Page 110 of Enspelled

Pausing, she peers over her shoulder. “Your aunt liked to think no one knew what she was doing or planning, but in a town as small as Madden Grove, that’s impossible.”

“And the wolf souls?” I ask. “Did you know about them?”

A faint smile touches her lips. “Of course I did. With a wolf watching over you, Mel couldn’t keep trying to find ways to steal your power from you, could she?”

I gape at her. “It was you.Youhit me with the spell. But you said that—”

“I lied, and I don’t feel the least bit sorry for having done so.” Her brow creases. “The shifting was unexpected, but I knew Keane wouldn’t let you out of his sight while you have the souls of his pack inside you. Which meant you’d be safe from Mel.”

A growl from behind her draws my attention to Keane, glowering at her with murderous intent.

Abigail glances over at him, seemingly not the least bit concerned. “There’s no need to snarl at me. I can reverse the spell.”

He takes a step toward her. “I could have killed Briar because of you.”

Abigail snorts. “No, you couldn’t. And I knew it wouldn’t take you long to see Briar for what she is and do the right thing.”

“And the right thing was?” Keane asks, still glowering.

“Protecting her. You’re not a bad person who likes to kill innocents.” She says it with such confidence that I wonder how she can know—or think she knows—Keane so well.

“And if I had?” Keane insists.

“You wouldn’t have. You may be a little slow at times, but you’re not stupid.” She pauses. “Most of the time.”

Sera snorts with laughter. But I don’t smile. My attention returns to the book in my arms as she continues toward the others.

I’d believed that I’d destroyed the grimoire in the house fire. Yet all this time, Abigail had it.

Turning so my back is against the tree, I do my best to drown out Keane snarling at Abigail while I flip open the grimoire. At first, I’m not sure why it feels so different in my hands, and then I suddenly do.

The last time I held it, I was eleven, and it was so heavy I had to rest it against something. Now it feels too light. But the smell hasn’t changed. Old leather and paper draw me into memories of happier times.

Blinking away tears, I flip through it, conscious that I don’t have a lot of time before we have to talk about what we’re going to do about Aunt Mel.

I flick through too fast to read. For now, I just want to hold it and remember what the book felt like—but later, when I have more time, I’ll savor each page.

Far too soon, I reach the end of the book and the blank pages I’d always believed I would one day fill with my own spells. Now I know I never will.

I should give the book to a real witch like Sera, not—

What was that?

I flip back slowly, because there’s a scrawl on the last written page that I don’t remember seeing before. With all the time I spent poring over the grimoire, the messy scrawl is definitely new.

Almost illegible, it takes me a second to work out that it’s Dad’s handwriting. And he must have been in a rush to write so fast.

Narrowing my eyes and lifting the book closer to my face, the words start to make sense:

You don’t have to be a witch to be special, Briar. A phoenix is so rare and special that no one in the world comes close. Mom and Dad love you so much.

I lower the book from my face and slowly close it, my vision blurring so badly that I’m amazed I can see the tree in front of me.

They loved me.

But it isn’t just sadness and relief that sweeps through me. It’s rage.

All this time I thought it was me. Aunt Mel made me believe I had killed them, when it was her. All of it was her. Keane should have told me about Mara. Maybe if he had, Sera and I might’ve been able to figure out who she really was, but he didn’t.

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