Page 117 of The Witch and The Blood Oath

She walked into the hallway, and her magic hummed. I wondered if she cast out her own magical search, and my suspicions were confirmed when she darted toward the elevator. I followed her along the pristinely white tiles and ignored the pictures of young Freya, Sybil, and Josephine.

Freya approached a small, weeping fig tree. Though its leaves were green, the top layer of soil was dry. Freya’s magic buzzed again, and my breath caught.

“She’s in the tree?” I asked. “That’s the one she tripped me with when she first met—she twisted its roots around my ankle.”

“My mother gave it to her,” Freya murmured.

She ran a finger down one of the drooping branches of the tree, and I fought the urge to try to hug away her sadness. Arion rose on his hind paws, sniffed the soil, and hissed.

“This doesn’t feel like the music box,” Freya explained, “Josephine’s power imbues it, but this has something different too. Somethingold.”

I closed my eyes and willed my magic to sense foreign power. Though Freya’s magic came to my immediate attention, something darker loomed beyond it. The closer I got to the tree, the more apparent the ancient magic was. Something thrummed in its soil, quietly but consistently. It was as if the magic hadalways been there but tuned to such a low frequency, it could go unnoticed.

I sighed. “Here goes nothing.”

Before Freya could stop me, I grabbed the base of the tree and squeezed my eyes shut.

Nothing happened.

Freya cleared her throat. “What were youexpecting?”

I opened my eyes and cursed. “I don’t know. Something? Maybe for an Indiana Jones style secret passageway to appear?”

Freya raised a brow in confusion, and I sighed.

“You never appreciate my references,” I muttered.

Freya snorted. “You’re just mad that noteverythingresponds to your cool, rare warlock magic.”

“Jealous?” I mocked, but Freya’s attention returned to the tree.

She ran her hand down the length of it, and magic reverberated in response to her touch.

“I don’t think it’s actually the tree,” Freya mused.

She dug her hands into the soil. Magic boomed and raised the hair on the back of my neck.

“Something’s in the soil,” I agreed.

We dug into the earth and scooped it aside. Magic roared louder, and the tree roots scraped my fingers. Freya and I shoveled more dirt out with our hands and reached deeper into the pot. Behind us, Arion mewled and paced. When my fingers brushed something hard, foreign, thunderous magic stole my breath, and lightning danced on my skin. I pulled back and caught my ragged breath.

Freya noted my reaction and dug deeper.

The moment her hands grazed what hid in the bottom of the pot, her magic swelled, and wind lifted the ends of her curly locks. She sucked in a breath, forced both hands into the soil,and pried a square object out. As soon as it was freed from the earth, she dropped it on the tiles. I studied the dirty object.

“It’s a book,” I realized. “Huh.”

???

Freya

Soil covered the book, but an emerald cover shined underneath it. Though its magic was so ancient and potent I wanted to recoil, I forced myself to smear a hand across it.

“There’s no title,” I said.

Now that it was free from the earth, I realized the hint of Josephine’s magic had stemmed from a spell meant to conceal and protect the book. The magic in its pages felt nothing like Josephine’s.

Now, the book’s magic was free to thrum in the air.

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