Page 16 of Witches of Dubious Origin
He’d been right. I was never given the specifics, but at a meeting of the coven elders, Mom got into a confrontation with the high priestess. Going against the laws of the coven, the high priestess had attacked, and Mom was severely injured. In my mind, I could still see the jagged wound across my mother’s palm inflicted by the high priestess that night. Mom had carried that scar for the rest of her life.
Dad had waited outside the meeting, and when Mom appeared, cradling her wounded hand, he rushed her to the local witch doctor. Unfortunately, it was an icy night outside and Dad lost control of the car and crashed into a tree. He died instantly, while she suffered internal injuries and a concussion. Mom blamed herself and her magic for her husband’s death. With the insight of an adult, I knew she had asked me to swear to never use magic to protect me from the same heartbreak she had suffered.
“Are you certain you can’t manifest any magic?” Miles asked.
“Yes.” There was the tiniest hiccup of doubt in my voice, but I soldiered on, hoping he hadn’t noticed. “I appreciate your interest in me, but I don’t think I’m a good fit. I studied ancient languages but am by no means an expert. I don’t travel well, and I don’t practice witchcraft. I am a pragmatic, unimaginative, fact-oriented librarian, and I don’t believe I have anything to offer this department.”
“Ziakas and I finally agree on something,” Olive said. She gestured to the open door. “Here. I’ll escort you out.”
“I don’t think you see yourself as clearly as I do, Zoe. The offer stands,” Miles said. “At least consider it. Since the book seems bonded to you and we can’t take it from you, if you accept the job, you could make carbon dating and deciphering the grimoire your first project.”
I met his gaze. Behind his glasses, his eyes were benevolent and patient, and as he rocked back on his heels with his hands casually stuffed into his pockets, I suspected he was certain I was going to accept. Truly, what librarian wouldn’t want to work here? I genuinely felt bad about disappointing him, but there was no way I was going to change my mind.
“Thank you, but I don’t need to consider it more. I’m happy right where I am.” It was true. I had no intention of ditching my comfortable, stress-free life and I hoped my tone of voice conveyed as much.
Miles considered me for a moment. “If you need us, you know where to find us.”
“Thank you.” I turned to Tariq and said, “It was a pleasure meeting you and thank you for your help when I blacked out.”
“No wahala—it is no problem. My specialty is potions,which I learned from my grandmother, who was a witch much like yours.” Tariq’s Nigerian accent made his words as gentle as a hug. “I do hope we meet again, Zoe Ziakas.”
I turned and followed Olive, who was already striding across the floor of the main room to the large metal door. Hurrying after her, I felt an insistent tug on my insides, as if the library itself was trying to pull me back, and I wondered for a second, a nanosecond really, if turning down the job was a mistake.
As I stood on the curb, trying to hail a cab, I felt the creepy sensation of being watched. I cast a quick glance over my shoulder at the glorious library behind me, but the windows were barren and even the security guard was absent from her post. It was ridiculous to think that anyone at the Museum of Literature cared if I left or not. Still, the feeling of being observed persisted. I glanced up and spotted a raven perched on the corner of the roof. It met my gaze and I knew it was the reason I’d felt like someone was watching me. Weird.
6
Home. I was so desperately glad to be back at my quiet house in my peaceful village. I parked my car in the driveway and strolled up the walkway, keys in hand. To my surprise, Agatha was sitting on one of the wicker chairs on my front porch.
“I was just about to give up and go home,” she said.
“How long have you been waiting?” I asked.
“About an hour.”
“I hope you weren’t bored.”
She held up a paperback novel. “Not a bit.”
I smiled. Agatha always had a book on hand, sometimes two in case she finished one and didn’t want to be caught without. I climbed the steps, and she rose from her seat and held a paper grocery sack out to me. “Dinner.”
“You brought me Twinkies?” I teased.
She snorted. “Lasagna. I suspected today was going to be a long one. How did it go? Were they able to help you?”
“Unfortunately, not with the book,” I said. I unlocked thefront door and led the way inside. Agatha followed and I offered her a cup of tea. She accepted and slid onto a stool at the kitchen counter while I fixed the tea, plated some store-bought cookies, and told her all about my meeting, including the blood oath, my supposed family of necromancers, and the job offer.
By the time I finished telling her everything, I was seated on the stool beside hers and we were almost done with the tea and cookies.
“When are you handing in your resignation?” she asked.
“I’m not.” I looked at her as if she’d suggested I burn my house down. “I turned them down, obviously.”
“You refused a position at the Museum of Literature?” She set her teacup down with a precision that told me she was striving to control her emotions. “Zoe, no one gets offered a job at the museum and never in the Books of Dubious Origin collection. The only reason you were even allowed in there was because I vetted you. Do you have any idea what you’ve refused?”
“Yes. I’m not working in a place where books are cats or cats are books.” I picked up our empty cups and deposited them in the sink.
“Huh?” she asked.
