I tried to focus on her face—did she kind of look like me?—but her image faded away. Frustration seethed through me.
Damn it.
I opened my eyes, staring down at the book. “There are answer here.”
“About you and Grey?”
“About everything. My past, definitely. I can just feel it. My power is screaming. And she might have looked a bit like me, which was weird. But the book isn’t showing me anything else.”
Mac held her hand over the lock for a second, then hissed and yanked it back. “Definitely don’t break the lock.”
“That was my thought. Feels like a strong enchantment, huh?” I looked at the clasp, unable to find the lock hole. There were three other tiny holes, though. “Must be a really tiny key.”
“Yeah.” Mac leaned over the box and picked up the dress, gently shaking it out. I watched, hopeful that a key might fall from the folds, but once she’d fully withdrawn the dress and shook it out without finding anything, I leaned over to look into the bottom of the box.
It was empty.
“Damn.” She met my eyes. “I can start searching the rest of the boxes.”
I looked at the piles of dusty, battered crates. “I doubt it’s in here, but we need to search them anyway.”
“My thoughts exactly.” She wiped a finger through the dust on the box. “But first, I want to get rid of this. It will kill us if we disturb all of it.”
My nose itched with an oncoming sneeze, as if agreeing. “Maybe Seraphia could work on the book in the meantime. She’s got to have a trick for getting into locks like this.”
“Great idea. Library should open any minute.”
“I’m going to take it to her. Good luck with the dusting.”
“Ha. Leaving me with the fun job, I see.”
I grinned at her. “You really are the best. I owe you.”
“A bottle of wine, at the very least.”
“And a gift certificate to that Fae spa you like, because you’re going to need it once you’re done with this dust.”
Her brows rose. “I won’t say no to that.”
As I turned toward the door, I caught sight of the raven. The bird’s eyes had been riveted to the book, and as it lifted them, I held its gaze. “This is what you wanted me to find, isn’t it?”
It didn’t so much as nod, but I was sure of the answer. Quickly, I left the tower, the book clutched tight to my chest. It was small, like a diary, and I wondered if that’s what it was. There was no title on the spine that I could see. The stone seal in my pocket sat heavily against my leg, and as I crossed the courtyard, I couldn’t help but look at the pedestal upon which Rasla’s statue had once stood.
We’d broken his curse on the Shadow Guild tower and driven his ghost from Guild City, but he was still haunting us. Worse, I felt a connection to the space where the statue had been.
I shook the thought away and hurried toward the library. The morning rush had quieted now that everyone had got to work, and I made it to Seraphia’s library in record time.
The tiny Tudor building looked quiet and closed, and when I tried the door, I found it locked once more. A quick glance at the sign showed that it technically should be open.
What was the deal? This was the second time the library had been unexpectedly closed. Our friendship felt too new for me to pry, but I was worried.
I knocked on the door, tapping my foot as I waited. A few minutes passed, so I knocked harder, banging on the door like a lunatic.
“I’m coming!” Seraphia’s voice filtered through the wood, and I leaned over to look in the window.
She raced for the door, her clothes looking rumpled and worn. The skinny jeans were baggy at the knee, the way they became after wearing them too long—and her faded T-shirt hung off her shoulder, the neck stretched out. Her dark hair was a mess around her head, and shadows sat below her eyes.
I frowned. Seraphia had never looked this rough before.
She pulled open the door, her complexion paler than normal. “Hey. Sorry. I must have overslept.”
“In the library?”
“I live upstairs. Kind of.”
I frowned, waiting for an explanation.
None came.
She stepped back and gestured for me to enter. “Come in.”
I stepped into the enormous, cathedral-like space. Though the outside of the library was tiny, it was an illusion. The interior was a palace of books, so many that my mind started to fog if I tried to conceive of a total. The enormous, domed ceiling rose high overhead, reminding me more of St. Paul’s than a library.
“What brings you here so early?” Seraphia asked.
“It’s almost lunch.”
She grimaced. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
She rubbed a hand over her face, the gesture weary. “Oh, boy.”
“You can tell me about it, you know.”
Her green eyes flashed to mine, indecision flickering within. “Thanks. But I’m fine.”
