Page 13 of Tales of a Monstrous Heart
It couldn’t be real.
Alma meowed from where she sat perched on the bed, tail swishing from side to side irritably, probably equally suspicious.
I pulled off my heavily repaired gloves, touching the desk and feeling nothing but the solid wood beneath my fingertips. Enchantments on objects left a residue, one too subtle for mortal touch, but it sang to the magic in my blood. Almost taunting it. However, no such enchantment existed in the room. No trap or illusion made to cause me any embarrassment. It was just a room. Alma mewed sorrowfully once more to catch my attention. Of course, she’d abandoned me to her feline form.
‘It’s not your fault.’ I smiled, bending to kiss the top of her furry head. The magic of transfiguration was so lost to us that I couldn’t help her through it, and I hated that helplessness.
Unwilling to allow myself to dwell on the strangeness of my situation any further, I was left no choice but to begin the laborious job of unpacking.
‘We’ll figure this out,’ I whispered to myself, wishing it didn’t sound so much like a lie as I unbuckled my travelling bag. Somehow … I’d figure this out.
Chapter Five
Be careful, my love.
If you show them how bright you burn, they will only seek to smother the flame.
The ghost of those words haunted my dreams as I struggled to sleep. The way my mother had whispered them, skin chilled and damp with fever. Her grip weak, fingers thin in my grasp where she’d laid her hand over my heart.
I touched the flushed skin of my throat as I lay in bed, feeling the rapid nature of my pulse as my magic rose in recognition of the painful memory. The peace in her features as she basked in the warm feeling of my magic. My father’s magic. Wanting to feel him one last time.
I wiped the tears from my sleepy eyes and exited the bed, refusing to be consumed by things I couldn’t change.
My new and unfamiliar bedroom was faintly illuminated by a small everlasting lamp I’d left burning on the desk, knowing Alma’s fear of the dark. Thankfully, she remained curled up in a tight feline ball on the pillow next to mine.
Sketching usually helped settle my restlessness but as I rooted quietly through my things, I wasn’t able to see my art folder.
No, I’d left it downstairs. Too distracted by Blackthorn’s manor and the impossible nature of my day. A frustrated sigh left me as I put on my badly knitted slippers, and my robe, stuffing my enchanted bag into the pocket just in case.
Then I looked to the stack of books Blackthorn had left me and gathered them up, hoping the library was easy enough to find to return them considering I’d already studied them all a few months prior.
Despite how archaic the house was, the floorboards didn’t creak as I closed the bedroom door softly behind me. In the darkness of the hallway, I let the small glow of a summoning spell claim the tips of my fingers. Imagining a guiding orb, letting the magic appear against my free palm.
I nudged it softly, directing it silently to lead the way. It bobbed before me, guiding my way down the long wood-panelled hallway, past trinkets and the peculiar objects that lined the walls and cast strange shadows. Against my better judgement, I let my fingertips trail across them, expecting to feel the sorrow that usually accompanied the history of such stolen things.
There wasn’t any sadness here. Just magic slumbering peacefully. Confused, I withdrew my hand and hurried to catch up with my own orb as it made its way down the stairs.
Only to freeze a few steps from the bottom.
The layout of the main hallway downstairs had changed, not a play of the dark, or my tired eyes. Where the front door had been now sat bookcases, various archways leading off down other dark hallways. The black and white checkered floor continued as far as the eye could see. Unfamiliar to me, and for a moment, I was worried I wasn’t in Blackthorn’s house anymore. However, the banister beneath my hand was the same, the stairs and the portrait that had caught my attention earlier was seemingly amused by my sudden panic.
A set of large oak doors, just beyond the foot of the staircase, stood open. They hadn’t been there before.
Be wary of old spells, they grow thoughts of their own over time.One of Master Hale’s warnings came to mind as I took the final step off the stairs, still holding onto the banister just in case the floor decided to change its formation too. I didn’t know magic this old, but if this was where it wanted me to go, I wasn’t about to fight with it.
Moonlight poured in through a vast glass ceiling, more fitting of a greenhouse than a library from what I could make out in the dark. A maze of bookshelves, with tall ladders leant against the intricately carved shelves; depictions of a forest and the woodland beasts that dwelled there. The rest was too shadowed in darkness to explore.
Every piece of furniture in the room was piled with texts, except two chairs sat before the cold hearth.
My orb bobbed impatiently at my shoulder. I reached up to extinguish it, knowing how strangely magic concealed in books could respond to new energy, like feral cats fighting for territory.
In the centre of the room was a large ornate table, legs carved to look like those of a griffin. Books rested against its clawed feet. The surface was overfilled, scattered with papers. Maps, mad scrawls of simple incantations and summoning charms. Crystals were strewn haphazardly with the skill of a madman trying to call on the dead for favours. Small carved bones related to ancient fey worship and dried flowers were amongst the mess.
My curiosity urged me to turn over the maps, cautious of how the pages crackled with their fragility. The sharp, smokey scent of beasam bark lingering in the air - an ancient summoning element that witches preferred. Moving the mapsgently aside to reveal the volumes beneath, all coated in dust, which was pressed firmly into their peeling leather covers, pages curling inward like claws with age.
The gold embossing had faded, forcing me to tip them towards the light to see the titles.The Book of Mort. A book of ancient occult spells, most of which were now disallowed by the Council, including necromancy. A book that spoke of the Verr and the darkness beneath the earth.
Disturbed, I moved it aside, as a different tome caught my eye. It had a heavier leather binding than the rest, cracked and clawed by time. Thick straps with tarnished brass buckles encircled the text, as if stopping something from falling out.
