Page 314 of Sigils & Spells

Smart and sexy—a deadly combination.

My mouth went dry as I slowed my approach, unsure of what to do next. I didn’t have to worry, though, since he paid me no mind. Stepping around the black-haired giant, I bent over and grabbed the next book in theWitch War Diaries of Henriette Babbel.I’d been reading the series for any mention of my family. Countless hours spent scouring the pages, I was still looking for some concrete connection. Henriette Babbel was in the same squadron as my grandmother and her unique perspective of the Second Witch Wars was something I had not seen in other autobiographies.

“So, you’re not going to say hello, then?” Brandon’s deep voice questioned.

I had to stop myself from quivering in the wake of his almost too masculine vibe. Exhaling a breath, I flipped through a couple of pages, as if I did not know this was the book I wanted, and shrugged my shoulder.

“You looked busy,” I replied nonchalantly.

“Mmm,” he mumbled.

“Okayyy then,” I whispered, turning around to take the long way back to the librarian’s desk.

The Westwood Academy Library was truly magnificent. Three floors filled with books and scrolls, and an archive room that required special clearance for anyone to enter. I was dying to get inside, but so far, my requests had been denied.

Breathing in the rich scents of papyrus, ink, and old leather, I clutched the heavy tome against my chest and lost myself in my stream of conscious. This was the only place I allowed my defenses to rest. Here, I didn’t have to be tough girl Tana, the mouthy badass everyone knew, or a daughter of the fallen, seeking revenge.

Here, I could just be me.

Exhaustion seeped into my bones as I slowed my pace, dodging other students on my walk. I did not have many friends, but I’d attended Westwood for three years and knew plenty of the witches and wizards milling about by sight, if not name. Everyone knew I was not a chatty Cathy. But today, I had no energy to play my usual standoffish role.

And lucky for me, I did not have to.

It was easy enough to duck down rows of books sitting on huge mahogany shelves when I spied anyone near. Little by little, the tension I felt earlier in the day was leaving my body. My magic was calmer, too.

Inside the walls of the library, I could just relax. Westwood Academy was a pretty intense place with so much magic in a relatively small space. Yes, the mansion appeared huge on the outside, and inside, it was even bigger with wings and rooms like this one that were magicked to hold much more space than was physically possible. But it was still small considering all the magicals living within.

As I walked, I opened the book in my hand, running my fingers across the title, and hoping I would find what I needed in this volume. My father had left on another of his fact-finding missions, and he’d left a message saying he was close this time. He meant close to finding my mother’s killers, and the thought filled me with equal parts rage and fear.

“Henrietta Babbel, I hope you have some answers,” I whispered, frowning at the extra small font that reminded me of Gran’s old McKenna family bible.

Her parents had hauled that ancient tome from Ireland to America back when they’d emigrated in the late nineteenth century. I remember sneaking peeks when I was a little girl, and Gran’s gentle scolding to be careful with the fragile thin paper within the gold painted leather binding.

I never thought it was odd, being a witch with a Catholic heritage until I met other witches. Most practiced some form of paganism, like Wicca. I didn’t really know. I wasn’t a true believer in anything, really. I wondered if that made me a bad person, and the thought hurt.

“What are you reading?”

The question was spoken right in my ear, the speaker’s warm breath tickled my lobe, and I hated to admit it, but it scared the shit out of me. I gasped—hard.

The scents of smoke and sweet spring grass filled my nostrils, and I calmed immediately. Turning my head, I met a familiar stone gray stare and clenched my jaw in anger. The smug bastard looked unrepentant and amused.

Silent stalker.

Brandon Flint had somehow caught up with me without me hearing him. My heart pounded and my stomach filled with butterflies. I didn’t know whether I wanted to sock him in the jaw or climb him like a tree.

“The book, Tana, what is it?” he asked again.

“None of your fucking business,” I growled, belatedly realizing he was actually a dragon who could growl a whole lot fucking better than me, witch or not.

“Ah, the famousNone Of Your Fucking Businesstitle. I don’t think I’ve read that one,” he remarked, falling into step beside me.

“What are you doing?” I asked, both annoyed and, to my undying consternation, elated by his continued presence.

“Walking.”

“No, you’re stalking,” she corrected the infuriating man.

“Stalking? That’s quite the claim, fire witch, but let me lay your fears to rest,” he growled, tugging me closer to him with a firm hand wrapped around my elbow.

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