Page 32 of Practically Witches

“At my folks’ house, in the vault, there’s a bunch of books about the first families.”

“The vault?” I’ve never heard of anyone but banks having a vault.

He nods. “I could take you there.”

Aimee is shaking her head but when Zane looks at her, she stops and smiles, like she doesn’t want him to know she doesn’t want me to go. “RJ, Mom’s going to be home soon and she’ll be worried if you aren’t here.”

“I think Mom would want me to do whatever I can to figure out how to getyour power back.”

Aimee shakes her head. She’s frustrated with me and I’m not sure I understand why.“We know how. We have to kill the syphoner.”

Aimee, who is all about peace and love, isn’t going to be altogether happy about having to kill anyone, but she’ll do it or stand by and let it be done if it means she gets her power back.

She won’t be the same after. And I don’t want that for her. Or for me. But I would rather be the one who has to do the killing so she doesn’t have to suffer through that.

I nod and smile wider. She’s arguing for no reason. I’m going to go to his house with him anyway. “Yes, but we don’t know how to find outwhothe syphoner is. One of the books might help.” I couldn’t speak any sweeter if I was made of chocolate and sugar.

“RJ, I think it’s a bad idea.”

I look from Aimee to Zane and back again. “That’s why you’re not invited. Just tell Mom I’ll be home later.” And that’s my final word on the subject.

Chapter

Fifteen

Zane’s house is the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever seen, like nowhere I’ve ever been. Even the Institute isn’t so grand and spacious. It’s more like a castle than a house. There are turrets and a skywalk that connects one part of the house to another as if one part was added on later and the two pieces needed linked. The brick is whitewashed and the roof is solid black.

The doors are twice as tall as any regular door and Zane pushes one open then smiles when he looks back at me. I’m still marveling because I don’t know anyone who lives like this. “Come on.”

I follow him inside and stop and look around.

Fuck. There is a statue in the foyer. A statue of a woman in a long robe with a leaf headdress and closed eyes. She’s holding a flower and looking down.

“Dad turned Mom to stone when I was a baby.” He says it so matter-of-factly and off-handed, I can’t tell if he’s being truthful or not.

I stop walking. “Really?” His father’s a witch, I know that much. But generally spells like that don’t work onother witches, and no way would he have that kind of power if his mother wasn’t one.

He shakes his head. “No.” And he laughs. “Mom saw that statue when they went to some statue park a few years ago and she bought it.”

“After this week, I think anything is possible.”

He smiles and holds out his hand and pulls me through the house so I don’t get to see much other than passing glimpses of rooms. One room seems to be a showplace for a very black, very large grand piano.

“You play piano?”

“Chopsticks.” He laughs. “My mom plays.”

The library is as big as the one in town, with as many books, and this one has a painted ceiling. “Wow.”

“Yeah. My dad loves books.”

“And the ceiling painting?” It’s of cherubs and angels and harps and clouds.

“Took him years. And then years of being seen by chiropractor to fix his neck.” He looks up and pretends to paint like I wouldn’t understand his joke.

“It’s impressive.” And that’s an understatement. It’s detailed and colorful and makes me feel like I’m actually heading toward heaven. He smiles and we move on through the library to stand in front of a wall. “It’s a nice wall.”

He chuckles and my heart does a little dance even though he’s dropped my hand. “It’s more than a wall.” He gives it a little push and it slides back to reveal a staircase.

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