Page 8 of Witches of Dubious Origin
I sighed. He sounded like Agatha. I hadn’t beenexaggerating when I’d told her I had no interest in being a witch. I didn’t want anything to do with blood oaths. I was an information specialist who lived by the mottoknowledge is powerand operated on verifiable facts from citable sources. I leaned forward, preparing to leave. There was nothing for me here.
“You can’t open the book, can you?” Olive challenged me.
I wanted to retort,Would I be here if I could?Instead, I said nothing, but I didn’t get up and leave.
“This.” Olive tapped the hexagonal medallion on the cover. “This dip is where your blood goes.”
It was the tiny circular bowl shape in the center of the hexagon. The same one Agatha had thought a key might open. Now it made sense, I supposed, but blood?My blood?Oh hell no.
Suddenly, opening the book seemed like the worst idea ever. I wanted to go home.
“You didn’t spill any blood on it, did you?” Olive continued to stare at me. I swear she never blinked.
“No.” I shook my head.
“Pity,” Olive replied, glancing down at the book.
I felt as if I’d disappointed her and I didn’t enjoy the feeling. I was thirty-six years old, a fully realized adult who owned her own home and paid taxes. I did not need the approval of this Morticia Addams wannabe.
“If you’re so interested in opening the book, why don’t you use your own blood?” I asked.
Olive rolled her eyes as if I’d said the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. Still, she took a small dagger from her black suede shoe—what sort of librarian carried a dagger in their shoe?—and pricked the tip of one of her fingers with it. She held herhand over the hexagon, allowing a few drops to land in the center. We all stared at the book, but nothing happened.
“See? It’s not that difficult.” Olive turned to Claire, who squirted some antibacterial liquid onto a tissue and wiped Olive’s blood off the metal lock. “I can put the book in the vault until another member of the family comes to claim it.”
“Myfamily? Good luck with that. I’m it. The end of the line on both sides.” I picked up my coffee and took a sip. It was delicious, with subtle notes of chocolate and cinnamon. It calmed me.
“Are you quite certain?” Miles asked.
“Yes, my father passed when I was a child and my mother a month ago,” I said. “I’m her sole heir. This book couldn’t have come from her. I mean, if she’d left it to me, it should have been with her other belongings.”
“You would think so, but it isn’t a typical item to inherit, is it?” Miles asked. “There’s no way of knowing how it found you. It’s not exactly like the family china, is it?”
How it found me?I stared at the book. Had it belonged to my mother? The handwriting on the envelope had seemed familiar, but I couldn’t know for certain. I’d only seen my mom a handful of times after she’d dropped me off at the boarding school in Wessex twenty-two years ago. At this point in my life, Agatha was more of a mother to me than Juliet Ziakas, which was why my grief was…complicated.
“If you’re the only remaining member of your family and choose not to try, the book will remain forever closed,” Miles said. His expression was aggrieved, as if the book’s abandoned fate physically pained him.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why can’t someone else bleed on the damn book?”
“Being sealed by a blood oath means only a person who is related by blood to the person who sealed the book can open it,” Olive said. “That’s assuming the book did come from your mother. It might have nothing to do with your family.”
“Really?” I asked. Finally, some good news. “In that case, I feel no need to be the one to unlock the blood curse.”
“Oath,” Miles corrected me gently. “Blood oath. You did say that the book spoke to you in your dreams. I believe that indicates you are bound to the book.”
“But we don’t know that for certain,” I countered. “I could have been having strawberry-Pop-Tart-midnight-snack nightmares because the book is so creepy. No, as far as I’m concerned, you’re welcome to keep the book, the oath, all of it.”
Claire was silent, occasionally sipping her water while watching the conversation between the rest of us. Her face was neutral and I couldn’t tell what she was thinking, whether she thought I should try to open the book or not. Not that it mattered. I had no intention of doing so.
Olive took a pair of gloves out of her pocket. She slipped them on like she was a crime scene specialist. Miles picked up a box from beside him on the floor. It was an archival box and presumably where the mysterious little black book would live forever and ever, amen.
“All right, then. We’ll add it to our inventory,” Olive said. She picked up the volume and held it over the open box. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m positive.” I rose to my feet and picked up my shoulder bag. “Absolutely positive.”
Olive didn’t say a word as she placed the book in the box, but the disapproval that poured off her was palpable—almost as strong as the sudden excruciating pain that split my skull. I staggered and doubled over. I dropped my bag and clapped my hands against my head, half expecting to find an axe lodged in my cranium.
“Zoe, what is it? Are you all right?” Claire set down her water and leapt to her feet. She caught me as I started to slide to the floor.
