Page 2 of Raising Hell: MMF Edition

Despite that, most of the house is finished, with one last area that requires my attention. Once I’m awake and dressed, I toss a quick breakfast together and fill Shadow’s bowl full of kibble. There are no more excuses to delay, so I heave a sigh, staring at the door to the attic.

I walk over and pull it open, the hinges squealing under the sudden movement and the stale smell of unused space hitting me in a pungent punch. Each stair squeaks as I climb, and I shudder as I ascend into the darkness.

“Seriously, why are attics so creepy?” I mutter, fumbling as I search the wall for a light switch. When I can’t find one, I use the flashlight on my phone and shine it in a half-circle. The clutter is just as overwhelming up here, and as I look aroundin dismay, I notice the dust dancing in the beam of sunshine sneaking through a crack in the window.

In my hunt for light, my eyes settle on a long Bic lighter and a table with a handful of candles. I ignite two, gulping as I switch off my flashlight. My hand only shakes a little as I pick up a candle in a brass holder, shivering at the flickering shadows created in the room. “Who doesn’t put lights in their weird death attic? Love this for me.” As I glance around at the stuff accumulated up here, I shake my head. “No way in hell I’m doing this by candlelight.”

A few hours later, armed with industrial work lights, an extension cord, and an energy drink that’ll probably just give me anxiety, I can finally begin bagging junk and hauling it downstairs. Long, grueling hoursand several trips to the dump later, I brush my hands off, surveying the open, airy space with an immense sense of satisfaction. There are a few larger pieces of furniture up here that I won’t bother to move, and an oversized rug housing a few decades’ worth of dust between its fibers placed in the center of the floor.

A loud meow comes from my right, and I grin at Shadow strutting along the edge of a desk, tail flickering as she stares at me. I run my hand down her silky back, feeling the flex of her muscles as she arches against my touch. She purrs loudly, pacing back and forth as she nuzzles her head against my fingers.

A barely audible click catches my attention, and I glance at her rear paw, where a small square of wood is pressed into the surface of the desktop. My eyes widen as a hidden drawer pops out, just an inch or two. “What the…” I whisper as I reach and slide it open.

A large leather-bound book sits like a lost relic, its cover embellished with mesmerizing gold-leaf patterns and a cryptic symbol at its center. A small lock holds it closed, but other thanthe book, the drawer is empty. I dig through every nook and cranny of the desk in search of a key but come up empty-handed.

My fingers run over the soft, pebbled material of the cover. The whole thing has an ancient, otherworldly aura about it, a charge like static under my fingertips as I trace the filigree. I flip it over and glance at the back, but it’s only covered with more of the unusual markings.

Worn lettering is hand-printed on the spine.Spells, Enchantments, Curses, and Charms.“Strange,” I murmur as Shadow meows next to me, butting her head against the book. “Maybe it wasn’t Granny’s…” The words die in my throat as I flip back to the front cover, seeing a tiny inscription in the bottom corner that readsProperty of Petra Blackwell.

Well, so much for that theory. The book feels like it buzzes in my hands as I frown at it, the cat purring up a storm as I twist the lock between my fingers.

“What the heck were you into, Granny?”

Chapter 2

Ruby

At the kitchen table, my dinner sits untouched as I lazily move the food around on my plate. Today was… awful.

My job was already a nightmare, working as an administrative assistant to someone who could easily be mistaken for Lucifer’s right-hand man. However, losing it out of the blue just because his college friend’s daughter showed up, with her perky twenty-one-year-old boobs and long blonde hair...

That shit stings.

“Why me, Shadow?” I whisper, tears springing to my eyes as she leaps onto the table and tilts her head. Even the damn cat feels sorry for me.

It’s pitiful.

At thirty-two, I have nothing… not really. I haven’t had a boyfriend in years, and my work schedule has made it impossible to keep up with myself. I tug on one of my red curlsand watch it pop back up into its usual chaotic coil. The mousse I put in this morning is long gone from the number of times I pushed my fingers through it today, so everything is extra frizzy.

A walking pom-pom.

Go, team.

It’s not like I hate my body. I don’t stand an inch over five-foot-three, and I have soft rolls instead of tight abs, but that doesn’t bother me. Physical appearances rank pretty low on my list of priorities, because, despite my current pity party, I know what I have to offer… even if I don’t have someone to share it with at the moment.

The rest of my life, on the other hand, could use adjusting. New job, new adventure… Lord knows I could use some excitement. The house was a good start, but even now, what am I doing?

Eating a giant spoon of peanut butter for dinner and wearing a pair of sushi pajamas while the sun is still out. All alone.

A furry head butts against my cheek with a quietmrow,and I glance up with a small, rueful smile. Okay, maybe not all alone. Her fur is soft between my fingers as I pet her, nodding and giving a very unladylike sniffle. “Yeah, you’re right. I need to stop moping. There’s no point in stressing over things I have no control over, and I can’t get my job back now. I don’t even want it back, so why am I blubbering about it?”

My eyes shift, staring at the book on the table. Despite tearing the attic apart, as well as searching every piece of furniture in the house, I haven’t been able to find the key—or any explanation to what the book is or why Granny had it. There’s a nagging fear in the back of my mind that I threw the key away with the trash, but I can’t explain why it bothers me so much.

Why I have such a need to open it and read… to understand.

I shovel the giant spoon into my mouth, licking it clean before stretching to grab the book.

The pensive silence is broken by a crash that almost makes me jump straight out of my skin. Once I verify I am not, in fact, a walking skeleton, I turn to find Shadow on the fireplace mantle, her attention fixed on the shattered vase on the ground. “Sugar! Pesky cat!” I tiptoe over, gingerly stepping past the splintered pieces to grab the broom and dustpan from the closet.

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