Wickham definitely appeared suspicious, but Lizzy hadn’t seemed surprised that he was involved in something that had to do with the darker creatures. Werewolf or vampire? Considering that he’d inquired about an essence of foxglove to counteract bloodlust instead of wolfsbane, it prompted me to lean toward a vampire.However, it was possible that he’d been bitten and didn’t have time to acquire wolfsbane, so he opted for the bloodlust counteractor instead.
Being new in town, how did George even figure out to call Isabella for anything, anyway? He must have some sort of connection.
Either way, the notion of someone running around with bloodlust wasn’t exactly comforting.
Chapter 9
IsatandreadCreatures of the Dark, my internship research on how religious observances had changed over time discarded off to the side. Seven days had passed since we started brewing, and I’d been meeting with Frank every other day to develop the potion. His powers were also necessary to add to the concoction in small amounts. On the days that he came, I dedicated more time to reading about magical maladies. It became a mystery in and of itself to parse out what was the bias of the writer and what might be fact. It dominated my thinking, making it difficult to focus on other research during my work hours.
I reviewed my notes on blood lust.
-One of the worst afflictions of the creatures of the dark, specifically werewolves in their transformed state and vampires, especially newly turned ones.
If George Wickham had blood lust, he showed no signs when we met. I’d tried to contact Lizzy the past couple of days to get more information about him, but she’d dodged my calls. And as for Pastor Collins, well, he didn’t seem to want to discuss Isabella outside his sermons either, and usually just ordered me back to work. I needed to surprise him or shift the setting so he wouldn’t be able to give me orders. Since then, I’d been stuck with my research, combing through the journal for clues, and the occasional chat with Isabella. But I focused most of my time on perfecting the potion. When finished, I could investigate George Wickham and Pastor Collins further.
The writing was small, and I moved my desk lamp closer to make out the words among the elaborate scrawl. A curse called Magic of Doom at the end of the page made me smile. The old writers definitely had a doomsday attitude. Then again, when that curse claimed lives, it probably felt like that.
Beware the Magic of Doom. The fading curse, brought on by the silver mark on the chest.
I froze, the words burrowing their way into my brain. The fading curse… silver mark… that bore a strong resemblance to Dad’s curse. The name Moonrot was only a misnomer. It didn’t really have anything to do with the moon that we knew of. It was called that because of the spiral silver mark on the chests of those that were struck by it. Could it be the same curse? I wrote the symptoms on the list, determined to investigate it further at another time.
Duchess leapt onto the book and stuck her face in mine, large yellow eyes peering up at me. I scooted back with a little cry of surprise. The silly cat. Ghost or not, I didn’t need her giving me a heart attack. She sprang off the desk and headed toward the stairs, glancing back at me expectantly.
I checked my phone and closed the book. It was time to meet Frank. I shut my laptop and followed Duchess through the stacks and up the steps, unsure if I was grateful to have a ghost cat to keep me punctual.
I’d researched the symptoms afflicting the creatures of the dark, and they were disturbing. Perhaps the fae did have good reason to be wary of us. Even so, it wasn’t as if I had a choice in being a medium or having my witch powers. Frank didn’t have a choice in becoming a werewolf. Did it justify condemning those who battled their inner demons by prohibiting all methods of treatment? Did no part of us merit preservation? Isabella, a fae, lacked the ability to make the wolfsbane potion without a witch’s power to brew it.
I pushed open the large double doors and moved down the steps into the brisk air. Frank leaned against the side of the chapel, his arms folded. He wore his long pea coat with a turned-up collar, giving him a decidedly Edward Cullen appearance. Hex, he looked handsome.
An enormous grin spread over his face as I approached and stopped right in front of him.
“Good afternoon, Mary,” a voice behind me said. I spun around in shock. Brexton was walking to the church. How did I miss his approach?
“Brexton.” I stiffened. “What are you doing here?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I work here.”
“You’re usually off visiting people at this time.”
“Collins wanted me to examine some financial documents.” His gaze shifted. “Frank.” He nodded in greeting.
“Brexton,” Frank said.
“Do you meet Mary here often? In the bushes?” the assistant pastor asked.
Realization hit me of how this must look. Five years ago, during my time in high school, this was a common make-out spot—actually, if I listened to Lydia, it still was.
“Of course, weren’t you aware?” Frank’s hand wrapped around mine. “Mary and I are dating.”
My gaze whipped to his. His expression told me to play along. I smiled at Brexton, striving not to seem awkward.
“Oh.” Brexton’s confused eyes shifted to me. “I didn’t know that.”
“I planned to show Frank around the stacks today. That’s because he’s never seen them before.” I flinched. Was that worse than a meeting amongst the bushes? Plus, now I was lying to Brexton, one of my only friends.
“Nice.” Forced cheeriness marked Brexton’s tone. He touched his neck with a strained smile. “Should we go inside?”
The three of us walked into the church, the doors shutting behind us with their customary snap that somehow sounded louder than usual, trapping me within and cutting off my route to escape.
