Page 15 of Witchlore
“No, obviously not.” Bastian looks affronted at the notion. He sets his leather satchel down on the floor and pulls out an equally old-looking book. “We’re going toborrowit and replace it temporarily with a fake.”
“Give me it.” I snatch it out of his hands and stare between the book I’m holding and the book in the case. They definitely look the same. “Did you make this?”
“Yeah. I just found a book that’s of a similar age and redid the pages and the illustrations by copying from the photographs online.”
“Wow,” I mutter. I open the first two pages and see that the illustrations perfectly match the ones of the book in the display case. Then I turn the page. “You’ve only done the first two pages!”
“Yeah, well, it’s only going to be open on that one, isn’t it?” Bastian says.
“And you don’t reckon someone will notice when they open it up to check and most of the pages areblank?” I hiss, slamming the book shut.
“Why would they check?” Bastian frowns. “Look, it’s in this exhibition for the next six months, it’s already been set up, they won’t check unless they think something has happened and they won’t think something happened if we don’t make it a big deal.”
“Don’t you think book stealing is a big deal? Especially if it’s an ancient grimoire with a resurrection spell?”
“Not book stealing, book swapping,” Bastian says emphatically, taking the fake back from me.
“And how are you going to swap them?” I demand.
Bastian holds up his middle finger with the massive sapphire on, inadvertently (or perhaps deliberately) giving me the finger. “Or did you forget that we can do witchcraft?”
“Youcan do witchcraft; I can’t do shit.”
“Exactly, which is why you’re the lookout,” Bastian says calmly. He pulls out a small notebook and sets it down on the floor. Then he stands, widening his stance, holding his hands in a triangle shape with the fingertips and the thumbs meeting. My heart jolts. This was how Elizabeth stood in the cave on the day of her death.
“What are you even going to do?” I ask suddenly. I realize that Bastian hasn’t actually done any witchcraft around me yet. Maybe that’s why he’s been so easy to talk to.
“An unlocking spell,” he says, nodding at the small padlock. “I’ll just lift the lid off the case and switch them.”
“Seriously?” I stare at his hands. Most unlocking spells are ancient, only relevant for the kind of traditional locks from hundreds of years ago. “Do you even have enough power?”
He gives me such a sharp look that I regret it instantly. It’s definitely rude for me, a shifter, supposedly full of power, to question a witch, and I cringe at my clumsiness. His ring is already shining, the light of it pulsing slightly in that uncanny, mesmerizing way, as if the magic inside Bastian is desperate to be released. I can feel it, even from here; it makes the hair on my arms stand up like in a lightning storm. It reminds me of Elizabeth’s last breath, and suddenly I really don’t want him to do any witchcraft.
“Why can’t we just use the pages that are online?” I ask desperately. He sighs and drops his hands, turning to look at me. Thefeeling of coming bewitchment in the room suddenly halts and I hate myself because I’m relieved.
“Because it’s incomplete, the spell won’t work,” he says.
“How do you know?”
“I just do.” Bastian’s voice is level but he’s clenching his fists in annoyance.
“And I’m supposed to just trust you? I barely know you!”
I stare at the grimoire in its case. There are real potential consequences here and it is scaring me that I don’t know what they are. I know I’d do anything to get Elizabeth back but doing this, right now, seems impossible.
“Okay, Lando, let’s put it this way. I’m borrowing this book,” Bastian says firmly, turning back toward the lock and taking up his stance, hands held ready. The air around us prickles. “You can help me or you can piss off.”
I watch as he twists his fingers from the triangle into the diamond, the basic steps of a classic spell—a complicated twisting motion first, the Tangle of Loki, followed by a blinded Hare’s Run—and his ring begins to glow with that strange, unearthly blue light. My throat tightens. He’s not messing around. I can tell from the strength of his fingers and the quickness of his twists that he’s good at this, maybe good enough to pull this off.No going back now.
“Christ,” I mutter.
I go to stand at the doorway, peering down the dark corridor. It’s empty. It’s not a surprise, really; it’s the last ten minutes of the day, and soon the museum will be closing. There’s a tingle in the air, the same kind of feeling you get when someone who hates you stares at you for a long time, and I look back at Bastian. His fingers are still moving through the sequence, repeating it, his eyes fixedon the grimoire. When Elizabeth started her last spell the air was tight and cold. With Bastian, the air feels hot and a bit dangerous, like standing next to a bonfire, and there’s a smell on the air that’s different to Elizabeth’s magic. No longer toasted almonds but something deeper, woodier, like logs spitting in a roaring fireplace. It’s the kind of power I have never sensed before, not from a witch. I realize he might actually be in with a shot at the Merlin Foundation. The glass case is beginning to glow, burning red at the edges. That’s when I hear footsteps.
“Someone’s coming,” I say, my voice dropping to a stage whisper.
“Distract them.”
“With what?” I exclaim.
