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15

Our welcome home was spoiled by how the Proctor grimoire chose to greet us. It sat propped against the door leading into Colby’s bedroom. The silent threat was proof my recent attempts at keying the wards to trap it in the house were successful, even when it attempted to stowaway. And it was not happy about it.

Oh-freaking-well.

“Books who threaten me end up on the DNF pile,” I warned it. “You don’t want that to happen, do you?”

The grimoire gave no outward signs of having heard me, but I was certain it was shaking in its binding.

“You sure showed it.” Clay patted me on the head. “That book won’t mess with the likes of you again.”

“Shut up, Clay.” I swatted him. “Come on, book.” I lifted the wretched thing and headed for my bedroom. “Let’s go put you back where you belong.”

“Probably not a great idea to talk to the book like it’s a person,” he called. “You’ll give it delusions of grandeur.”

After spending time away, I was forced to admit what I had been ignoring. The safe full of black artifacts was fouling the air with its stink. The smell never bothered me before, but it tempted me to sneeze now. All in all, it was a good sign that meant my familiar bond with Colby was still cleansing my soul, for which I was grateful.

Though I might move the safe out of my bedroom if things got much worse. Better? It was a tossup between whether pressure-washing a lifetime of black magic off me was the wiser idea or if huddling in its thick and pungent embrace was smarter. I was safer as a black witch, but I flew just under the radar these days. Soon, thanks to Colby, my conversion to white witch would be obvious, and I would be a bigger target than ever. But I was also more dangerous than before, thanks to her purity.

Better to walk into a room an obvious threat, or to let it be a surprise?

Like so many things in my life, I had to make the call, and quick. Before someone made it for me.

A knock on the door distracted me from opening the safe. “Come in.”

Asa entered the room, noticed the book, and hesitated. “Am I interrupting?”

I had a choice to make, and the repercussions pressed on me the way irrevocable decisions always did. It wasn’t my best work, the way I told Asa about my grandfather. He had no way of knowing I had waged a war within myself on how or if or when I should tell him. Aside from trust, he had no reason to believe it was anything more than me blabbing my side of a truth he was about to learn anyway.

The scales between us, in my mind, required balance.

“Can you shut the door?” I set the book on the bed then patted the mattress. “Give me a minute?”

Without asking a single question, the truest expression of trust, he sat and let me go about spelling the room for privacy from any mothy or golemy ears that might overhear what I was about to reveal.

“Should I be alarmed or excited that you want to ensure no one can hear me scream?”

Heat swooped through my middle in a burning rush, and I was grateful to have my back to him.

“I’ll let you be the judge of that.” I picked up the book and thumped it across my palm. “There’s something I want to show you.”

Interest brightened his eyes, and he wet his lips. “Oh?”

“Kiss a guy once, and his mind falls into the gutter forever.” Not that I had any room to talk. “Here’s the thing.” I took Delma’s remains from my pocket. “I’m a collector.” I pushed open the closet and knelt beside the safe. “I own things no one should have but that can’t be destroyed.”

His lips parted on the question I knew he would ask.

Does Clay know?

“Clay doesn’t know,” I answered him all the same. “He suspects, I think, but he’s never asked, and I’ve never volunteered the information. Colby has an idea, but I’ve never explained the contents to her.”

“But you’re telling me.”

“I am.”

“You don’t owe me this,” he said softly, as if he could read my mind. “You’ve given me enough.”

Too soon. It was too soon to tell him I wanted to give him everything. I wasn’t sure what everything even meant for someone like me. I wasn’t sure if the way I experienced love was the same for others. As much as I would like to blame the fae juju that lubricated my mouth when it came to my deepest, darkest secrets, I suspected I had wanted to unburden myself for a long time.

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