“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, then takes the seat across from me. “You look a bit… melancholy. Are you alright?”
I force a smile, even as my throat tightens at his kindness. “I… No, I’m good. Low blood sugar. I should probably eat a candy bar or something.”
He glances around, making a show of inspecting the room, even though we’re clearly alone. Then he presses a finger to his lips and retrieves a Snickers bar from his pocket, passing it over.
“Professor Phaines! I thought there was no food allowed in the archives!”
“It’s my one weakness. I won’t tell if you won’t.”
“Promise.” I tear into the candy bar, grateful for the sugar rush. “Now we’re officially co-conspirators. Mmm, perfect. This is all I needed.”
He nods, but I can tell he’s not convinced. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Sometimes when he looks at me like that, he reminds me not of a grandfather, but of my Dad, who was always the best listener, patient and soft-spoken, never rushing or talking over you. Basically, the opposite of me.
But Professor Phaines is not my dad, and he doesn’t need to be burdened with the lovesick melodrama of a twenty-three-year old student who’s supposed to be putting forth an image of abject professionalism and dedication.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Just getting a little lost in these old books.” I rest my hand on the most recent one I’ve been reading—a particularly dense tome with gilded pages and a cream-colored leather cover, cracked and peeling. There’s no author name, and the contents are all hand-written in a script I don’t recognize.
“Journey Through the Void of Mist and Spirit,” Professor Phaines says, peering over the top of his glasses. “I don’t think I’ve read that one. What do you make of it?”
“Still trying to work that out,” I say. “The pages are numbered, and none seem to be missing, but the way it reads makes me think half the contents were either removed at some point, or never written.”
“But you say there are no pages missing?”
“It doesn’t look like it. They’re numbered, like I said, and the binding looks intact. I just mean that on each individual page, the sentences themselves seem unfinished. Like, someone had a thought, and just gave up halfway.” I shake my head. You’d think I’d be used to that style by now—Mom’s grimoire is the same way. Most of her spells sound half-baked, and her journal entries are just as confusing. I wonder if she was inspired by this book—thought it was some hot new minimalist trend in spellbook writing.
I laugh at the thought. “All part of the mystery, right? Part of the fun of cracking the code.”
“Indeed, Stevie.” He smiles at me, his eyes twinkling. “The more time you spend with these books, with your mother’s prophecies, the more comfortable you’ll become at understanding their meanings. Every witch and mage develops their own personal language—you will too, in time. Maybe someday a couple of eager researches will be sitting in these very chairs, reading overyourprophecies.”
“If that’s the case, I hope they don’t scare easily.”
Professor Phaines chuckles, but then his eyes turn serious. “Any more progress on connecting the Dark Arcana legends with your mother’s work? With the larger threats?”
“Not yet,” I tell him. I might have a different answer if Kirin were around to help, but that ship has clearly sailed, and I’m on my own. “I’m still trying to connect all the dots. But there are alotof dots.”
“As many as the stars in the sky.” He taps the book, meeting my gaze across the table once more. “Stevie, I want you to know that I’m here for you if you need help. Especially with Kirin otherwise occupied, you can lean on me anytime.”
I return his kind smile. “I know. And I appreciate that. But you have your own research, too.”
“I do. But we all need each other. Community, family… That’s how we survive. Especially witches and mages.”
“And candy-sneakers.”
“Yes, that too.”
I take a deep breath, deciding to take him up on his offer.
Besides, it not like anyone else has been particularly forthcoming on this matter—looking atyou, Dr. Devane.
“Professor Phaines, have you ever heard of something called the Book of Shadow and Mists?” The title of this old tome, Journey Through the Void of Mist and Spirit, reminded me of it again.
“Oh, yes,” he says, his brow furrowing, transforming his face from wise old grandpa to serious professor in an instant. “It’s part of the deeper legends of the Dark Arcana. It’s said that the Book of Shadow and Mists will unlock the arcane spells protecting the sacred objects, thereby making their secret location known to the caster.”
I bite my lower lip, trying to remember what Kirin and I had read about that spell. “Kirin and I read something a little different.”
“That’s to be expected. The legends all differ, which is part of the reason it’s so hard to pin down. What did you read?”
