A Dark and Secret Magic by Wallis Kinney

Author:Wallis Kinney
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CROOKED LANE BOOKS

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The Grimoire

“I can’t believe I had it this entire time,” I say aloud, holding the vial up to the lamp near my desk. Flecks of waterlogged soil float around in the murky mixture. The vial Margaret left me in the mangrove box with her unused tins of Hawthorne balm. Water of the River Styx.

“Amazing,” Matthew says beside me, also inspecting the vial in my hands.

After waiting out the rest of our half hour in the library, and receiving a very curt goodbye from Laurie, Matthew and I had made our way back to my cottage through the pouring rain.

“Margaret used her final moments on this plane of existence to tell me to find my mother’s book, all the while knowing she was leaving me the very key to unlock it.” I look at him in amazement. “But how could she have known I would find the book?”

He looks at me with a soft smile. “Things that need to be found tend to show up. Especially when witches are around.”

I smile back at him, but my stomach feels frozen.

“Are you ready?” Matthew asks. I nod and walk toward my fireplace, clutching the River Styx water against my chest like a talisman. I sit by the hearth, fanning out my long skirt around me. Merlin curls up into the folds of the fabric. Matthew sits by my side. I pull out the cursed book from the knitted bag.

The heat of the flames does little to warm me. The cold I feel is internal. Dread.

I uncork the vial and look at Matthew expectantly.

“What?” he asks, concerned.

“Hold out your hand. It’s time to make good on your promise,” I say. He looks at me for a moment, searching my eyes for meaning before understanding dawns on him.

“Must I? It’s proven itself quite useful.”

“Hand,” I insist.

His hand automatically lifts up toward me and that inky black shadow begins to pour out of his skin, wrapping around his wrist. Up close I can see the curse for the true horror that it is, blood and necrotic magic wrapped up into one. Slivers of it thrash against his skin and small tendrils try to reach out for me before being subdued by the shadow magic.

I take his hand in mine. Matthew clenches his mouth tightly shut, concentrating on keeping the curse under control, subduing any wayward tendril that reaches out for me. With my thumb, I unstopper the vial. It uncorks with a gasping pop as the seal breaks. Oxygen rushes in, and the water inside the vial begins to bubble. I hold it over his wrist, where the majority of the writhing curse sits.

“Careful,” Matthew warns.

“Water of the River Styx can’t dissipate magic inside a witch or hexan. This won’t hurt you,” I say impatiently.

“I know that,” he insists. “I’m warning you not to spill. Otherwise, you might not have enough for your mother’s book.”

I bite my cheek to keep myself from rolling my eyes. I focus on the task at hand. I tilt my

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