Page 56 of Forbidden Magic
I hike up my bag’s strap over my shoulder. “Never mind, Cole. I’ve had enough Fae drama for one day.”
“This isn’t—” A cloud obscures his face before he wets his lips. “We still have to work on our spell.”
The shrug I serve him is 30%so whatand 70%I don’t give a fuck. “Have a good night.”
I’m not surprised. Cole is the type of guy to double book his evening. It shouldn’t affect me. If I’d come on time, if the mess with Jessa hadn’t happened, I might have seen his bedroom for more than a minute. I might have joined the ranks of the hundred girls he’s kissed. For a fleeting, eerily beautiful moment, I might have believed that he sees me as something more than a willing female.
Instead, I get to walk away with my dignity and pride and a possible clue to this whole shadow-rune fiasco.
No sex, but I can hold my head high.
That’s my life. My choice.
My damn virgin destiny.
22
Gravity
The library is crawling with students when I rush in after dinner. It’s Sunday, so everyone is scrambling to catch up with the work they procrastinated over during the weekend. Now that Cole and I aren’t working together, or doing anything together, I’ll have to pull an all-nighter.
S&S first.
Cole’s notes on my weird tattoos last.
That’s the plan anyway, but I keep glancing at the language section, wondering how long it takes to translate three lines of Fae text into something semi-readable. It’s not like there’s a Google translator for Fae alphabet. (Not that I would use a damn translator to decide if I should trust a Fae prince.)
The dictionary is as thick as my waist, the cover glistening with green and gold Fairy ink, and the subtleties of the graceful swirly lines that make up the letters is not only foreign but completely dumbfounding. This is going to take forever. Since my patience is already wearing thin, I decide to do the next best thing. Using a fresh pen and ink, I recreate Cole’s note to a T on a new piece of parchment.
I wait for the change of shift and corner the night librarian—with all the nocturnal creatures attending classes, the library never sleeps.
Mr. Hoggs is a small vampire with long gray hair and a tired face. The deep lines around his eyes seem to indicate that he’s as old as most of the books on display. He never speaks much. The disdain he clearly feels toward us students is a plus in favor of him keeping my secret. The fact that he’s not a citizen of Fairy helps, too, in case Cole’s note is compromising.
Clutching the piece of parchment, I bounce from one foot to the next, waiting for him to acknowledge my presence. “Hello, Mr. Hoggs.”
“Hello, Mademoiselle Julia Winslow.”
He always says my name like that, slowly, completely, like a perfectionist French sloth. Rumors say he was the curator of the Louvre museum back when it first opened.
“I’ve come across a Fae passage relating to my research, but I need someone to translate it.”
He hikes his minuscule round glasses up his tiny nose. “Why don’t you ask a fellow student to translate for you?”
“Fairy folks don’t like mortals much. I’m afraid they’ll translate it wrong.” I make my eyes as big as I can and wait.
“I will translate the words for you, then.”
Thank God.
He hunches over my offering. “Hmm.”
“Is it bad?” I eye the dictionary again and wish I’d had the patience to deal with this myself.
“What research did you say this was in reference to?”
I swallow hard. If I tell a clear lie, he might not trust me enough to tell me the truth. “I found this in my Dad’s old papers.”
His eyes soften for a split second, and I let out a breath of relief.
