Page 63 of The Guardian's Curse

“Is this me?” he asked.

“It’s the curse on you. And this part,” she said, tapping the red. “I looked at you before, and this wasn’t there. Or I didn’t see it.”

“What does it mean?”

“I don’t know.” She flipped through one of the big sketch pads to show him another diagram. They looked similar to his untrained eye, though this one had a red line that formed a full circle, intersecting a series of triangles. “This is Lucia’s curse.”

“I don’t understand.”

She sat back on her heels. “If you understood it at a glance, I’d think that my years of studying magic were fairly useless,” she said. “Night Weavers use the same basic art that I do, but they play with souls and destiny, which is dangerous. Still, at its core, Weaving is Weaving, whether you’re shielding a home from intruders or turning an innocent woman into stone.” She traced the sketch of his curse. “If I can understand exactly how she wove the curse, I might be able to untangle it. But this red worries me. I looked at Paris, and he doesn’t have this. Or maybe it’s hidden like yours. Maybe he can come over and let me look at him.” Her eyes lifted to him. “Tomorrow.”

He spared a smile, even though he knew she couldn’t see. “Can I help you somehow?”

“Not unless you have a library full of Night Weaver books,” she said with a sigh. “Only tisserand masters can look at them, and even that’s highly restricted. I’m doing everything from scratch.”

“We both know someone who’s killed a few Night Weavers, and is a bit of a hoarder,” he said. Paris had wiped out a coven of Night Weavers in France, giving them each the opportunity to break Armina’s curse before he killed them. They had it coming, he’d said, though Alistair even flinched at the bloodshed. Somehow he doubted Paris’s claim that he’d made it quick.

Her jaw dropped. “Dominic?”

He shook his head. “Paris killed several of Armina’s apprentices trying to learn how to break the curses she put on us,” he said. “And he took all of the books he could find, hoping that eventually someone would find a solution. But we never had a witch who was both clever enough and willing to help us.”

“And now you have both,” she said. “I hope. Can you call him?”

“I will.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry. I ruined our moment. I just get so fixated on things, and—”

He gently put his finger to her lips. “You have ruined nothing,” he said. “I admire your tenacity. Particularly considering you’re working to end someone’s suffering. Lucia is lucky to have you on her side.” She smiled at him, and the sense of gentle admiration and peace there sent a warm rush through him. There would be time for them. “I’ll call Paris now. Do whatever you need to do.”

Leaving Shoshanna to her work, he retrieved his phone to call Paris. He answered after two rings, with booming music in the background. He had to be at one of their human clubs. “Bon nuit,” Paris greeted.

Alistair glanced at Shoshanna, who was back to drawing. “Gute nacht,” he responded, continuing the conversation in German. He explained Shoshanna’s predicament. “Can you bring us the books you took from Armina’s apprentices?”

“Right now?”

“God, no,” he said. “I intend to be otherwise occupied after I get off the phone with you.”

“With...Alistair Thorne,” Paris said. “Tell her I’m terribly busy tonight, but I’ll bring them tomorrow. It’ll take me some time to gather them all.”

“Thank you,” he said. “She also wants to examine you.”

“Examine me?”

“Something about the curse,” he said. He hesitated. “I think she might actually pull this off.”

“That is a dangerous hope. But for your sake, I hope she can.” Then his tone shifted. “Why are you still talking to me? Get the witch to bed. And while you’re there, give her a little smack on the ass. I think she’d—”

“Good night, Paris,” Alistair interrupted.

He prepared himself to wait for hours while Shoshanna worked, but when he left his library, he found her already walking his way. “Any luck?” she asked.

“Paris is busy, but he’ll gather the books and bring them for you tomorrow. He says you can examine him as well.” He tilted his head. “Are you done for the night?”

“All done,” she said. Before she could say another word, he scooped her into his arms. She laughed and pushed against his chest. “Wait! I need a minute. I have cute lingerie and everything.”

“Don’t bother,” he said. “I plan to peel it off you instantly.”

“Mr. Thorne,” she teased.

---