Page 76 of Reckless Witch

She has me there.

“I assume the medical examiner’s report will detail the drugs in her body,” I say.

The sergeant shakes her head. “We found no sign of foul play. Given her age and the pills, we found no reason to order an autopsy.”

That shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. I underestimated the Illumina.

I need to search the house, as well as check on Stony. Still, I can’t leave here empty-handed. Is it possible for me to push through Ethan’s sigil and cast a truth spell on the sergeant? The sigil didn’t stop me from leaving The Academy, but I suspect that the instant I try to cast a spell, the dragon’s magic will light me up like a firecracker and drag my ass back. I shudder to think how much stronger the spell on my next jail cell will be.

“I believe I’ll have that talk with the New York Times,” I say.

The sergeant angles her head in ascent. “That is your right, of course.”

Damn, she called my bluff. Then again, it’s a thin bluff.

I stand. “Tell your bosses that an interview with the Times will be the least of their worries.”

She rises. “I will convey your message.”

I hesitate, itching to cast a truth spell on her.

The sergeant escorts me from her office and, when we reach the front, she pulls a card from her jacket pocket and writes a number on the back. She hands me the card. “Call me if you feel the need to talk. That’s my private number.”

I glance at the number in surprise. Private number? Cops don’t usually give out their private numbers.

I meet her gaze. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Chapter Thirty-One

LEILAH

Grandmothers and spell books

I arrive at Grams’ house forty minutes later and hurry up the front porch steps. Anticipation hums through me at the thought of seeing Stony. I miss her so much. I reach the door and sense Grams’ strong wards pushing back. I wonder again how the stranger got into her house—and worse, that damned green demon.

I push through the door and call out, “Stony, I’m hooome.”

Silence follows.

“Stony?” I take half a dozen steps across the foyer and enter the living room.

Furniture still lies overturned and destroyed, the destruction untouched in the room after the demon attack. Only the green goo is gone. No sign of Stony. I search the kitchen. Empty Chinese food cartons litter the floor near the rear door. Blade has kept his word and fed her, and she’s been eating. So, where is she?

I return to the foyer and head upstairs. I bet she shifted into a dog or cat and climbed the stairs to one of the bedrooms. I enter my old room first and stop cold. The room is a time capsule, frozen on the day I left. My old gym sneakers lie against the wall near the small desk where I did most of my homework. Even my old chemistry textbook lays open to—I cross to the desk—yes, the page on human genome. At fifteen, I wouldn’t have admitted it to my friends, but I loved the sciences.

I trace a finger across the page, then snatch my hand back. Had Grams hated me so much that she couldn’t bear to enter the room long enough to clear out my things? Tears sting the corners of my eyes. I swipe at one eye. No way am I going to cry. I’m done crying over a woman who didn’t want me. I whirl to leave, but halt at the unexpected surge of magic emanating from the book.

I take a faltering step back. What the fuck? I stare for a long moment. Then, slowly, I reach out with my magic. The sigil on my hand flares with a fierce heat. I snap my eyes onto the sigil. My heart begins to pound. The sigil didn’t heat that quickly even when I called forth those weird shadow balls to battle the green demon.

I look back at the chemistry book, take a careful step closer and ease two fingers back onto the open page. A tingle races up my arm. I tense, but nothing bad happens. Careful to keep the book open, I lift it from the desk and examine the covers. Nothing strange there, despite the pulse of magic still emanating from the book.

Damnit, I wish Stony were here. I lower myself onto the desk chair, set the book down, then turn the next page, then the next and the next before I realize the magic is waning. Waning, but still present. I flip back to the previous page and the one before that. Yes, there’s no doubt, the magic is increasing as I turn toward the front of the book.

I slip a finger between half the pages and lay them on the right side of the book. Magic fairly leaps off the page. My stomach roils. Something is wrong, very, very wrong. With shaking hands, I flip the remainder of the pages to the right so that I’m looking at the title page. Magic dances across the page in thin, translucent ribbons of black energy.

What in God’s name is this?

I lift a trembling hand and tap my fingertips to the page. A shock rips through me. A shriek rends the silence and I leap to my feet, knocking the chair over. The book spins and I cry out when the textbook morphs into a leather-bound journal much like—