Page 108 of Enspelled

“But I… I thought you weredead.” My eyes water. “Just like everyone else, and you were—”

Abigail sweeps me into her arms and holds me tight. “I know, child. But there were some things I could only do while hiding in plain sight.”

Breaking her hug, I wipe my tears away with the back of my hand as I lean against Sera’s car. A glance toward the packhouse reveals Sera eyeing us curiously, Liam talking in a low voice with Bodie, and Keane… I can feel the power of his glare aimed at Abigail.

When he shifts his gaze to me and his glower falls away, I return my focus to Abigail. “What things could you do?”

“Things like keeping watch over you.”

I frown. “But how come you had to pretend to be Bullhorn Ellie to do that?”

A faint smile drifts across her lips at the nickname, but all too soon, it fades. “Because if your aunt knew who I was, I wouldn’t have lived long.”

“But why would she want to kill you?”

“Because I took something she wanted very badly. That, and I was responsible for her losing her arm.”

I gape at her. “What? I don’t understand.”

“Come with me.”

After a glance back at the house to find Keane and Sera still watching, I follow Abigail toward the forest.

We manage two steps before a male voice calls out, “where are you going?”

Keane.

Why am I not surprised?

Abigail doesn’t slow, and she doesn’t turn around. “I have something for Briar. We’re not going far.”

And she’s right. We stop a few feet away, at the entrance to the forest Liam led us through hours before. At the memory of what we did in the cabin, I briefly close my eyes at the flare of pain at his betrayal.

Don’t think of that, Briar. Keane will leave town, and you’ll never have to see him again.

“This belongs to you,” Abigail says, placing a large leather book in my arms.

For several seconds, I just stare down at it, stunned.

The feel of it, the smell of the leather, brings a flood of memory so intense my eyes fill with tears. As if it’s ten years ago, I’m sitting on the floor in my house with dad’s leg pressing against my shoulder. And if I inhale, I’m almost positive there’s the sweet scent of baking swirling around me.

“Our grimoire,” I whisper, hugging the book to my chest.

“Your grimoire, Briar. It was always meant for you.”

Shaking my head, I struggle to understand how this can be happening. “I thought I destroyed it in the fire. How can it be here?”

Her smile is sad. “You don’t remember much from that day, do you?”

A frown creases my brow. “I was flicking through the grimoire on the floor beside Dad. Mom was baking.”

“And I was talking with your father.”

I stare at her. “You were there?”

She nods. “I was.”

“But I don’t remember you. How come—”

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