Page 15 of The Book Reader
The houses are made of stone and thatched roofs, connected by cobbled pathways. There are rumors that this is where the first witch settled when they left the Underworld thousands of years ago.
The sun flashes in my eyes, breaking me out of my thoughts. It’s getting low in the sky now. I need to hurry.
I let out a huff that blows my cheeks out. For the first time in a very long time, I feel nervous. No woman has ever been able to bring me to my knees like my Rose.
Dressed in black jeans and a blue shirt, I look at myself in the mirror. The telltale glow of my eyes is dim due to missing my recent feeding. Though they never glow as brightly when she is not in my life. I put on my sunglasses and move towards the jet. Mark is waiting for me with more paperwork.
“My lord, there is a memorial service today at the Grave Heart Cemetery for Arianna’s family,” Mark informs me, still sheepish.
I take the newspaper from him and read the article. Why would a powerful witch family advertise that they are all going to be together like this? Especiallyherfamily. It’s almost as if they want any daemon to attend.
“Meet me there, Mark. If I shimmer, I should be there just in time.” Mark nods and with that I turn towards the door as I use magic to shimmer to the cemetery. I’d gone over the file on the plane. The Jay family is powerful, but there was never any mention of the book. It’s almost as if it doesn’t exist, but knowing the power it holds, I understand why.
Only my Rose can read it, and if anyone else were to find it, it would appear to be a tattered notebook. The powers that be made it so it protected itself. Otherwise, if anyone got to the book and its reader, they’d hold the power to destroy worlds.
Walking into the cemetery feels odd to me. As an immortal, I will never be laid to rest in one of these places. I never get used to them. Sometimes when I’ve had to say goodbye to my Rose, I would bury her somewhere that only I knew about. She was mine, and even in her afterlife I never wanted to share her with anyone else. Other times when she had family, they would choose a place to lay her rest, and by then, I was long gone, but I always took a part of her with me.
I come to an iron gate with the words “Jay” engraved at the top—they have a family plot? I push the gate open. There are many gravestones here, and from the look of the dates, many of these family members have died long before their time.
The wind picks up, and a smell I’ve missed invades my senses: the scent of roses on a warm summer day. Turning my head my breath catches, and my cock stirs when I catch sight of a young woman—it has to be my Rose, no other woman alive hasever made me feel like she has. Her black hair is in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a white and blue dress that hugs all her curves perfectly. My mouth instantly waters, wanting to taste her.
My Rose doesn’t know me now, but I know her. In each life, there’s always something different about her; her skin color, her hair, her body type. But the one thing that always stays the same is her amber eyes. Her skin is caramel in color and from here I can see she is more beautiful than I can ever remember her being.
Her head turns towards me and I can see how sad she is,. When her eyes flick up to mine, I take a step back.
“My Rose,” I mutter to myself. Itisher… Those eyes, I’d know them anywhere. I snap out of my stare when she starts to head towards me with a questioning look in her eyes; it’s still the same even after all these years.
I want to stay; I want to pull her into my arms and kiss her. But I can’t do that, not yet, so I move back behind a tree and fade from sight. I am still here, but she won’t be able to see me.
She gets closer, and I clench my fists to stop myself from reaching out and grabbing her. A growl in my head makes my eyes snap open—Trelor, my daemon, has woken, knowing his mate is close. It has been a few lifetimes since he has stirred. This just confirms what I already knew: that this stunning woman ismy Rose.
Chapter 8
ARIANNA
The drive to my aunt’s house takes about two hours. She lives in Sweetville. The town is small, with only one grocery store and a single coffee shop. My aunt lives on the outskirts of the village, in an old cottage that has been in my family for generations. It was my grandfather’s until he died when I was ten. After that, my Aunt and I moved in. I never wanted to live here; there were too many memories that I would rather keep buried.
Other Wiccans we know have said that my family is cursed—death seems to come for us early, and in very mysterious ways. My aunt says it’s because we’re from a powerful bloodline, so of course that comes with its troubles.
I’m not sure we can still hold to that powerful claim anymore. I can cast a few spells, but that’s it—any magical abilities worth noting seem to have died with my grandfather. My aunt can cast spells, but she chooses not to. She says that the humans who do still live here will have even more to gossip about if they start seeing purple smoke coming out of the chimney and her flying on a broomstick. I smile to myself at the thought. Not once in mylife have I seen a witch or warlock fly on a broomstick—another myth the human world seems to like telling.
I pull up outside the cottage, turning my car off and just sitting there, taking a breath as so many memories run through my mind, bringing tears to my eyes. The cottage is still the same. It has three windows at the front and a small wooden door; the outside walls are cream with wood beams making a cross-like pattern over the front. The dark color of the beams matches the thatched roof, which looks like it could do with some work. Aunt May refuses, saying, “This cottage will never fall or burn; it was built that way hundreds of years ago.” I just nod and agree with her.
The garden at the front curves round to the back. It’s looking a little overgrown now, but it has a wide variety of herbs and flowers, perfect for making potions and elixirs. People from the village may talk about my family, but they always come here, begging for help when modern medicine can’t fix them.
Getting out of the car, I pull my suitcase out and head towards the gate. It swings open for me—the cottage knows I’ve come home. As soon as I start walking up the garden path towards the door, I can almost feel the joy that I’ve come back; the plants and flowers sway to caress my arms and legs. As soon as I get to the front door, it swings open and I can feel the protective wards hug me as I walk in.
“Aunt May?” I call out as I drop my bags to the floor. I look around the hall and can’t help the laugh that comes out. “Nothing has changed,” I say to myself. There are pictures of my family lining the walls—past and present. Lost and gone.
To the left is the main living room, where my granddad used to sit. He said it was his spying room, that he could keep an eye on everything from there. He used to say that there was so much to discover in our world, and we didn’t need a TV for that. Itwasn’t until he died that I found out he kept the tv hidden in a cupboard by the window.
I turn and make my way out of the room and down the hall towards the kitchen. As I walk past photos hanging on the wall, I stop when I come to one of my mum and dad on their wedding day. My mum looked so beautiful in her long lace gown. I pick the photo up and just stare at it for a moment. They seemed so happy. I can only hope that one day I’ll know what that feels like—to love and be loved back. Placing it back down, I move a little further down and pick up a picture of my grandfather and me. He’s in the garden digging from the looks of it, and I’m trying to help. We’re both laughing.
This house holds so many memories that I can almost hear the laughter and voices of past lives. That makes me sad. This house used to be so full. Now it’s just my aunt May.
I head into the kitchen with still no sign of her. I know she’s here somewhere because there are fresh cookies on the counter, and I can smell toffee pudding cooking in the oven—my favorite.
Picking up a cookie, I go straight to the large fridge and pull it open. I take out the lemonade and then move to one of the many cabinets for a glass. I take a sip before I place it on the counter.t The back door is open, and now that I think about it, my aunt is most likely in the garden.
