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6
“Looks like it’s just you and me.” I sat next to the Proctor grimoire. “What’s on tap for tonight?”
The best routine for my mental health involved reading the cursed book for thirty-minute stretches. The odds of it worming into my head, the way it had with Colby, were low but never zero. Plus, it had a knack for making me reflect on what I had done—and might still do—with the power on offer.
Which, honestly, was proof it was seeding my subconscious with its macabre delights.
I had to figure out how to get to the good stuff, memorize that, and then torch this pesky book. It wasn’t a leap to assume it knew that was the plan, which was why it kept thwarting me at every turn. It didn’t want to die, and it was doing everything it could think of to prevent that outcome.
The fact its sentience allowed it to fret over its demise was, yes, another sign it needed to go.
First things first, I set a timer on my phone to ensure I didn’t fall down a rabbit hole.
After I settled on the bed, legs crossed, back against the headboard, I opened the book on my lap. At the top of the page, in bold letters, were instructions on how to call otherworldly creatures to do your bidding.
“You’ve been eavesdropping again, I see.” I flipped forward and then back. “You’re on a roll tonight.”
Aside from popping up all over the house, the grimoire didn’t move that I had ever seen. It didn’t riffle its own pages or leave itself open on passages for me to find. It was much worse. The book was in absolute control of its contents. It could show me what it wanted on any page I chose, which meant it didn’t need those parlor tricks to get its point across.
Had I not skimmed the information on Colby that first night the grimoire was in my keeping, I might never have known. Then again, now that I knew the book better, I suspected it had been baiting me, even then, with the knowledge I wanted in exchange for its continued existence.
The timer went off before I made any inroads, and I put the grimoire back in the safe with other artifacts that had no business in the world. Until this grimoire, I hadn’t believed a book could be smug, but it pulled off self-satisfied well.
Sleep proved more elusive than usual on nights when Asa was away. He and Clay more or less lived with Colby and me between cases, and the roommate life was working out for all of us. She and I enjoyed the company, and they enjoyed having a home to come home to.
About to check on Colby, see if she wanted to bake Mexican wedding cookies with me, I got a call from Asa.
“Hey, you.” I swallowed the pounding of my heart. “Miss me already?”
Hmm.
That almost sounded flirty.
Maybe I was getting the hang of this.
“Yes, but—”
A groan poured out of me, along with my newfound confidence. “But what?”
“Javelle has reported a vodyanoy.”
Javelle was a town above Munford, but a vodyanoy? “That’s the least dangerous one yet.”
Vodyanoy were stooped-back creatures with froglike heads. Their long beards reached their knees, and I remember hearing something about scales. They resembled old men from a distance, and they weren’t malicious. Still, they had no business so far from water.
“It killed a lifeguard at the municipal pool.”
“Clearly, I shouldn’t make sweeping statements without fact-checking myself first.”
Most towns surrounding Samford were just as teeny as ours, and none had the resources for a municipal pool. Javelle orbited those towns, but I hadn’t realized it was that much bigger or it had the disposable income to burn on maintenance and lifeguards.
No wonder the mayor was always in a tizzy. Her competitive streak must be a mile wide.
“I didn’t mean to come off as chastising.”
“You’re fine.” I flopped back on my pillow. “I just finished up with the book, so my brain is mush.”
His silence reinforced his opinion that we should damn the contents and destroy the grimoire.
