Page 19 of Spelled By Truth and Tresses

“Hey! I was drinking that.” The words flew from my mouth before I could recall them.

Mother narrowed her eyes and dangled the cup from her finger. “I. Don’t. Care. Speak to me like that again, and I’ll lock you in your room for a month straight.”

“I’m sorry, Mother. I-“

“Shut up and let me enjoy this. It’s the least you can do after being such an annoying presence since you were born.”

I pinched my lips together tightly as Mother continued to drone on, the thunder booming outside thankfully drowning out some of it. Metal glinted in my peripheral vision as she removed the athame from its sheath poking out of her pocket. The one moment of happiness I had during this fucking ritual was the reminder that my mother had no idea of the significance and history of the knife she wielded.

Dad gave it to her as a wedding gift. Soft light glinted off the triangular double blade of the athame knife. My eyes traced the sharp tapered point before gliding to the twisted Apache tear handle pulsing with powerful magic as it molded to her palm.

I didn’t fight her as her nails dug into my wrist closest to her. My skin stung as the blade parted it and blood welled immediately. Mother held the coffee mug under the stream of blood as it flowed out of me until it was nearly halfway full. Her entire focus was on the crimson liquid as she tipped her head back and tilted the contents into her mouth.

She slammed the empty, blood-stained mug onto my vanity, then pranced to the door. “Don’t put too much care into cleaning the cut. You know I love when a scar forms. They make an excellent reminder not to forget about your poor mother cooped up in this house all alone.” She said and slammed the door behind her.

I flinched as if her words were a physical blow. My brain throbbed as I stumbled to the door and tested the ornate silver handle. It moved slightly, and my heart leaped into my throat. Metal scraped on the other side as my mother inserted the skeleton key and locked it from the outside. Her cackle faded as she walked further away from my room.

I backed away from the door slowly on shaking legs, then crawled onto my bed. I can’t keep doing this. I refuse to keep being treated like her personal blood supply. The abuse has to stop.

I stretched and grabbed my phone. If Lalita finds out what happened, she will be furious, and I can’t risk my mother harming her.

The thing in my chest pressed against my ribs gently, as if coaxing me to remember. I needed a distraction desperately. Jax’s broody visage popped into my mind. Before I could think better of it, I typed out a quick message to Jax.

“Can we put aside our mutual hatred for a bit? We’re partnered for the history assignment, and the sooner we complete it, the better.”

I bit my lip as I watched the message hover in limbo as it waited for a signal before sending, then closed my eyes. It was impossible to determine how much time had passed when something buzzed near my ear. I opened my eyes, then squinted as my phone lit up on my pillow, highlighting Jax’s response.

“Meet me in the library tomorrow, pet.”

CHAPTER 8

Magic washed over me, cooling my skin more than the chilly air outside as I entered Holmes Library. Everything in me relaxed, my muscles unbunched, my breathing slowed—even the thing behind my ribs settled happily.

I would spend hours getting lost in this library. The wealth of knowledge stacked on the black oak cases was endless. No one had discovered every facet of its beauty, the library creating its own world within its shelves.

I waved to Indiana as he organized the stacks of books to be returned, books floating around him, some thumping into neat stacks on the counter. The marble floors with veins of silver absorbed the sounds of my footsteps, the enchantments embedded into the surface glowing softly under my boots with each step.

I moved toward the staircase built into the back wall itself on the first floor. Finally, I emerged on the fourth floor. I glanced at the black railing branching from the stairs in either direction, then continued to my favorite section.

Three bookcases stood alone in a gorgeous alcove oozing with comfort. I grinned, then sat on the plush velvet purple sofa, tossing my backpack to the side. Warmth emanated from the commanding fireplace; the stone mantle covered in plants rumored to originate in Hell. Black and gray leaves dangled at irregular intervals, swaying toward the flames in the hearth and revealing their dark purple undersides.

I drag my backpack toward me, then rummaged through it for my notebook. My gaze diverted to the stairs as awareness prickled along my scalp. The bookshelves blocked most of my view, only revealing a tiny portion of the landing. Whatever lived inside my chest was instantly alert. I gasped as it scratched at my ribs. It kept up its painful ministrations until Jax crested the top of the stairs and strode toward me.

He held himself in a way that made him seem taller than everyone else. His strong, stubble covered jaw appeared sharper as the light from the fireplace caused shadows to swirl under his chin. Jax’s tattooed hand gripped the strap of the backpack thrown over one shoulder. Somehow, it made him look even more delicious.

“Ax.” I greeted him. “You’re late.”

He smirked. “I had something to take care of, but I’m here now.” He rubbed his hands together, then stalked toward the fireplace. “It’s damn cold today. Let me warm myself for a minute and then I’m all yours.”

I squeezed my thighs together, but it did nothing to quell my desire. Dammit.

Jax smirked, then turned fully toward the flames. Before I could stop him, he reached toward the plant as if he meant to stroke its intriguing leaves. The Oleanic shook, the leaves turning a brilliant violet as the longer sections of the vines whipped toward him, sharp snaps cracking with each attempt.

“Fuck!” He growled, then wrapped his lips around the tip of his middle finger. Jax stumbled back, then took a large, determined step forward. I caught his hand and dragged him toward me instead of the writhing plants.

I drew my lower lip into my mouth, then sunk my teeth into it as I attempted to silence my snickers. Jax’s eyes glittered with malice as his gaze darted from the plant to me.

“Leave it alone, Jax,” I said shakily, barely suppressing my laughter. “You can’t touch an Oleanic plant. It’s extremely sensitive to external stimuli, and it defends itself if anything gets too close. Not to mention it’s toxic.”

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