Page 16 of Claws for Celebration
"You're here late too," Moira observed, accepting the tea gratefully. The warmth seeped through the ceramic into her fingers, which had grown stiff from hours of careful page-turning. "Don't tell me you're pulling inventory shifts at eleven PM."
"Caught me," he admitted with that slow smile that made her stomach flutter. "I've been updating the digital catalog system. Exciting stuff like cross-referencing ISBN numbers and checking publication dates."
She studied his face in the lamplight, noting the slight tension around his eyes that suggested something more than cataloging had kept him occupied. "Everything all right? You seem a bit on edge tonight."
"Long day," he said, settling into his usual chair with fluid grace. "Sometimes running a business feels like juggling flaming torches while riding a unicycle."
"I can imagine." Moira marked her place in the grimoire and reached for her notebook, where she'd been attempting to create a family tree based on the increasingly detailed stories the ancient text revealed. "Though I have to say, your inventory management seems remarkably thorough for someone who's supposed to be struggling with business logistics."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning you always know exactly where everything is, you can quote publication histories from memory, and your rare books collection is organized with museum-quality precision." She gestured toward the pristine shelves surrounding them. "Either you're the most naturally gifted bookstore owner in existence, or there's more to your background than small-town retail."
Lucien was quiet for a moment, sipping his tea while something unreadable passed across his features. "I've always been drawn to knowledge preservation. Books, history, making sure important information doesn't get lost to time."
"Is that why you stayed in Hollow Oak? For the historical preservation opportunities?"
"Partly." His dark green eyes met hers across the small table. "But mostly because this place felt like home in a way nowhere else ever had. Sometimes you find a community that accepts you exactly as you are."
The wistfulness in his voice filled her with empathy. "That sounds like you weren't always accepted elsewhere."
"Let's just say I've never been particularly good at fitting into conventional expectations." Lucien's smile held shadows that spoke of experiences he wasn't ready to share. "What about you? Academic life must come with its own set of social pressures."
"Oh, definitely. Publish or perish, departmental politics, the constant pressure to prove yourself worthy of tenure." Moira traced the rim of her mug absently. "But at least the expectations are clear. Work hard, research thoroughly, write compelling papers, hope someone notices."
"And has someone noticed?"
"A few someones. Enough to keep me employed and occasionally invited to conferences where I can present my findings to rooms full of people who nod politely and ask pointed questions designed to expose any weakness in my methodology."
"That sounds terrifying."
"It is," she admitted with a laugh. "But also exhilarating when you've discovered something genuinely significant. Like finding a previously unknown genealogical connection or uncovering a historical mystery that's been unsolved for decades."
"Like your family's connection to Hollow Oak?"
Moira's hand stilled on her mug. "Exactly like that. Except this mystery is personal rather than academic, which makes it both more compelling and more frightening."
"Frightening how?"
She looked down at the Shadowheart Codex, its ancient binding warm beneath the lamplight. Over the past week, the grimoire had revealed stories that challenged everything she thought she knew about her family's history. Tales of powerful witches who had helped establish Hollow Oak's magical defenses, who had bound their very essence into the town's foundations before vanishing from the historical record.
"The things I'm learning about my ancestors," she said slowly, "they're incredible. But they're also impossible."
"Impossible how?"
"According to this book, my great-great-grandmother and her sisters weren't just influential residents of early Hollow Oak. They were... practitioners of something that sounds suspiciously like actual magic." Moira met his eyes, searching for signs of skepticism or condescension. "Blood magic, specifically. Rituals that supposedly protected the town from external threats and preserved the community's autonomy."
"And you find that impossible to believe?"
"I find it impossible to dismiss," she corrected. "Which is what's frightening me. A week ago, I would have categorized these stories as folklore mixed with wishful thinking. Historical communities often developed mythologies to explain natural phenomena or celebrate particularly skilled individuals."
"But now?"
"Now I'm watching this book respond to my touch in ways that suggest it's not entirely ordinary." Moira's voice dropped to a whisper. "Pages turn themselves to exactly the information I need. Text appears that wasn't there moments before. Sometimes I swear the words rearrange themselves based on my questions."
Lucien leaned forward, his attention focused on her with an intensity that felt almost predatory. "What kind of text appears?"
"Instructions, mostly. Descriptions of magical techniques that apparently run in my bloodline. Warnings about the responsibilities that come with awakening power." She laughed, but there was no humor. "Yesterday it showed me a passage about how Shadowheart women traditionally serve as guardians for supernatural communities. Complete with detailedexplanations of protective spells that I somehow understand despite never having seen the language before."
