Page 3 of Spellbound
I smirked. “Right, other witches.”
“This room is our most guarded for good reason.” He paused, looking at the pages thoughtfully. “Well, next to the vaults.”
It was unlikely I would get to see the vaults anytime soon. Only the keepers or grandkeeper in our coven could go to the vaults in the basement, and I was still an apprentice.
I turned my head, scanning the room. My gaze landed on a globe, the color of parchment with long-lost lands, that stood seemingly powerless on a shelf of its own. I knew all too well it was not. Nothing in the room was.
Edmund snapped his fingers, jerking my attention back to the grimoire, the reason we had ventured into the basement of the fifteenth-century mansion we called home. Because we didn’t succumb to the compulsion of dark objects, we were tasked with keeping them safe and, in some instances, deciphering them.
“Do you truly believe this spell is the only way to help?” I asked, noticing some of the etchings pointed toward a sacrifice of some kind.
Worry lines deepened under his eyes, and his thick dark eyebrows pinched down toward his straight nose. “If the elder witch requires it, then I trust her judgment.”
I ticked each of the recent deaths off in my head. “Three deaths so far.”
“Hmm.” He turned the page carefully. “I thought it was two.”
“No. Remember the human girl who was found cut open in the woods by the mountains?”
“Ah, yes. The human.”
Of course he’d forgotten the only victim who was not a witch. The barrier between the mountains separating us from the human kingdom had kept us apart for so long, humans were often an afterthought. Not to me. Not when my sister was one. Not when I had been one.
The thought of her stole my next breath, and I pushed my pain back into the place so deep and dark, it could almost be forgotten. Almost.
Edmund cleared his throat, looking from the pages to me. “Are you paying attention?”
I nodded.
“It doesn’t seem like it,” he said. “The call is next month. If you want to put your name forward, you’ll need to focus more.”
“I’m going to put it off this year,” I admitted, finally saying what I’d struggled with for the past month. Putting my name forward to try to get promoted within the coven, meaning I would finally be a keeper, meant the truth would come to light. I wasn’t good enough yet, but no one could find that out. “I’ll give it a real go next year.”
“You said the same thing last year.” He shook his head, sighing with disappointment, but I was used to it. “You can at least try.”
“If I fail, I’ll need to wait three years before I can retake it. I’m gonna wait until I know I can pass.”
“You’ll never know if you can pass until you give it a go.” He pushed his spectacles back up his nose. His blue eyes regarded me through the misty glass. His were several shades darker than my baby blues. “Or is it your goal to remain an apprentice?”
“You know I want to be a keeper.” Being one would give me access to the magic and authority I needed to go to my sister in Salvius. I needed to pass more than he knew. “I’ll take it next year... Promise.”
“You’re ready, Elle. You don’t need to wait another year. There’s only one spot left for a keeper.”
I gave him a small smile. “I’m the only apprentice you have. Who else is going to take it? Benji?” I asked, referring to the black cat who roamed our mansion.
“We could use your help.”
Guilt tugged my conscience. “I know.” I cast my eyes to the ground. With only Maddox and Dora as keepers and Edmund as grandkeeper, our tiny coven was stretched thin. They were often sent to different locations, to transport or collect a dark object or to translate Lor, as we were the only coven who studied the forgotten language because it could still be found in old text or on runes. “Next year for sure I will take it.”
“You’re twenty, Elle.” His sympathetic tone made me wince. “You became an apprentice five years ago. You’ve been an apprentice for the longest of any in Fairwik.”
I swallowed thickly. “Thanks for the reminder.”
“I really think you should put your name forward at the call. You won’t fail.”
I couldn’t tell him the truth, that I’d failed at some of the more complicated spells he’d given me to practice. I’d excelled when I was first brought to Istinia at eleven, but I couldn’t master the advanced magic needed to be a keeper. I didn’t want to prove them right, all those who looked down on human-born witches for our magic being weak. But the advanced spells weren’t the only thing holding me back.
The stack of dusty spell books dating back a century loomed over me in the library.
