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My eyes narrow. “Should we toy with something so powerful?”
“Can you think of another way?”
I cannot. “Fuck.”
“We don’t know precisely how the book works, I admit. Legend says whoever possesses it can write whatever they wish, and their words will come to pass.”
“I watched Morgana curse me with a few strokes of her quill.”
“Then perhaps it’s that simple.”
Nothing about Morgana had ever been simple. But I have no other ideas. I need Olivia in my arms before I lose my mind and begin a rampage and burn down the world to find her.
Sweat drips, and worry thuds. This could go horribly wrong, and I could be cursed forever. I care not.
“Whatever needs to be done, do it now.”
Bram nods, reaches to his desk for a pen, and poises it over a naked page. “Does the diary require a special writing instrument?”
“The night she cursed me, Morgana grabbed something of Arthur’s.”
Bram sighs. “We’ll hope for the best. Magical experiments are always…interesting.”
Interesting and magic are two words I want not in the same sentence. But I will risk anything—everything—to have Olivia returned to me alive and whole.
Brows furrowed in concentration, Bram settles the pen to the page and quickly scrawls Bring Olivia back to her mate. Banish those who took her and tempt fate.
“I don’t know if it needs to rhyme, and I’m not a poet, but…” Bram shrugs as he dots the last period with a flourish.
I hold my breath, anticipation clenching my gut. This must work. Across our bond, I feel Olivia’s fear. I am moments from losing my patience—and my mind.
Time ticks on. I scan the room frantically and stare out the windows. I see no sign of my beloved.
Frustration replaces worry. When I glance at the book, I stagger back, eyes wide. “The page—’tis blank.”
Every word Bram wrote has disappeared.
“What the bloody hell?”
I have no clue. “And you cannot see Morgana’s words on the page beside?”
Bram lifts the book closer. “There’s nothing.”
“The diary holds more secrets than I imagined.” Like Morgana herself.
Regret etches itself in Bram’s face. “You try.”
I forget that I lack magic or that Morgana would consider this sacrilege. I take the book from Bram, then realize… He’s giving the most powerful of magickind’s weapons to me voluntarily? Though my hope of using it to save Olivia is slim?
“Why are you waiting? Do it,” he urges.
Later, I will consider the implications of his choice. Now, I care about naught except Olivia. Horror now replaces her fear. I feel it like an icy blade hacking at my heart.
Trying to steady my hand, I stab the pen to the blank page and write words similar to Bram’s.
With the same results.
Once the words fade from the paper, I slam the book shut. Useless. “What now?”
