annabelle’s play book, speaking up for herself more and demanding the respect and consideration she deserved. Maybe not.

“Hey.”

Isobella looked up at her from her random scrolling.

“Just got a text from Aunt Marjory. Pizza is off the menu for me tonight. Sorry. I have a meeting at the Ritz-Carlton with our wolf shifters.”

The sag of Isobella’s shoulders tugged at Annabelle. Maybe she should call and cancel tonight. “Are you okay?”

Isobella shrugged. “Just a little tired.” Her gaze flicked to the Christmas tree, and she sank further into the couch.

Fucking Douglas. Sometimes men were more trouble than they were worth. “I can cancel. Make it tomorrow night. The tenth century isn’t going anywhere.”

“And miss out on a fancy dinner at the Ritz-Carlton? You should go.”

“I don’t know…”

Isobella waved her off. “Cheese toasties and an early night suit me fine. I’ll finish this”—she jabbed her thumb at the mess of Christmas ornaments—“and I know you’re not a huge Die Hard fan, so I’ll watch that tonight.

It’s the only Christmas movie I think I can stomach right now.

Douglas hated it. I think he was jealous of my crush on Bruce Willis. ”

“If you’re sure…”

“Honestly, I’ll probably fall asleep halfway through the movie. Go. Enjoy.”

Annabelle wasn’t sure about enjoying it, but Isobella wasn’t wrong about fancy. The Ritz-Carlton. Annabelle was going to order the most expensive damn thing on the menu. Gabriel would pay for ditching her, one way or another.