Page 75 of The Wolf Queen’s Curse

“Not one of mine.”

“Then you must learn it. Sit and watch, and let this potion take hold, and then you may do as you like.”

His lips slowly curve in a wolf’s smile. “Anything I like?”

“I believe that’s what I said. Are you accusing me of speaking false, Mr. Daniels?”

“Never.”

“Then sit down and observe.”

TWENTY-SIX

I’m settled in on the floor beside the fire. Bishop is on the settee, hands on his thighs as he leans forward to watch me. He asks whether he should stay silent, and I say no. I’ll be delighted if he takes an interest. And he does, asking questions until I’m sure his interest isn’t feigned, and I explain more when he asks about my grimoire and grimoires in general.

“They’re like spell-casting journals,” I say. “Each witch has one, and it’s very personal. Perhaps less like a journal and more like a recipe book. Even women who hire cooks often have their own recipes. As girls, they fill their book with their favorite recipes, passed down from family or friends of the family. When they marry, they’ll use the recipes and continue adding to the book and then pass along recipes to the next generation.”

“And witches do the same with spells.”

I nod. “We start ours when we’re old enough to begin casting, which for me was my twelfth birthday. Like with many supernatural powers, our true abilities ignite during puberty. A witch’s grimoire isn’t just a compendium of spells, though. It traces our journey as spellcasters.”

“You told Beatrice it’s difficult being separated from yours, and I know that was partly a way to convince her to give you Edith’s, but is it difficult?”

I consider the question. “I would like my own grimoire for practice. This feels odd. Sometimes, if I’m anxious, I want it as a measure of security. I can calm my mind by leafing through it and thinking of spells I need to work on or ones I want to find. Mostly, though, I’m worried that something will happen to it. Fortunately, I know it’s safe. I trust Alfred.”

“You would just be happier with it in your possession.”

“Yes, but rationally, it’s better with him for now. If it had been at Trevelyan…” I shudder as I think of it burning. “No, it’s fine where it is, and in the meantime I have this one, with all the mysteries it contains.”

“Will there be spells you don’t know in it?”

“There are. That’s why Beatrice killed Edith for it, just as I’m sure she’d have killed Lenora for her grimoire if she thought she could. It’s like human women guarding recipes. They have special ones that they won’t pass on until their daughters are old enough to jealously guard it themselves. Of course, food recipes don’t seem valuable, but for human women, with limited sources of power, they are.”

“The very special dish they’re renowned for. If they share the recipes, anyone could make it and they lose social power.”

I smile. “Yes. For witches, rare spells are true power. The ones you’ve seen me cast are basic, found in almost any non-Coven witch’s grimoire. I have others in my book, but I need to work on them. Then I can add them to my repertoire. Edith was known for her collection of rare spells. She’d track down ancient grimoires, take what she wanted, and then, in some cases, burn the book.”

“So no one else could have the spells.”

I lift the grimoire. “But now I do. Lenora would have loved…” I stop and swallow, and he makes a move to rise and come to me, but I wave him back and take a sip of my brandy instead. “I used to tease that half the reason she wanted to avenge Edith was to get her grimoire from Beatrice. She’d be pleased that I have it.”

I take a deep breath. “All right, enough talking. I’m going to start with a small fireball, as a warm-up of sorts. There are two spells in here that I’d started to work on but haven’t mastered: confusion and calming.”

“I presume those do what they seem to?”

“They do.” I leaf through Edith’s grimoire for the spells. “Confusion sows temporary confusion. Calming will help temporarily calm someone who’s agitated—or suspicious. Lenora considered them cheap tricks. I don’t agree, but her distaste made me reluctant to master them.”

“I would say that either would be useful in a fight.”

I smile. “My thoughts exactly. All right, let me get to work.”

“That is enough for today,” I say. “I hope you can handle anyone who attacks us in our bedchamber, because my well has run dry.”

Bishop only stays where he is, stretched on the settee, watching me. I lift a hand and wave it.

“Have you fallen asleep with your eyes open?” I ask.

His lips curve in a slow smile. “No, I’ve simply been enjoying the respite. A quiet hour to do nothing but sit with my feet up and smugly congratulate myself on my good fortune. To forget everything that has gone wrong, and think only of what has gone right.”