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Was I turned on by the danger or the fact that he’s so damned beautiful?
I suck in a deep breath, blow away the mental fog, and let my brain catch up with reality.
There’s a man out there who’s had a murderous grudge for eight centuries. He has sharp claws who wants me dead. Dead because he believes I cursed him into a warped form of chastity. He can destroy things and has already attacked a member of my family.
The worst part about this situation is that he’s invisible to everyone but me.
Everyone blames his actions on my out-of-control power, and I’m under the threat of having my magic bound. If that happens, the only thing protecting me from his claws will stop working.
And I will die.
It doesn’t matter that he looks like a thing of erotic nightmares.
I’m still in deep shit.
Someone needs to banish the Boogie Man.
I scramble to my feet, rush to the door, and fling it open. Ignoring the overpowering scents from the orchard, I jog down the path that leads to Grandma’s house.
The wind sweeps across the garden, making the chamomile flowers sway. A few loose petals fly into my face, making me wonder if the Boogie Man is still lurking outside the boundaries, trying to get in.
I’m out of breath by the time I reach her front steps and knock on the door. “Grandma?”
When she doesn’t answer, I push it open.
“Grandma?”
My voice echoes across the black-and-white-tiled hallway. The walls here are so tall a witch could fly her broomstick inside and not bump into the chandeliers.
At this time of the day, Grandma is usually in her potions room, preparing orders for the family apothecary. Aggie makes custom enchantments, while Aunt Klara tends to patients in the back room. Since my power isn’t of any use to customers, I work behind the counter and manage the stock.
All the other members of our coven work in branches across the country. I don’t see them as much as the others apart from during full moon gatherings, where I’m the one responsible for preparing the refreshments.
Grandma isn’t in the potions room, the kitchen, or even her bedroom. I check the living room, but there’s no sign of her or her broomstick.
The last place I visit is her study, a little library of leather-bound books. Our family grimoire lies on the desk open at a page that says, Invisibilia Magica.
My heart melts at the thought that she might be taking my claims seriously, but I also get an idea. If Grandma can’t get to the bottom of my problems, maybe I can find a solution at the library.
Ten minutes later, after a steep climb up Mugwort Hill, I reach Witch Hazel Library. On the outside, it’s a tall, Rapunzel’s tower-style building, rendered in white with small arched windows. Its interior is thirty feet in diameter with a huge, circular desk for the librarian, while all the bookshelves are set within with a mezzanine walkway that winds up the wall toward the ceiling.
I have no idea where to start, so I walk the entire length of the library. Ignoring all the places I won’t find information on the Boogie Man, like fiction, wand making, magical plants, and potions, I pause at history to look up King Henry and Elenor of Aquitaine.
The information on our coven’s ancestor is a more detailed version of what Grandma told me on the ride to her house.
Next, I stop at magical creatures, but it only contains books on non-sentient beings. Then I stop at mythology and find a few stories about the Boogie Man which make little sense.
According to the information, the Boogie Man is just a creature parents made up to keep their children in line. He doesn’t exist. I must have just named him that because Grandma used to tell me stories about a boogie man who hid beneath the beds of naughty children and punished them at night.
I shake my head. If I don’t get any help, I’ll be searching here all week.
With a sigh, I make my way down to the ground level where the blue-haired woman at the desk gives me a dour stare. “May I help you?”
“Where can I find books on a specific creature?” I bite down on my bottom lip. “Black wings, pointed ears, claws, and black markings across the skin.”
“Does it stand on cloven feet?” she asks.
“Human feet but clawed toenails.”
