Page 127 of Summer of Sacrifice

“You’re doing just fine.”

Dr. Auclair waddled back into the room then, handing Cal a thick file.

Seleste tried to peer at it over his shoulder with no luck.

“And did you see to him yourself?” Cal finally asked, looking up.

“No,” Dr. Auclair answered. “That was Dr. Orrin Pollock.”

Cal’s fingers stilled on the papers, but he recovered quickly. “I’d appreciate a word with him as well, then.”

“I’m afraid Dr. Pollock perished two moons ago, Inspector.”

“This doesn’t make any damned sense.” Cal threw the notebook he’d taken from the society’s basement onto the bed of their room at the inn. “It’s gibberish.”

Seleste reached to grab it, rising from the bed and walking over to the table to hand Lord Nicolas’ medical record to Cal along with her notes from the asylum. “It’s time for a trade. Fresh eyes and all that.”

Cal grumbled, and she took a moment to watch him. She’d never seen him quite so morose, not since before she came to truly know him. The situation warranted it, to be sure, but he’d always been light and laughter with her, even if he wasn’t so with anyone else.

Considering prodding him for a moment, she thought better of it. It was best she slipped into the ‘everyone else’ category of his life. He would have to find a way to be light and laughter with Catherine, or he would be a miserable man.

Instead, Seleste strode back to the bed and lowered herself onto it, opening the notebook on her lap. One look and she was stifling a gasp. It was gibberish to Cal because it was a spellbook. And the page she’d opened to was in the same language the lunatic—if she was one—in the asylum had spoken.

Tagat.

Witch.

The same language her father used for some entries in the journals she and her Sisters passed around every Solstice and Equinox—the only thing left of their parents.

Afer mahn sur, coreg ah lur, olren fahn bre ankhur. Bind the light, keep it from sight, to bring new life.

“Cal,” she started, not knowing where her words were headed. Was it a mistake to reveal she knew this archaic language? She’d never even revealed that to her Sisters. They hadn’t even bothered to translate some of the things he wrote, let alone learn the entire language.

“What is it?” Cal rose and came to sit next to her on the bed.

“I can read some of this.”

His eyes widened, a smile finally stretching across his handsome face. “Is that so?” It was quick, but he glanced at her lips just long enough for heat to pool low in her stomach.

She nodded nervously and watched his throat bob as Cal swallowed.

“Goddess, you are astounding.” His words were husky and full of so much he wasn’t saying.

Suddenly, Seleste understood his sullenness. The conundrum of a man. The only person who puzzled her. But staring at her like that, his mood made perfect sense.

Agonisingly slowly, his eyes full of questions, he leaned in. His breath mingled with hers and her heart beat wildly behind her breastbone, her entire body begging her to give in. His betrothed wanted nothing to do with him, in many ways. Seleste could be with him, in some small way. They could have this moment.

His lips barely brushed hers when she pulled away, standing.

She was still a witch. And she was still no one’s paramour.

“I’m sorry,” Cal’s breath escaped raggedly. “I’m so sorry.” He reached out for her, but let his hand drop. “Seleste, please. I’m sorry.”

“Can—” She wasn’t thinking straight. She hated everything about their situation. “Can I just read it to you? I can’t be near?—”

“Yes,” he interrupted, saving her from having to complete her thought. “Please.”

Seleste sat at the table, as far from Cal as she could manage, and began reading. When she was done, they were both still and silent for a long time. Seleste because she didn’t know what Cal would think, and Cal presumably because he had no idea the things in that spellbook existed. Both of them because of whose work the book followed.

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