Page 35 of Witches of Dubious Origin
I brought the grimoire home with me every day, afraid that if I tried to leave it at the museum overnight, I wouldsuffer another blackout. At first, I felt as if I were being held captive by the book, but as I studied its pages while curled up in my bed every night, my feelings changed.
Oh, the book still freaked me out, especially since I had to offer the hexagonal lock a few drops of blood every time I opened it, but I started to think of it as a strange sort of textbook that I was using for an intensive course in code breaking, or maybe that’s what I told myself so I could mentally manage the situation.
I tried not to get discouraged, but after a week spent trying to match the symbols in the grimoire to anything in the BODO’s collection or on the wonderful world of the Internet, I was becoming frustrated. I had made no progress—as in zero, nothing, nada, nil. Miles and Tariq remained optimistic, suggesting different avenues of research—such as the incredible online archive of witchcraft at Cornell University—while Olive looked vindicated, as if she had never expected me to be able to decipher the book. I was surprised by how much that stung.
Tariq finished the carbon dating of the grimoire and confirmed what I’d suspected. The early pages of the book were made of a parchment he determined to be several centuries old, while the newer pages were unable to be dated as they were less than a few decades old and didn’t have enough broken-down carbon molecules to be measurable. Given how recent the final entries in the grimoire were, I believed they must be from Mamie, and I was more motivated than ever to crack the code.
With no other recourse, I decided my next step was to catalog each symbol in the grimoire. Scrounging a large legalpad and some pencils from the office supply cupboard, I copied every symbol and noted its frequency of use. When I had captured them all, I started to look for patterns. If symbols were placed together frequently, I copied those patterns down, too.
As I flipped through the pages, I felt the book emit a hum of satisfaction, as if it were pleased to have its contents examined, and I wondered how many witches had contributed to it. What were their personal stories? Was I worthy to be entrusted with a resource such as this?
The memory of my promise to my mother weighed heavily upon me. I could recall the intensity of that moment as clearly today as it had been twenty-two years ago. It was early autumn and we were standing on the front steps of the Wessex boarding school while Agatha waited nearby. Mom cupped my face and met my gaze. Her eyes had a fierce light in them and her mouth was tight, as if holding back emotion. When she spoke, her voice held an urgency that made me squirm.
“Promise me, Zoanne,” she said. “Promise me that you will forget everything Mamie taught you, you will forget about being a witch and the craft, and you will never practice magic again. Promise me.”
“But I’ve only used it a little bit since we left Mamie,” I protested. Even at fourteen, the promise she was asking of me didn’t sit right.
“Please, Zoe. I have to leave.” She squeezed my shoulders with her thin fingers until it hurt. I pushed her hands off me.
“Fine, I promise.” I glared at her.
“Thank you.” My mother pulled me into a hug even though I resisted. She kissed my forehead and said, “I knowyou don’t understand, but you have to trust me. I’m doing this to protect you.”
Before I could ask what she was protecting me from, she climbed back into her car and drove away as if the police were after her. I saw her only a handful of times after that and for only a few hours at most. As time went on, I assumed she’d meant she was protecting me from using magic because of her guilt over my father’s death. Still, I had kept my promise—it suited me and the quiet life I longed for—and I hadn’t practiced magic since.
I glanced down at the open grimoire. Centuries of ancestors and their spells were carefully archived in the volume in front of me. Had I gotten it wrong? Had my mother been protecting me from something or someone? If what Eloise had said was true and someone had murdered both Mamie and my mom, I had to consider the possibility that my mother had been running from something that neither Agatha nor I knew anything about. The thought gutted me.
I dropped my pencil onto the table and leaned close to the book. “I need a minute.”
I expected the book to slam shut in a huff, but instead, its cover gently closed and the metal bands locked into place with a soft click. I paused to do a vibe check and felt sympathy coming from the small black book. I resisted the urge to pat its cover as I pushed back my chair and rose from my seat.
I climbed the nearest spiral staircase all the way to the top and walked along the upper level until I reached a quiet alcove. We were in the basement of the museum. There were no windows here and for the first time since I’d started working in the BODO, I felt claustrophobic. I sat on the floor,leaned my back against the wall, and pulled my legs into my chest. I lowered my forehead to my knees and sighed.
What was I going to do? I was no closer to translating the book than I’d been the first time I’d opened it. Eloise was going to run out of smaller body parts soon, and what was she going to do if she lost an arm or a leg? I swallowed. I felt sick to my stomach.
But my upset wasn’t just about Eloise. Every day I spent in the BODO researching witches and witchcraft was another day I was confronted with my past. More and more memories resurfaced from my visits with Mamie at her home on Hagshill Isle and the memory of the simple spells she’d taught me tempted me. I wanted to try them out and see if I still had the magic that Mamie had seen in me when I was her chaton.
It occurred to me then that if I could decode the grimoire, I could call Mamie and my mom back across the veil. I could see them again. The mere thought of it was almost beyond my comprehension and I felt jittery and off-kilter with a mix of happiness and trepidation, as if I’d had way too much caffeine on an empty stomach.
If I could see them again, ask them what had happened and why my mother had felt the need to leave me, maybe I could find closure on so many unanswered questions about my life. I thought of my mother as I remembered her best—the happy woman who had loved me so damn much—and I knew that version of my mother would want me to have that peace even if it meant using magic to get it.
I closed my eyes. Jasper had said belief was the key to magic. Okay, then. I hadn’t attempted to do anything since the night I’d levitated, but here in the quiet, I thought,Whynot try it just to see?If I could float my entire body, surely I could manage to float a book off the shelf.
I cleared my mind, pushing away all the negativity and self-doubt. I focused on the books in the stacks beside me. In my mind, I gently lifted one off the shelf and visualized it floating in the air. I felt the same pulse of peaceful energy that I’d felt while I’d been levitating fill me with a warm glow, as if I had embers gently burning in my core. This was magic. I recognized it as the same feeling I’d had as a child when Mamie would teach me simple spells of practical magic.
Deep in my visualization, I knew it was the moment of truth. If all went well, when I opened my eyes, I expected the book would be hanging in the air right there in front of me. Simple enough, right?
“Bloody hell! Freya, are you flying?” Jasper’s voice, normally so deep and calm, sounded agitated.
I opened my eyes just in time to see Freya fall into Jasper’s outstretched hands. Her tail was at peak terrified floof and he cradled the book against his chest and stroked her spine until her trembling stopped and her tail disappeared inside the book.
“There, there, you’re all right, love,” he said. “Now, off you pop.” He let go of the furry gray book and she drifted through the air into an open slot on the bookcase. It was the first time I’d seen magic actively used by anyone at the BODO and it weirdly felt absolutely normal.
“Sorry, Freya,” I said. There was no response from the book-cat, not that I had expected any.
“She’ll be all right.” Jasper crouched down in front of me.
I turned my head and met his gaze. A small smile playedupon his full lips and I realized I hadn’t seen him in days and I’d missed him.