I nodded. Sure.
But I didn’t say it. Pressing was a bad idea. Seraphia started to close the door and hesitated. “Eve’s raven is outside.”
“Really?” I turned back, spotting the glossy black feathers in the tree across the street. I shouted, “You can come in if you want!”
The bird just stared at me, and I shrugged. “That’s a no.”
Seraphia shut the door and turned to me. “Come on. I need tea before I can do anything.”
I followed her toward the back. She led me into a small kitchen that appeared to be stuck inside a massive bookshelf. I walked between rows of books, and suddenly I stood in a little space that looked like it was from the 1940s.
“They had to carve this spot out with magic,” Seraphia said. “One of the former librarians insisted on her tea breaks.”
“I don’t blame her.”
Seraphia walked to the old AGA cooker. The metal was painted a pale pink, matching the rest of the strange old kitchen. A kettle shaped like a very ugly cat sat on the hob, and she waved a hand over it. A second later, steam billowed from the top, and the cat yowled.
“That’s handy,” I said.
She grinned at me. “Another request of the former librarian. The spell isn’t complicated, but it’s expensive. Milk and sugar?”
“Just milk, thanks.”
She prepared the tea and handed me a cup. She took a sip, then sighed, her eyes suddenly looking brighter. “Now, what can I help you with?”
I handed her the book. “That lock.”
She frowned at it, lips pursed. “It’s a strong one. If we try to break it, I think the pages will incinerate. Do you know who owned it?”
“No. A woman, I think. Maybe from the time of Rasla.”
“That old bastard?”
“The very same. We found it in the Shadow Guild tower. Mac is looking for the key, but we’re not hopeful.”
“Yeah, she’d have hidden it well.” Seraphia flipped the book over, inspecting the back. “And I don’t think it will be a normal key. But I can work on this. Might take me a little while, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks.” I hesitated. “Not to rush you, but…I’m pretty sure that book has answers about Grey and me.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“I don’t know how, and I don’t know what. But my power is telling me there’s information in there.”
“You’re never wrong, so I’ll get to work on it.” Her head tilted, and her eyes brightened. “Someone is here.” She strode around me and exited the kitchen.
I followed, clutching my tea. When I spotted Grey standing near the door, I nearly dropped the cup.
A shaft of sunlight streamed over his face, highlighting the curves and angles that made him look like Lucifer himself. The shadows under his eyes only accentuated his otherworldly beauty, and though he hadn’t started losing weight like he had before, there was something sharper about him.
His gaze moved to me, something indecipherable flickering in the depths.
My soul felt like it fluttered inside my chest, reaching out for him. I sucked in a quiet breath and resisting pressing a hand to my chest to force it back in.
“Grey.”
“Carrow.”
“I don’t suppose you’re here to check out a book?” Seraphia asked.
“No, I’m here for Carrow.”
I’m here for Carrow. I liked the sound of that, even though everything had gone to hell.
Seraphia looked between the two of us, then gestured off to the right. “There’s a small room, if you want privacy.”
“Thanks.” I smiled at her, then headed that way. I had no idea why he was here, but privacy sounded like the way to go.
Grey followed me, and I could feel his stare on my back. It warmed me through, and I wanted to turn and throw my arms around him. I knew it was crazy, given everything, but I still wanted it.
The little room that waited for us was a sitting room, complete with two cozy armchairs and a fireplace that flickered with flame. Bookshelves covered every wall, and about six Persian rugs overlapped each other on the floor. The scent of paper and leather binding filled the air, along with fresh flowers. I spotted the cheerful bouquet of peonies on the windowsill, then turned.
Grey waited just inside the door, his gaze on me.
Indecision tugged at me for a split second, and then I threw my arms around him. His arms came up, and he gripped me tightly to him, seeming to melt into me in a way that should have felt heavy but instead felt blissfully light. Like being surrounded in perfect peace.
I clung to him, his scent of flickering flame and whisky wrapping around me.
“This is a bad idea,” he murmured against my head.
“I don’t care. I haven’t seen you in two days.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.”
“Of course you have. At what?” I didn’t pull away. He could explain just fine like this.