Page 68 of Witch and Tell

“It opened by itself,” Lise said, catching her breath.

“It’s the spell we need. The spell to bind Beata’s magic again.”

My fingers trembled. The spell looked to be simply words, no objects needed. That didn’t mean the spell would be easy—on the contrary, it would require every atom of magic we could draw. Maybe more than we had. And it would have to be focused with laser-like intensity.

Then the words on the page vanished.

“What happened?” Lise said. “Weird. I smell herbs— rosemary, lavender, and something else. Mugwort.” She looked at me with surprise. “I’ve never even heard of mugwort.”

My grandmother.You will know what to dowrote itself on the page, then vanished.

“This is the freakiest thing that’s ever happened to me,” Lise said.

“That makes two of us, and I’m supposed to be used to it by now.”

“What do we do when Beata gets here?” Lise said.

The books’ singing was louder, dizzying. My heart beat faster. “I don’t know.”

“We need some kind of plan.” Lise’s voice had risen in pitch.

Downstairs, the kitchen door creaked open.

Chapter Thirty-six

“It’s her,” I said. Rodney slunk to his belly and growled quietly.

Lise was now calm. Somehow, with Beata’s arrival, she’d found her strength. “Let’s go downstairs.”

A cracking sound rent the silence and snapped at the fibers of my muscles. All at once, the books silenced. “She put a spell over the library,” I whispered. “Probably to shield it. Make other people look away while she does her business.”

“Does she know we’re here?” Lise asked.

I listened. Nothing. “I don’t know.”

Lise’s expression didn’t change, but she tipped her nose into the air. She looked a lot more sedate than I felt. “Never mind. She knows. Tuberose and sulfur. Come on.”

You will know what to do, the grimoire had said. How I hoped it was right.

Beata was in the library’s kitchen. I sensed it. Yet when Lise and I came side by side into the atrium, the lamp on the central table was on, and standing near it was Sam, eyes closed. The expression about your heart leaping into your throat? My heart rocketed so fast, it nearly choked me.

Lise’s hand dropped to squeeze my fingers. “It’s Beata,” she whispered.

Then Sam melted into my Aunt Beata. This was young Beata, the beautiful Beata who had seduced my grandfather. Her hair might have been spun from late summer honey, and her smile would have done credit to Botticelli. “Josie. And Lise. I’m so glad to see you.”

Beata’s glamour was powerful, and I felt my defenses melt. This was the glamour she’d used to uproot her community and destroy my family, the glamour she’d undoubtedly employed to get Tyrone’s guest house key from Byron. She would not fool me twice.

Focus. The books began to hum again and feed me their energy, first a trickle, then a stream. Beata’s mask dropped. She aged before our eyes, her hair graying, her skin thinning and folding into gentle wrinkles.

Her voice remained powerful. “You cannot stop me. You’re nothing but foundlings. My magic—thanks to you”—a lurid smile cracked her face—“will crush yours. Save yourself and give up.”

I let the books’ magic reverberate within me. “No.”

“My plan was to leave the final piece of evidence that would seal your fate. You’d be in prison.” A halo grew around Beata. I trembled. “You knew that. You wouldn’t be mine if you were that smart.”

Mine?What did she mean? Or did she look at Lise? This was Beata’s glamour, I reminded myself. Her power. She wanted to confuse us, knock us off balance.

Beata continued. “I will still do that. But since you’re here, I’ll seal everything up tight. You’ve saved me a lot of trouble. I’ll bind your magic before I make sure you’re locked away.”