Page 49 of Ghosted
I flip the cover open, and the spine gives a tired creak like old bones weary to be moving again.
Leblanc Grimoire
The name greets me in a fine script that is difficult to decipher with my modern eyes. “How did this find you, again?” I ask, gingerly flipping through the pages. It describes everything in painstakingly small script, from local fauna and herbal remedies to the cycles of the moon and planets. There are also several beautiful drawings and diagrams throughout.
“The Thompsons just moved into that gorgeous old home on the corner of Birch and Second Street. They found this under the floorboards in the basement when they did some remodeling. It was wrapped in linen and remarkably unharmed.”
“Wow,” I say, inspecting the page I’m on a little more closely. It’s detailing how to open the veil between our world and the spirit world using ash from sacred trees.
I wonder if it has anything else on spirits.
“I think it will be the perfect addition to your auction, don’t you? What better item for a mystical occult shop than a hundreds-of-years-old grimoire?” Carlos asks.
“I think it will be hard to top for sure. Thank you for donating it,” I say, closing the book gently.
“Of course! Grimoires aren’t typically what my customersare after, so I’m happy to part with it to help a fellow Main Streeter out. Me and the wife will be there on Saturday. She’s trying to talk me out of the silver sparkle bow tie, but I won’t let her. It looks fantastic.”
“I’m sure it does,” I say warmly, wrapping the book in an old t-shirt I brought solely for this purpose. I tuck the book in my bag more carefully than if I were handling a newborn. “I’ll see you and your fabulous bow tie there.”
“You go on, I have to check a few books for mites and add them to the system back here,” Carlos says, shooing me out of the stock room door. I wave to him in acknowledgment and make my way back through the claustrophobic stacks of books peering down on me from every angle.
I pullopen the door to Brewed Awakening, greeted by cool air and the decadent smell of baked goods and coffee. You’d think I’d be put off from coffee after yesterday, but I can’t resist its siren song. And the owners of Brewed Awakening have agreed to donate a gift basket full of goodies, so we’re calling this a business meeting.
“Hey Rae,” Wren greets from behind the counter. She’s in the middle of refilling the display case, tongs in one hand and a half-full tray of croissants in the other. Her perma-scowl is even scowl-ier than usual. I’m about to ask her what’s wrong when Julian, the owner’s son, swaggers out from the kitchen in back. He went to culinary school, and now he makes pastries for Brewed in the morning before going to work at Lune Doux, a French restaurant in town.
Ah. That’s what’s wrong.The two of them are like oil and water, and he loves getting under her skin.
“Rae, how’s the prettiest girl in Ravenwood doing?” Julian asks, leaning close to Wren on the display case. I scoff because I know he’s just trying to annoy her. His blue eyes dance with mirth, and he runs a hand through his unruly mop of curly, so-black-its-almost-blue hair.
“Great, thanks,” I say flatly, not wanting to play his games. “Is your dad here? I talked with him on the phone a few days ago about donating a gift basket.”
“You won’t even acknowledge my compliment? I’m wounded, Rae, truly wounded,” Julian says, touching the back of his hand to his forehead theatrically.
“Don’t you have somewhere better to be, pest?” Wren spits in his direction.
“Why be anywhere else, when I can be here, in the presence of the two hottest sisters Ravenwood has ever seen?” Julian asks, a smirk tilting his mouth.
Wren looks like she’s two seconds away from committing a felony, so I step a bit closer to catch her attention. “Hey Wren, can you make me a latte while I wait?” While I’m happy to help my sister bury a body, that would really disrupt my plans today.
“Fine. But no fancy shit,” she grumbles, shoving the now-empty tray in Julian’s hands before stalking off to the espresso machine.
“You know we charge more for the fancy shit, right?” Julian goads. “And you’re supposed to be making us more money, not less. Since you work here, and all.”
I purse my lips, watching as Wren’s shoulders creep upward. I can practically see the steam coming out of her ears. Iclear my throat and turn back to Julian to find him looking at Wren’s back like an expectant puppy, waiting for his human to engage and throw the stick.
“Anyway. Can you get Robert for me? Please?” I tack on when it looks like he’s about to shoot another verbal barb at my sister.
He sighs and nods, heading back through the swinging door of the kitchen. “So, I see you two are still at each other’s throats,” I say when he’s gone.
“He’s insufferable! Entitled! The worst!” Wren spews, steaming the milk for my latte in the most violent way possible. She grumbles more choice words to herself, finishing off my latte with practiced efficiency. The man who was waiting in line behind me wisely steps aside to give Wren a moment to chill out before placing his order.
“At least his parents are cool,” I venture, trying to bring her back to happy, less-murdery thoughts.
“Yeah, his only redeeming quality isn’t even him, it’s?—”
“Robert!” I greet, waving to the owner of Brewed Awakening. He’s well over six-feet tall and has these piercing blue eyes that add to the whole silver fox ordeal. Rude how some men get prettier as they age. “Hi. Thanks again for doing this.”
“Of course! My wife and I love your shop. She goes through journals like nobody’s business, and your place is always her first stop to find a new one. Then she ends up leaving with a full bag of other stuff,” he says with a laugh.
