A leather-bound book lay alone in the drawer, as if everything else had given it space out of respect—or fear.The cover was cracked and worn, held shut with narrow leather ties.Faded gold scrollwork had once been elaborate but now was ghosted by age.
“What have we here…” I murmured.
I eased the book out of the drawer, cradling it in both hands, and scooted back to sit on the floor.Carefully, I loosened the ties and lifted the front cover.The spine crackled in protest.And when it opened, it warmed against my palm.
An illusion, right?It had to be.
“What’s that?”Owen dropped to the floor beside me, leaning in to see.
“A book,” I said.
“I figured that much.What kind of book?”
“I think it’s a grimoire.But I can’t read this.”
The inked lines were dark in places, faded in others.The handwriting was elegant and looping, more quill-and-ink than ballpoint.The letters themselves looked familiar and not at the same time—like English put through a blender.
“What language is this?”I asked.
“I don’t know.I can’t read it either.Turn the page.”
I did, wincing as the paper rasped under my fingers.More of the same.Dense paragraphs, no illustrations, no helpful glossary saying Welcome to Your Magical Tree 101.
“What is this, Old English?”I asked.
He shook his head slowly.“I don’t think so.”
“Who could help us with this?”I asked.“Your dad?”
“Maybe.Maybe not.”
I shot him a look.“That is not helpful, McAllister.”
He smiled and, because he apparently didn’t know the power he wielded, lifted my hand and kissed my palm.
My breath caught.Traitorous hand.
“My point,” he said, “is I’m not sure my dad can read this.But Mrs.Rollins might.”
I blinked.“AP English Mrs.Rollins?”
He nodded.“Remember how she made us memorize the first hundred lines of The Canterbury Tales?”
I laughed.“Yeah.For extra credit.‘Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote… ’ That’s all I remember.”
“April with its sweet showers,” he translated without looking up.
I groaned.“Now you’re showing off.”
He looked smug.“If she knows Old English, she might at least recognize what this is.Maybe she can translate the first page.”
My mood lifted.“You’re a genius, McAllister.Great idea.”
I hugged the book against my chest and scrambled to my feet.“When can we go?”
“I doubt she’s at school.It’s summer.”
I rolled my eyes.“I know it’s summer.This is Hickory Hollow.We know where everyone lives by default.”
