Page 63 of Monsters in Love

“Then why are you wasting time here? What happened to Celeste’s things, by the way?”

I shrug. “Apparently, there wasn’t much. All her furniture was rented with the condo, and as part of her will, she donated stuff like dishes, blankets, and clothes. I got her small jewelry collection, and her remaining personal effects were delivered to me in a box that I haven’t opened yet.”

Haven stares at me, her ice-blue eyes wide. “And your first thought at finding all this out wasn’t to rush home and see what the hell is in that box?”

“I didn’t have any thoughts other than I hate Chad Alder and I need sugar!”

“Well, you’ve had sugar. Now go home and figure out what Celeste was up to before Chad screws you again.” She stands up. “I’ve gotta go, but trust me, you’ve got this. Call me later and tell me what you find out.”

ANNIE

As soon as I get home, I change into sweats and wind my hair up into a floppy topknot. Then I grab a boxcutter and tear into Celeste’s box of personal effects. I check each item carefully, searching for any hint of a spell, or at least useful information. There’s a packet of handwritten letters and postcards Celeste received from various friends; an ancient flip phone; a beautiful antique silver hairbrush and mirror; some heavy candlesticks; a little pile of hand-sewn doilies, hankies, and other small linens; discontinued perfume that smells like violets; and miscellaneous other old lady stuff. Nothing with even a whiff of magic, and no notebook helpfully labeled “This is why I decided to screw over my grand-niece.”

I blow a loose strand of hair out of my eyes and sigh. Biscuit, who was sitting on top of the dresser, notices my distress and wanders over to bonk his head into me, so I give him scritches and cuddle him to my chest. “Can you think of any reason this could be happening?” I ask him.

He just blinks and purrs, which is weirdly comforting. If I had to, I could let the bank take this house and all its shabby furnishings. The cats and I would be just fine. Of course, that would mean letting Chad win, which is an infuriating idea. It’s been years since we were together, but the anger has never really faded.

I was 16 when I met Chad, a handsome high school graduate with dreams of getting his MBA. Of course, I only visited Haven’s Hollow in the summers and on holidays, but we kept in touch all year long, counting down the days until I’d be back and we could be together again. It went on like that for three years, years when I was convinced we’d get married and have babies. I was madly in love as only a teenager can be, but my naïve dreams all shattered when I was 19.

Naturally, I had been faithful to Chad all those months we were apart, and I assumed the same was true for him, even though he was off at college. After all, how many times had he told me he loved me? That I was beautiful, that he couldn’t wait to see me again, et cetera, et cetera, barf?

Of coursehe was cheating on me. The entire time. With lots of other girls. Like,lots. Then, when I was crying my eyes out over my broken heart, I discovered his parting gift to me was an STD. One easily cured, thank heaven, but still. Seven years later, I’m still royally pissed about that. That and the fact that he was stealing from me the whole time. Five dollars here, a missing ten there. Just whatever small bills he could find in my purse or bedroom. Not a huge amount, but enough. He is a Grade A Dick. USDA Prime Asshole.

Because of him, Haven’s Hollow became the place of my own personal tragedy, the place where he and his family still lived, and the place that I never wanted to return to.

That irritates me now. That I let him take this town from me. I could have been visiting Celeste and Haven and everyone else all these years, and instead, I was hiding from fucking Chad.

That’s on me, I guess, but the rest of it is definitely his fault.

I suppose, in retrospect, there are worse things he could have done. But lying, cheating, stealing, and infecting me with his little, unfaithful dick have been enough to keep my fury fires burning all these years. And there is no way I’m letting him take my house and turn the property into some tacky restaurant where the servers have to carry shot glasses in their cleavage or something.

I’m taking back Haven’s Hollow and I’m keeping Mabon Manor.

Somehow.

I heave myself up off the floor and head upstairs to the big library, which I’ve yet to explore. If there’s useful paperwork about this whole thing, maybe I’ll find it in there.

The library is like something out of a TV show…or a witch’s mansion, I guess. Enormous, with wall-to-wall shelves, sliding ladders, and nooks and crannies. There are two big wooden study tables set up in the middle, complete with those traditional green banker’s lamps. A stained-glass window depicting a dragon takes up the far wall, and cushy chairs are tucked in the corners.

Somehow, the dust and dirt that settled over the rest of the manor haven’t touched this room, which means there’s a spell in place to keep it clean—presumably to protect the books. I have no idea why the same spell wasn’t applied to the rest of the house, but there are dozens of possibilities. Maybe the spell can only encompass one room, maybe it only works on books, maybe the witch who originally cast it was weak or crazy or only cared about the library.

All I know is, there must be a thousand volumes in here and I’m glad I don’t have to clean and restore them. A handful are already out on one of the tables, lying open as though someone was just reading them. Lucien, I presume. I wander over and idly run my fingers over the spines, investigating the titles:Basics of Cursework, Spells and Their Inverses, Garden Witchcraft, Working with Crystals.

Ah. It seems Lucien has been doing research, trying to break Mary’s curse. I know he wasn’t anticipating me and we startled each other, but I didn’t expect an hour of my presence to drive him to try to undo a spell that he’s lived with for two centuries. Am I really that bad? He seemed kinda put out with me, but I didn’t think it was enough to send him packing. Oh, well. If he wants to break the curse and leave, it’s more than fine by me.

With a shrug, I walk along the perimeter of the room, investigating the shelves themselves. Unfortunately, there’s no card catalog in here and it doesn’t seem like anyone put good Mr. Dewey’s system to use, so if there’s a method of organization in place, I can’t figure it out. There are books on everything. Spellcraft, of course, but also gardening, history, art, cookery, home repair, mysteries, romances, myths and legends, and loads more. I could spend a decade reading and not get through all the titles.

Given the situation, it seems like the best place to start is with the witchcraft books. Maybe, if I can figure out which spell Celeste used on this whole mortgage thing, I can figure out how to fix it. I grabSpells and Their Inverses, since it’s already out, then plop into one of the armchairs and get to reading.

LUCIEN

The instant the sun sinks below the horizon, I rise from my crouch in the eaves and stretch, joints popping in relief. The joy that comes from moving after being frozen all day is impossible to describe. I extend my wings to really work out the kinks, then clamber through the attic window that has always served as my entrance into the manor.

I’m heading toward the library, as is my nightly routine, when I remember Anya. I pause, uncertain. Hopefully, she’s out for the evening, or at least occupied so she won’t interrupt my work. I can’t imagine she would object to me reading the various books in the house, but then again, humans are fickle, temperamental things. With a frustrated sigh at the wrinkle her unwanted presence has caused, I continue down the stairs and into my favorite room in the house. It’s dark, the shelves casting long shadows, and I light the lamps. It’s not until I’ve turned on three of the four that a small noise alerts met to the fact I’m not alone.

I turn, tracking the sound, and find Anya sprawled in one of the chairs, snoring lightly. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun, and her mouth is wide open with a tiny bit of drool in one corner. She’s a pretty girl, but an ugly sleeper, and I can’t keep the smile from tugging at my mouth at the silly picture she makes. A book has fallen to the floor near the chair, and I creep closer to look at it.

Spells and Their Inverses. One of the ones I’ve been reading. I frown; doesn’t she know library etiquette? If someone has left their book open, they obviously intend to return to it. Do not touch. I pick it up and take it to the table farthest from her chair. I don’t care if I wake her, but the longer she sleeps, the less opportunity she has to bother me.

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