“Please open for me,” I whisper. “Please grant me permission to share in the knowledge of the sacred Cerridwen Witches who came before us.”
I hold my breath. One beat. Two.
And the Codex finally responds, opening to the middle of the book with nothing more than a quiet rustling of pages.
“That’s how it started the other night,” Rook says softly, coming to stand behind me. “Only with slightly more fire and brimstone.”
“I think the fire and brimstone is making an appearance in other ways.” The skin on the back of my neck heats up suddenly, this time accompanied by a searing pain across my skull. I gasp, clutching the amulet tighter, but I don’t back away.
“West. You okay?”
“Fine. It’s just… that same feeling as before. Like something’s trying to… to claw its way out.” Gritting through the pain, I pull my hair forward and rub the back of my neck. “Can you see the rune?”
Rook leans in close, cursing under his breath.
“I take that as a yes?”
“Do you mind if I take a few pictures?” He pulls out his phone. “I sent copies of Auggie’s original photos to my occult studies contact at NYU. Just closeups of the rune—nothing identifiable, of course. She’s been digging through her material on fae runes looking for a match. I want her to see these, too—see if we can get some clearer shots.”
“It’s fine,” I say, blowing out a breath as the pain slowly begins to fade.
When he’s finished taking the pictures, I sit down before the book, eager to see what’s inside. Turning it back to the first page, I glance up at Rook and smile. “No lightning, rain, or wind. I’ll take that as a good sign.”
Rook laughs, the relief clear in his eyes, too. “I don’t know, West. They say it’s the quiet ones you need to watch out for.”
“Like you?”
“Exactly like me.”
“You know, Rook. One of these days you’re not going to be able to resist my charms, and you’re just going to scoop me into your arms and plant a big, wet kiss right on my—”
“Focus, West,” he says firmly, but when he takes a seat on the bench beside me, his eyes still hold a playful spark. “We’ve been waiting all this time to open it. Let’s see what’s under the hood, shall we?”
* * *
Rook can’t read it.
Not a single word or verse.
Whenever he glances at the page, the letters and delicate sketches it contains flutter and swirl and spin before his eyes, making it impossible to decipher.
I see it, too. It’s as if they’re performing for us, a rare and magical dance as beautiful and entrancing as it is infuriating.
But when I hold my amulet, take a deep breath, and touch my fingertips to its delicate pages, the words become still. Slowly, carefully, they reveal themselves to me and me alone.
It’s another miracle, and the sight of those words clarifying before me brings tears to my eyes.
But just because I can read the individual letters and words doesn’t mean I can make a damn bit of sense of them when they’re all strung together.
It’s written in English—or at least, it’s presenting itself to me in English. But the writing is so archaic and awkward, stuffed with metaphors so complex and convoluted even Rook’s eyes are crossing when I try to read them out loud.
After countless failed attempts, we’ve finally opened the mysterious Cerridwen Codex. But, as usual, we’re trading one answer for a thousand more questions.
I blow out a breath, rising from the table and heading over to the fireplace. Pacing. Always pacing.
Never before have I felt so daunted.
But I also can’t recall a time when I’ve felt so hopeful, either.
