Page 29 of Venomous Lies
I’ll make sure he stays in line. As much as he’s capable of, at least.
Good enough for me. I’ll let you both know when I’m back.
The two of them would cover if anything arose with Thatcher while I was gone, of that I had no doubt, so all of my focus could be centered on the grimoire I needed to find.
A book of power was never an easy thing to destroy. Every word, page, and thread in the tome held magick. The person creating it often shed blood and tears while creating the book, embedding their very essences into it.
I’d never thought to look for the grimoire after his death. It wasn’t as if it were something that I could personally use.
The best place to start was at the end… If only I could still find it.
Ourhome.
My mind imagined the town, a small place in Greece with fields as far as the eye could see. A hint of a warm breeze and the sun on my skin filtered in from my memory right before I was hit with the sound of his husky laughter as phantom arms wrapped around me.
Concentrating, I gathered every bit of magick I had and sidestepped, disappearing from one place and appearing in another.
Greece.
A beautiful and haunting country.
This time, it was my turn to do the hunting.
Chapter 9
Wells
TUESDAY
Shit. Another fucking dead end.
Frustrated, I tossed the book onto the table beside me before rubbing a hand over my face. There had to be something of use in one of these books. Or at least that’s what I had thought when I pulled them.
Isla asked me to look into her ability to see strands of magick like I could, but I’d come up blank at every turn.
To be fair, there weren’t many books about witches like myself, but I had hoped to find even a fucking sentence pertaining to her situation since she wasn’t a weaver.
There was nothing.
My growing aggravation had me slamming my hands on the table, and I immediately hissed at the shot of pain the movement sent into my ribs.
Tiago had done a real number on me this morning. The fae had a huge fucking chip on his shoulder about rooming with a “lowly witch,” something he reminded me of each time he put me in my place for some imagined slight.
After Thatcher’s announcement this morning, I had gone back to the room to grab my stuff for my familiar careclass only to find my belongings scattered around the room, much of it torn up. He had said it was retaliation for having my clothes on his side of the room.
Which was a fucking lie.
If anything, his shit was all over mine.
I tried to ignore him and stay out of the room as much as possible, but sometimes, it was unavoidable.
Originally, I had asked if I could change my room, but everywhere was supposedly full. Maybe word got back to him that I had asked about moving? Either way, I was now paying the price for his fucking ego.
I groaned as I settled back in my chair.Maybe I can sleep in the library tonight?Or maybe my friends will let me crash on their couch?
Would that make it worse when I go back to my room later?At the moment, I didn’t really care.
“Wells!”
