Page 70 of The Evernight Court

My legs were shaking so badly that I sat on the bench and I reminded myself to breathe, but breathing wasn’t going to change the fact that I knew that handwriting. I’d seen it before—in fact, I’d read words written in it every single day. I’d read them in the book that was supposed to teach me the basics of magic. The book that Quinn hadboughtfor me.

Part of me didn’t want to believe in my own self because it was ridiculous. It was sad. Way too heartbreaking—but I knew. And that’s the only thing I was able to think about as I ran out the theater with the leather folder in my hands, barely breathing, not in the least afraid of running into the brides or being caught outside the third tower by Emil or Tristian, even Romin. No, Ididn’t have enough brain cells to even think about it. I just ran with the folder clutched to my chest, praying that I was just seeing things, that it was not the same handwriting. No way had Valentine written that book because then it would mean that he’dhelpedme, and I’d accepted it without knowing. Then it would mean that Quinn had lied to me through her teeth. Then it would mean Quinn was notwho she said she was, either.

It would mean I was still much more vulnerable than I’d realized, so, no—it wasnotthe same handwriting, only similar. Someone else had written that book and Quinn had really just bought it off someone in town. That’s it—that’s all there was to it.

Except when I made it to the closet of my bedroom and sat on the floor in front of Grey’s portrait, shaking, and I reached for the book I’d left on the floor near the frame, I knew.

When I opened the cover and took in the title, the shapes and curves of the letters on the first page, I knew.

It was the same handwriting—the exact same.

Valentine had written that book himself.

A frustrated scream tore from my throat, and my muscles locked in place. I wanted to throw it against the shelves with all my heart. I wanted to tear every page off it and burn it to a crisp. I wanted todestroyit so thoroughly that nothing was left of it when the minute was done.

Something inside me clicked—I heard it as if a lock was being turned in my head. It clicked, and then there was heat. So much heat pouring all over my limbs from the inside, infecting my bloodstream, raging with the thoughts in my head. I saw red, and the more heat inside me, the more my hands shook and the more my muscles locked so that I couldn’t scream or move or throw the book off me at all.

Instead, it began to burn.

I smelled it first, smelled the scent of burnt paper,and even though there was no fire, no flames anywhere around me, the first few pages that I’d squeezed in my fist were burning, turning to fucking ashes and falling right there on my lap. The heat that was pouring out of me was violent, vicious—it wasmagic.I had unleashed magic into that book, and I was not in control of it at all.

My God, I was not in control of my own body.

The panic, the fear at the realization made me jump. By some miracle, I stood up and moved back and the book fell off my hands and to the floor, surrounded by the ashes from the pages I’d burned. With both hands in front of my mouth, I stayed right there in the middle of the closet and I tried to take control of this incredible energy buzzing under my skin, so warm, so powerful that it threatened to spill out of me any second.

My eyes closed and I breathed in deeply, calming myself down—just like the fucking book instructed. When one loses control of their power, it responds to their emotions, it said.And to calm the magic down, we must calm ourselves firsts. We must accept what we feel and let it run its course—and the magic with follow our lead.

Laughter burst out of me. My hair was in my hands and I wanted to pull it out so badly as I kneeled in front of Grey’s portrait.

“It was him,” I said to the canvas. “It washimall along!”

Valentine Evernight might be the strangest, most cunning, utterlyabsurdman I’d ever met, and I didn’t know what the hell to make out of any of this yet.

Eventually, I managed to calm myself down all the way.

No more heat under my skin. No more magic threatening to burst out of me, toburneverything in my hands with an invisible fire. The book was right there, still surrounded by small piles of ashes, but I didn’t dare even touch it for fear itwould trigger me. It would trigger that magic that had felt…unlike anything ever before.

So powerful. So vicious. So damn terrifying.

“It’s magic,” I told Grey after a minute, sitting with my back against the wall, knees to my chest. “It’s what I wanted, what I traded that blood for. I have magic.” And magic meant safety. Magic meant the next time Emil wanted to force himself on me, I’d be able to save myself.

I wouldn’t need Valentine to stop him for me—I could stop him on my own. I couldburnhim just like I did those pages.

How fucking comical. “Tell me something, Grey,” I whispered, my mind chaotic still. “If a man tries to kill you, then saves you, then tries to kill you again, then saves you, then writes you a book on how to use your magic, knowing you won’t accept him teaching you in person, then sends you someone to keep you company, to teach you how to fucking fight…” I burst out laughing, shaking my head at myself.

Of course, Quinn hadn’t just found me and trapped me in the fucking woods.

Of course, she had a hidden agenda—they all did! Everyone in this place was up to something, and it’s no wonder that Syra had destroyed the entire continent. Maybe she should have been more thorough and wiped Ennaris off the face of the Earth completely. Maybe someone should do it for her now that she was gone.

“What do you make of a man like that, Grey?” Tears streamed from my eyes, but I hardly noticed them. “What do you make of a man like that? What is his truth? Kill me or save me?”

Except I already knew the answer to that. If Valentine had really wanted to kill me, he would have. He’d had plenty of opportunities—plentyof them since I came back from Faeries’ Aerie. He could have killed me any day when I left the castleand went to town. He could have killed me the night I followed him in the woods, too.

He could have, but he didn’t.

“Hereallydoesn’t want to kill me,” I said in wonder. “So then why, Grey? Why would he…why…”

My voice trailed off as my mind buzzed. My eyes were wide open, but I saw nothing in front of me, only memories replaying on the inside of my mind. Memories of his face, his eyes, his smile, hishug. The way he held me. The things he said to me.

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