Page 75 of Magic's Rise

A knot of anxiety forms in my stomach as I imagine stepping barefoot onto the dirt floor beyond. The last thing I want is to connect with any of Elana’s magic. But I’ve already pushed her too far, and I don’t want to make things worse this close to my goal.

Reluctantly, I take off my sneakers, leave my socks on, and step into a garden bursting with life and color.

Elana leads us to a worn worktable to the right, a locked glass bookcase filled with ancient-looking books sitting behind it.

As she pulls a key from around her neck and unlocks the doors with a satisfying click, a giddy sensation bubbles through me.

Aspen must not feel the same as he glances at the enclosed space, his brow creased in concern. “Do all of the coven members have a key to this sanctuary?”

“Of course not,” Elana sniffs. “I’m the only one.”

“Then how can they access their family grimoires if they’re locked up here?” he presses.

“They simply need to ask.” Elana lifts her chin as she steps to the side, opening the way to the bookcase. “Every witch has a personal grimoire from which they can practice.”

“Wow, talk about witch hoarding to the extreme,” I say.

My comment earns a glare from Elana. “These tomes are precious and must be guarded.”

“Against their owners?” I nudge Aris. “Go fetch your family’s grimoires. We’ll start with those.”

“Charm casters’ books?” Elana scoffs. “I thought you were seeking a solution, not trinkets.”

Anger bursts all my bubbles of excitement. “All spells are charms at a basic level. Aris’s are just solid representations.”

Elana turns to Aspen, disbelief written all over her face. “What kind of ignorant teaching is going on outside Silver Hollow?”

“Rowe’s way of thinking is different,” Aspen says, a chilly note to his voice, “and often enlightening, once you puzzle out her reasoning.”

“Is there a translation dictionary for that?” Elana mutters under her breath.

Haut’s growl cuts through the greenhouse. “You’re speaking about my mate and a guest of the Alpha.”

Warm fuzzies replace the anger, and I cuddle up against Haut. “You’re officially back at a Saturday level of love, bad wolf.”

“Whatever that means,” Elana grumbles.

“Trust me.” Haut wraps an arm around my waist, snugging me close. “It’s a good thing.”

I give Aris an encouraging nod, and she avoids meeting Elana’s sharp gaze as she steps forward to collect her family’s grimoires.

She returns with a stack of dusty tomes, carefully placing them on the table.

I abandon Haut’s embrace to join her, eager to see this puzzle box. I reach out and pull one of the books toward me, flipping back the cover with disappointing ease. As I turn the first page, I notice a familiar family crest in the corner.

My eyes widen, and the blood drains from my face, leaving me light-headed. I grip the edge of the table for support as a laugh bubbles out of me.

No. Freaking. Way.

I should have listened to Haut and noped this entire adventure.

Haut and Tris crowd around me, concern etched on their faces.

“Are you okay?” Tris turns my head to study my eyeballs. “Maybe we should have checked out that concussion after all…”

“It’s not the head injury.” I gesture to the grimoire open in front of me. “It’s this.”

Aris wrings her fingers together. “Is something wrong?”

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