Page 58 of Charmless
“Julius is right to be cautious,” another voice interrupted.
Someone else had been there, seated in Papa’s chair. But who? I pressed the heel of my hand hard against my forehead, but I could not remember. All I could recall was a pair of long legs and a slender white hand positioned atop the arm rest, the sound of the man’s calm, reasonable voice.
“The time is not yet right, Hiram and you know it as well as Julius and I do.”
Mal’s grandfather paced before the hearth, fuming, until he flung up his hands in defeat.
“All right,” he growled, “But you have got to hide this book for me. The king’s blasted Scutcheons have already raided my house. Among my other magical objects, they have confiscated the orb.”
My father paled. “What!”
The quiet man in the chair spoke up, “Don’t worry. We will find a way to get it back. And the king has no idea what the orb does or how to use it.”
“All the more reason, this needs to be kept safe.” Mr. Hawkridge thrust a heavy volume into my father’s hands. “I have hidden?—”
He broke off. In my eagerness to see and hear, I had pushed the door too far, betraying my presence.
My father spun toward me looking horrified. “Ella!”
Mr. Hawkridge glared at me, and the stranger hidden in the chair started to rise...
“Ella? Ella!”
My sister’s voice snapped me back to the present. I had been so lost in my struggle to remember that I had not noticed Netta enter the library. She stood at the foot of the stepladder, gazing expectantly up at me.
“What do you want?” I asked.
Netta flinched at my sharp tone. I had not meant to snap, but I had been so close to recalling the identity of that stranger. The cloud descended over my mind again and the memory was lost.
“I am sorry to have disturbed you,” she said. “But there is a royal herald at the door. He has brought you flowers and a message from Prince Florian.”
I groaned. “Fine. Tell the herald I will be there directly.”
My sister started to retreat when she noticed the ‘sack witches’ book. When the volume had slipped from my hands, it had fallen face down, the pages flattened against the carpet.
“You dropped one of your books and it is coming apart,” Netta said, bending down to retrieve it.
“No! Be careful!” I cried.
Netta snatched her hand back, gaping at me with wide-eyed consternation. I scrambled down the ladder and lifted the book. The binding had come loose, the front cover hanging askew. I could see what appeared to be a scrap of ancient parchment protruding from the binding.
I hugged the book close, concealing it from my sister as best I could. After what I had just remembered, who knew what sort of dangerous secret this book might contain?
My poor sister stared at me as if I was losing my wits as I babbled, “Just an old book, too fragile, need to fix it. Why don’t you just run along and get the message from the herald?”
“Mr. Smythe insists he can only deliver the message to you. Do you want me to escort him into the parlor?”
“No!” The last thing I needed right now was a royal herald lurking about the place.
“I - I mean no, “I said in a calmer voice. “Just tell him to wait on the doorstep. I will be there as soon as I can.”
I could tell Netta thought I was behaving very strangely. I lifted one hand from the book to shoo her on her way, while summoning a reassuring smile. Netta left to do my bidding, but she cast me an anxious glance on her way out of the room.
As soon as she was gone, I hastened to lock the door behind her. I carried the book over to the desk and laid it down carefully. I kept stumbling on one revelation after another about my father, each more troubling than the last. Had I really remembered Papa being involved with Mal’s grandfather in what? Some sort of conspiracy against the king? Something that involved that mysterious orb? And who was the third person in the room that night?
The answers to these disturbing questions might well lie with whatever was hidden inside that old book. Whatever it was, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. It took me a moment to summon the courage to ease open the book. Because the binding had cracked, I could see where a piece of parchment had been concealed beneath it and the cover flap. My fingers trembled as I tried to tug the paper free, but it was so ancient, it threatened to tear apart. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I reached for the letter opener and carefully inserted it inside the binding. I enlarged the gap until I was able to retrieve the parchment.
The paper was brittle with age. It crackled as I slowly unfolded it and perused the contents. The ink had faded with time, but the writing was clear enough that I could have read it if the words had not been penned in a foreign tongue. I could notbegin to decipher it, but I was able to hazard a guess this was the ancient language of the fairies.
