Page 34 of Practically Witches

“I don’t know. There’re a lot of books.”

“Then I guess we better start looking.” I pull my lower lip between my teeth and half smile because I have a picture in my mind of the two of us shoulder to shoulder, singlehandedly finding the information to save us all and restore Aimee’s powers.

He smiles and glances at me. “Fine with me. We can stay here all night trying to find whatever you want.” His hand is warm at the small of my back as he guides me toward a line of shelves at the back of the room. “This is where we keep the oldest books. The ones written before the first Institutewas ever built.”

I lay my hand on the glass over top of the books. There’s power in this case. It’s pulsing, as if the bookshelf has its own heartbeat. The covers are different from the others. Some are made of fabric, others of leather, and still others are only yellowed pages stitched together with twine.

We spend hours going through the books. First, because they’re so fragile, and second because some are hard to read and we both have to try. Instead of going twice as fast by reading a book each, we spend twice as long trying to figure out what is on the pages.

Every once in a while, I catch him watching me and I smile at him. I don’t know what’s going to happen when this is all over, but I’m savoring these moments where he’s so close to me I can feel the heat of his body, his chest pressed against my back as he reads over my shoulder, his arm around my side, hand on the table beside mine.

We’re three or four books into our investigation when he pulls one from the cabinet that is glowing when he sets it on the table. I’m afraid to touch it.

“Go ahead. It’s just a spell. I thought it might help us find what we’re looking for.” His smile is softer now than it was. “I’ve been standing beside you all day, breathing you in, and I want to get this all finished, so I can breathe you in at the movie theater, at dinner, at night.”

The words are probably the best I’ve ever heard. He’s got a way of saying things that make me shiver in the best way. I stare at him for a couple seconds before I snap out of the trance and open the book.

The pages flip on their own one at a time—probably thanks to his spell—and then stop. The page is blank. Like every other in the book.

“Maybe it needs a spell to show the words?” I look at him. On one hand, I want to show him that I’m up to thetask, but on the other, I don’t want to fail in front of him. I don’t want to look like a fool. Right now, he doesn’t doubt me. Right now, he thinks I’m capable. And I don’t want to prove him wrong. I don’t want him to know that my magic is faulty.

But he’s waiting for me, wants me to cast the spell to make the words appear. I can hear Aimee’s voice in my head.See the words in your mind, hear them in your heart.

I want to, but my doubts are bigger than the sound of her voice. “What if we’re opening magic that could call syphoners from the…abyss?” I want it to sound as treacherous as possible. “What if it’s a trick? Something one of the syphoners put into the book to call up an army of them and your spell awakens it?”

“And what if it’s only a cheap wizard’s hiding spell and we can be the heroes who give the magic back to everyone who was robbed of it?” His confidence is that of a man who’s never failed, whose magic always turns out exactly right. He doesn’t know the pain of setting something on fire by a transposed word that changed the entire meaning of the spell, or a semi-naked history teacher because instead of answers, I said the Latin word for pants.

He leans in and his breath is hot against my neck and ear. “Show me what you can do.”

As far as incentives go, it’s potent, makes me want to succeed. But I can’t move. This book is a jillion years old and if I destroy it…

“Did you know that the spells don’t have to be said in Latin or Romani or Russian or the languages they’re written in? They only have to be said to be understood.”

I stare skeptically, one eyebrow cocked. “Why didn’t they ever tell me that at school?”

“They want us to learn, but just say the spell in Englishand it works. Every time. I promise.” Well, if he’s promising… I withhold the eyeroll, but he chuckles anyway. “Fine, try a spell on something else first. Not the book.”

Well, there was an idea.

“Okay.” I look at the table across from the one we’re sitting at. I close my eyes and murmur the words. “Pull the chair from beneath the table. Flip it over on the top if you’re able.”

The chair shifts, rocks, but doesn’t move, until it does and it twists, turns, and flips over onto its seat then slides onto the edge of the table.

“Holy shit. I did it.”

He laughs. “Why are you surprised?”

There are about a thousand reasons. None of which I’m secure enough to share with him. Only Aimee knows my secret and I’m keeping it that way.

“All right. Try the book now.”

He could do it and without risk, but I want to prove myself now. And I want to prove that language doesn’t matter. If it’s true, my mistaken magic days are over. Language, as far as I’m concerned, has always been my problem.

I nod at him. “Willow and billow and words of right, show yourself into the light.” I wag my fingers at the book—not that I have to, but magic is half about the flair—and the pages start to wave. Holy shit. “It’s working. Look!” I point at the pages as the words fade in one line at a time.

He nods and rests his chin on my shoulder. “I see, RJ.” He whispers my name and if I turn my head toward him, he’ll kiss me, I know it, but I don’t want our first kiss to be in his basement among dusty tomes that haven’t been opened in a hundred years. And I don’t want it to bebecause he’s proud my magic worked. I want our first kiss to be emotion and need and desire.

I’m not settling for less. But I have to clear my throat to find my voice. I glance at him then back at the book and start reading. There is a load of information about syphoners. “Look at this.” I point to one of the paragraphs. “A syphoner can absorb magic from any witch or magically infused object whose power source is visible or able to be used by the witch.”

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