Page 11 of Poison Sun

And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

“What do you want in exchange for the book?” I motion to it, aware that such transactions always come with a price.

And, judging by how ancient the book looks, I expect it’ll have a high one.

“It’s not up for sale,” he says simply. “It’s just a loan.”

“And why are you trusting me with this loan?”

He leans forward, his eyes never leaving mine, as if he’s getting ready to share the biggest secret on the planet. “I’m trusting you because years ago, my mother told me that someday, a beautiful girl with a comet shooting behind her ear would come looking for this book. She said that when she does, I need to trust her and deliver it. So… here we are. I’m trusting you and delivering.”

My hand wanders to the comet tattooed behind my ear—the fire symbol I got at the same time as my sisters. Zara has a flame on her cheek, and Willow has a phoenix around her wrist.

As I touch it, a chill runs down my spine.

Because his mother foresaw this moment.

Is she like me? Can she see the future?

No. It’s not possible. There are no other witches with my type of power.

At least, none that my sisters and I know of. Which, I suppose, doesn’t mean they don’t exist.

“Your mother sounds remarkable,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “But how did she know all of this?”

His expression closes off, a shutter coming down over those fiery eyes. “That’s all I can share for now,” he says, the finality in his tone making it clear I shouldn’t push him.

“Understood.” I nod, even though there’s no way my curiosity will go away that easily. “And I appreciate the trust you’re placing in me with this... loan. I’ll get it back to you as soon as I find what I’m looking for. What’s your number, by the way? So I can let you know when I’m ready?”

I stop talking and push my hair off my face, realizing I’m rambling again.

Why do his eyes affect me so much?

“You won’t need to find me to get it back to me,” he says. “Because you’re going to be with me.”

“What?” My magic flickers to life inside me, warning me. Reminding me to stay vigilant.

Because if this guy plans to kidnap me—or something of the sort—it won’t be long until he finds out exactly what kind of witch he’s dealing with.

“Relax.” He raises his hands in a gesture of peace, giving me the faintest hint of a smile. “The book’s magic is tied to me—to my family’s lineage. The ink only reveals itself when I’m nearby. Without me, it’s just a collection of blank pages. So, if you plan on reading it, you need me with you, whether you want me here or not.”

I want him here.

I so, so want him here.

But instead of admitting it, I narrow my eyes at him, remaining on guard. “You expect me to just take your word for it?” I ask.

“Try it.” He motions toward the book. “Open it now, in front of me. Then take it into the next room, open it again, and see what happens.”

It’s a simple suggestion. One that would confirm his claim without any real commitment on my part.

So, with a wary glance at him, I flip the book open.

The pages, under the dim light of the bar, are filled with text. Small font—rows and rows of it—along with intricate symbols and drawings that dance before my eyes.

How much knowledge is stored in these pages?

My heart races with excitement. I want to start from the beginning and read all of it until the very last page.

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