Page 7 of Taken By the Twins

Then again, there’s no sign that anyone celebrated Christmas only just last week. And though I’d bet that Sierra and Billie have a housekeeper and a crew that would put up decorations for the famous starlet, then take them down when the holiday is over, I kind of expected there’d besomehint of the holiday lingering.

It’s only New Year’s Eve. Way I see it, we’re in that weird no man’s land week that separates Christmas Eve from New Year’s Day. When you lose track of what day it is, and when your work schedule is fucked.

I don’t have another show until January 3rd. This is my vacation, and instead of spending it at a New Year’s Eve party, drinking champagne and cruising for my conquest, I’m snooping around my old friend’s seemingly empty apartment.

I should’ve known better. Whiskey fucking Rose wouldn’t be hanging around her apartment on New Year’s Eve, pregnant or not. Bille, maybe, but I haven’t heard from her in a while. I actually kind of thought that the only reason Sierra got into touch in the first place was because Billie needed to step back inher role as Sierra’s manager and closest friend and now Sierra, like me, was feeling a little lonely.

Yeah… I’m pretty sure I just transferred my own feelings and insecurities onto a wealthy, famous, powerful celebrity. But that book…

The more I look at it, the more I think I might’ve seen it before.

Setting my clutch down on the back of Sierra’s maroon couch, I moved until I’m standing next to the coffee table. This close, I know my strange sense of deja vu wasn’t an exaggeration.

Ihaveseen this book.

Like I said, I’ve never been much of a reader. The truth is that I was put off of reading when I was a teen because, for almost two years consistently, I kept dreaming about one in particular.

Weird, huh? What kind of normal sixteen-year-old girl falls asleep and her recurring dream is searching for an old leather book that she could never, ever find. It was super frustrating, and the first time I got drunk in Amsterdam, it was because I was trying to burn the memory of the strange book out of my head.

It worked… eventually. One day, I dreamed about the book and a pair of large, featureless shadows whirling just beyond the lectern it was kept on. The next? I fantasized over Corey Hanks, his pouty lips, and his expensive emo haircut.

After Corey, there was Jared. Tucker. Coop. Marcus. Benji. Jaime… the list goes on and on, I’m sure I’ve forgotten a couple that came and went in the first few years after my world came crashing down, but when boy crazy Tandy spent all her time looking for the next guy to make her feelsomething, she stopped dreaming about books.

To be honest, I forget about it entirely—until right this very second.

I’ve never told anyone about my strange dreams before. Well, no. That’s not exactly true. I mentioned it once, Sierra and Billie teased me so mercilessly over it that Roy had to step in before it turned into a catfight, and I refused to discuss it again. Realizing the topic made me touchy—and a far better friend to me during our Thr33peat days than I ended up being to her—Sierra didn’t bring it up. Neither did Billie.

And yet, for some strange reason, it’s here. Sitting in the middle of Sierra’s coffee table, almost as if it’s waited for close to fifteen years to find me…

Bending over slightly, I get a better look at it.

The book isold. From the pitted leather cover to the yellowed pages, I can’t even begin to imagine how long it’s been since it was printed and bound. Ages. Unless it’s some kind of prop for one of Sierra’s new movies. It’s possible. It could justlookold?—

I pick it up. The ‘old book’ smell is noticeable as I bring it close to my face, but there’s something else that has my nose wrinkling and tickle forming in the back of my throat. A sort of nasty ‘rotten egg’-y smell that has me choking a little.

Weird.

Breathing through my nose until the stink is gone, I look over the closed book. No title. No author. Nothing. Flipping over the front cover, I see a list of names handwritten on the cover:Susanna. AMY.Shannon. Kennedy.

No Sierra, I notice. Hm. I wonder what that’s about. The second name looks like a kid wrote it, while the other two names are smeared so while I’m not one hundred percent what they say, I don’t think I’m wrong.

I look at the next page.

Grimoire du Sombra. There’s no author. No copyright year. Just a title in an unusual font.

Grimoire? Like a magic book? Spells?

Okay. So I’m thinking this might be a prop after all. I don’t change my mind when I finally notice that there’s a vivid pink bookmark poking out of the top.

Shrugging, I use my fingernail to flip the page open to the page Sierra was on, careful not to lose her bookmark or her place.

Verus Amor. Beneath the printed title, someone wrote beneath it in a classic script:true love. Considering the script matches, it could be Susanna, the first name written on the inner cove. It looks faded, too, like it was written a long time ago. Years, definitely. Decades, probably.

A second later, it sinks in, and I blink.

A true love spell?

This is atrue lovespell?

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