“Remember the other day when I was talking about my Mom’s grimoire,” I say, “and wondering how it could be part of the Book of Shadow and Mists when that legend is thousands of years old?”
Kirin nods.
“Totally obvious in retrospect, but the only way that makes sense is if it’s not Mom’s grimoire itself that holds the key. It’s the spells and propheciescontainedin that grimoire—spells and prophecies she divined from another source. One we might be able to connect with directly, bypassing the need for all the translations, thereby recreating the spells.”
“What are you saying?” he asks, excitement bubbling out of him.
I hold up the Moon card between us. “I think she may have brought the Journey book from the dream realm, and then divined the full prophecies through the Tarot. So all we need to do is find another Journey book—or something equivalent—and divine our own meanings. Maybe that’s how this whole thing works.”
Message received, the card vanishes from my grasp.
Kirin looks at me intently, his eyes sparkling in the way I’ve come to associate with new discoveries and exciting academic challenges. “Stevie, you might be onto something here.”
“Might be?” I smack his knee and laugh. “This is genius-level insight right here, my friend. You are in the presence of greatness.”
“I never doubted it for a second,” he teases, his eyes still holding mine. Suddenly I’m hyperaware of everything—our knees touching, the soft murmurs of students on the other side of the library, the comforting smell of parchment and lemon oil.
Looking at Kirin, I feel the pull of those mesmerizing green eyes, the memories of our last kiss in the stacks conspiring to make me lean in closer, to reach for him, to want him with every maddening beat of my heart.
Kirin lowers his mouth to mine, and our lips touch, soft and tender as a warm breeze, shattering the very last wall left lingering between us.
I thread my hands into his hair and deepen our kiss, fireworks exploding on my tongue.
“Stevie…” Kirin breathes, and I moan against his lips, desperate for the hot press of them one more time…
A flash of movement at the end of the aisle sends us scattering, and I grab the nearest book off the shelf and pretend to flip through it, glancing up to find Ani staring down at us, his caramel eyes alight with some new mischief.
“Wow,” he says, barely holding back his grin. “You reallycanlearn new things at the library!”
“I found it!” I blurt out, holding up the book as if Ani didn’t just catch Kirin and I making out.
Ani swipes it from my hands and peers at the title. “Never Too Old to Party with the Priestess: How to Plan an Arcana-Themed Birthday for Your Magickal Inner Child.” He shakes his head. “Stevie, we talked about this.”
“First of all, you are totally making that up. And second of all, we’re busy, so if you’re not here to help us research, then farewell, my ginger-haired friend. Adieu!”
“I’m definitely not here for more homework,” he says, “but something tells me neither are you.”
I roll my eyes, but Ani never fails to make me laugh. “Why are you here?”
“I’m here,” he announces proudly, handing over a large white binder stuffed with papers, their edges stained with splotches of mysterious origins. “To collect payback.”
“What dark magick isthisquestionably sticky grimoire?”
“This questionably sticky grimoire is your destiny,” he says in a breathy impersonation of Professor Maddox. Then, with a quick shrug, “At least for tonight.”
“Is this hot sauce?” I bring the binder to my nose and sniff one of unidentifiable stains. Hot sauce confirmed. Eww.
“Don’t think of it as hot sauce. Think of it as payback.”
I flip through the pages. “Song lists?”
Ani wriggles his eyebrows.
“Tonight?” I snap the binder shut and hand it back to him. “You’re kidding, right?”
“You’rekidding if you think I’m letting you hit up Hot Shots dressed like a yoga-teaching librarian. A hot yoga-teaching librarian, but still. Come with me, woman.” He reaches for my hand and hauls me up from the floor, then wrinkles his nose. “You smell like old books and desperation.”
“My new signature scent.” Laughing, I glance down at Kirin, who’s got his head bent over another book, his hair sticking up where I ran my hands through it. He’s so intensely focused, I’m not even sure he remembers kissing me.
