Page 1117 of One More Kiss

Chapter4

“Knowing my luck,”Jeff drawled, his tail twitching back and forth, “it’s likely a dual assault. Beatrice wants Mercy’s grimoire, and she’ll get it in exchange for killing princey here.”

Jeff’s biting tone chilled me. If Beatrice was some all-powerful sorceress, shouldn’t coming in here and killing “princey” be a snap? And why did I know Mirror Man’s life story but not his name?

“What’s your name? I feel bad calling you ‘Mirror Man’ in my head.” Even if you are likely a figment of my imagination and a sure sign that I need professional help.

Mirror Man’s lips stretched into a wide grin, popping a dimple high on his cheek.

Dear, sweet mother of all that is holy.

I never understood old-timey Southern movies that talked about “the vapors,” but if the ridiculous full-body clench I got from seeing that dimple was to be believed, I had them.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” I muttered, shielding my eyes from Mirror Man’s beauty. “You could impregnate a city block with that smile. Put it away.”

Mirror Man began laughing in earnest, the smokey chuckle doing very odd things to my middle. It was sexy as hell. Like criminally seductive, as if his laugh alone was a spell itself.

I needed coffee. And maybe an orgasm or five. Okay, so that last one was wishful thinking on my part.

“My name is Asa Monroe, and if Jeff here isn’t telling tales, you’re Jasper St. James. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss St. James.”

I decided against correcting him on my prefix. Then the whole sad tale of my divorce would just fall out of my mouth, and who wanted to hear that bullshit? It happened to me, and even I didn’t want to tell it.

“Asa.” I tested the name on my drunken tongue. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met an Asa before.”

Before I could catch myself, I was twirling a strand of my ponytail in my fingers and tilting my head. Was I flirting? Maybe. But he was a captive audience, and he was cute. If he happened to end up being a figment of my imagination, at least I would get some practice out of the deal.

Asa’s smile flickered like he was trying to hold it in. “It is an unusual name in the States. A bit more common abroad. Jasper isn’t too common a name for a lady to have, either.”

“True. You won’t find it on a keychain, that’s for sure. I used to hate that—never finding my name anywhere. It wasn’t common or cute. But now that I’m older, I like that it’s different.”

A plink sound drew my gaze downward as Jeff dropped the ring—the same one that had started all this shit—by my knee. Maybe in my mad dash to chase Jeff, I fell and hit my head. I was probably in a coma right now because I was an idiot for chasing after a fucking cat.

Jeff seemed to read my mind, his golden eyes narrowing at me suspiciously. “Put it on, and then we have to go over a few things, specifically security. This ring is the key to the attic. No one can open the door without this key, and no one without St. James blood can enter without permission. This house and its contents are warded to the gills, so you do not have to protect the ring. You just have to not lose it. Never lose this ring, Jasper. Do you hear me? Every tome and grimoire of the late St. James witches are in this attic. Every shred of our history. You are responsible for them all. As the St. James spell keeper, it is your responsibility to safeguard them.”

Safeguard books? Keep records? Well, I was a librarian, after all. I scanned the wide-open attic, trying to find the books I was supposed to be guarding with my life. “What books?”

Jeff rolled his eyes at me before leaping to a shelf and pressing on something I couldn’t see with both of his small feet. I heard a resounding click, and then the walls seemed to shimmer and fade away.

In their place were rows upon rows of leather-bound tomes thicker than bricks. Some appeared ancient, while others seemed printed yesterday. Sconces dotted the walls in between bookcases, their light blooming over the dark attic, warming it. In the center of the room, the covered furniture was gone, leaving a giant wooden table in their place with a no-shit caldron on top. Asa’s mirror rested against an apothecary cabinet, the scent of herbs and tinctures wafting out of the glass-fronted doors. Bunches of herbs hung in front of the windows above a pair of velvet upholstered reading chairs that seemed too pretty to sit on and probably so comfortable I’d instantly fall asleep in one.

The scent of the leather, the ink, the paper called to me, whispering come-hither words in my ear. I found myself drawn to a thick tome on the third bookcase from the door. The book wasn’t the largest or the prettiest. The leather binding was worn, faded gold letters on its spine nearly gone. I couldn’t say why I came to this book in particular. There might be thousands of them in this room, and this one outwardly was no more special than the next.

But this one was the one I wanted to open. This one was the one I wanted to touch.

I ached for a set of cotton gloves, my training smacking me over the head, even though there was a voice in my brain practically screaming for me to rip that book off the shelf and open it.

Jeff wound himself around my feet, his purr practically vibrating up my legs. “Even though you’re your power is cloaked, you went right for it. It’s okay, Jasper. Take it.”

He sounded far away, even though I knew he was right beside me. With that little bit of permission, my fingers grazed the leather, a faint buzz of power flowing into my fingertips. Unbidden, I yanked the heavy book from the shelf, taking it over to the giant table.

I couldn’t wait to open it.

Every kid dreamt of owning a special book, didn’t they? When I was little, I would pretend I was a librarian in Alexandria defending the books with a sword. Anytime I had a journal or encyclopedia that happened to have a little ribbon placeholder, I was transformed into a wizard or an ancient scribe, and the book was the most precious of relics.

Who knew all my childhood pretending was real?

But when I tried to open the cover, it wouldn’t budge. Confused, I found Jeff’s gaze and practically huffed. Hell, I was a millisecond away from a full-blown hissy fit.

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