Shadowland (The Immortals #3)
Shadowland: Chapter 22

“So how was your first day at work?”

I drop onto the couch, kick off my shoes, and prop my feet up on the carved wood coff ee table, closing my eyes, and sighing dramatically as I say, “Actually, it was a lot easier than you’d think.”

Damen laughs and sinks down beside me. Smoothing my hair off my face when he says, “Then what’s with all the fatigue and theatrics?”

I shrug, scrunching down even lower, sinking as deep as I can into the plush, overstuffed cushions, eyes still closed as I say, “I don’t know. Maybe it’s got something to do with the book I found. It left me feeling a little—fragmented. But then, it might have something to do with my surprise visit with—”

“You read a book?” His lips trail down the length of my neck, filling my body with tingle and heat. “As in, the traditional way?”

I move closer, throwing my leg over his and snuggling in, eager for the almost feel of his skin. “Believe me, I tried to take the easy way out and just sense it instead, but it was like—I don’t know—it was the weirdest experience.” I look at him, willing his eyes to meet mine, but they remain closed as he buries his face in my hair. “It was like—like the knowledge inside was too powerful to be read in that way, you know? And it gave me this terrible jolt of electricity—like a shock that rattled my bones. Which only made me even more curious, which is why I tried to read it the normal way. Only I didn’t get very far.”

“Out of practice?” He smiles, lips now at my ear

“More like I couldn’t understand it.” I shrug. “It’s mostly in code. And the parts that are English, well, it was like—olde English. You know, like the kind you used to speak.” I pull away and peer at him, smiling when I see the look of mock outrage displayed on his face. “Not to mention the print was really small and it was filled with all these weird sketches and symbols making up spells and invocations, that sort of thing. What—why are you looking at me like that?” I pause, sensing a major energy shift as his body grows tense

“What’s the name of this book?” he asks, gaze focused on mine.

I squint, screwing my lips to the side, trying to remember what the fancy gold lettering said. “The Book of—Something—” I shake my head, feeling more tired and fragmented than I prefer to let on, especially after seeing the concern on his face.

“Shadows.” He nods, wearing a frown. “The Book of Shadows. Is that it?”

“So you know it?” I shift, arranging my body until I’m fully facing him, his gaze serious, fixed, as though weighing something he may or may not tell me.

“I’m familiar.” He studies my face. “But only with its reputation. I’ve never had a chance to read it myself. But, Ever, if it’s the same tome I’m thinking of—” He shakes his head, disquiet clouding his face. “Well, it contains some extremely powerful magick—magick that needs to be approached with the utmost caution and care. Magick that definitely should not be toyed with, understand?”

“So I guess you’re saying it works.” I smile, hoping to lighten the mood, but knowing I’ve failed when he doesn’t return it.

“It’s nothing like the magick we use. It may seem like it at first, and I suppose that when stripped down to its very essence, it does amount to the same sort of thing. But when we evoke the energy of the universe to manifest form, we call upon only the purest and brightest of light with no darkness at all. And even though most magick practitioners or witches are good, sometimes when people get involved in witchcraft they get in over their heads, and wind up taking a much darker path, calling on a more malevolent force to get the job done.”

I gape, never having heard him even acknowledge a dark force before.

“Everything we do is always based either for the greater good, or our own good. We never do anything to cause any harm.”

“I wouldn’t say never,” I mumble, remembering all the times I’ve beaten Stacia at her own game, or at least tried to.

“Petty schoolyard squabble is hardly what I’m getting at.” He dismisses my thoughts. “What I meant was, we manipulate matter not people. But resorting to spell casting to get what you want—” He shakes his head. “Well, that’s a whole other game. Ask Romy and Rayne.”

I look at him.

“They are witches, you know. Good witches, of course, ones who were taught very well—though unfortunately for them, their schooling was cut a bit short. But take Roman, for instance, he’s the perfect example of what can go wrong when one’s ego, greed, and insatiable need for power and revenge steer them toward the dark side. His recent use of hypnosis is a prime example of that.” He looks at me, shaking his head. “Please tell me you didn’t find this book on the shelf—out where just anyone can get it.”

I cross my legs and shake my head, fingers tracing the seam on his sleeve. “It was nothing like that,” I say. “This copy was—old. And I mean, really, really old. You know, all fragile and ancient—like it should be in a museum or something. Trust me, whoever it belongs to didn’t want anyone to know about it; they went to great lengths to hide it. But you know that can’t really stop me.” I smile, hoping he’ll smile too, but his gaze remains unchanged, worried eyes staring right into mine.

“Who do you think is using it? Lina or Jude?” he asks, using their names so casually you’d think they were friends.

“Does it matter?” I shrug.

He studies me a moment longer, then averts his gaze. Mind wandering to some long-ago place, somewhere I’ve never been. “So, is that it, then? A brief encounter with the Book of Shadows, and you’re all tuckered out?” he says, returning to me.

“Tuckered?” I lift a brow and shake my head. His odd choice of words never fails to amuse me.

“Too dated?” His lips curve into a grin.

“A little.” I nod, laughing along with him.

“You shouldn’t make fun of the elderly. It’s quite rude, don’t you think?” He playfully chucks me under the chin.

“Quite.” I nod, quieted by the feel of his fingers straying over my cheek, down my neck, all the way to my chest.

We rest our heads against the cushions and gaze at each other, his hands moving nimbly, deftly, making their way over my clothes, both of us wishing it could lead to something more, but determined to be contented with this.

“So what else happened at work?” he whispers, pressing his lips to my skin, the ever-present veil hovering between us.

“Did some organizing, cataloging, filing—oh, and then Honor came in.”

He pulls away, features rearranged into his I told you so gaze. “Relax. It’s not like she was looking for a reading or anything. Or at least she didn’t seem to be.”

“What’d she want?”

“Jude, I guess.” I lift my shoulders, inching my fingers under the hem of his shirt, feeling his smooth expanse of skin and wishing I could crawl under there too. “It was weird seeing her alone though. You know, without Stacia or Craig. It’s like she was a totally different person—all shy and awkward, completely transformed.”

“You think she likes Jude?” His fingers trace the line of my collarbone, his touch so warm, so perfect, barely dimmed by the veil.

I shrug, burying my face in the shallow V of his shirt, inhaling his warm musky scent. Determined to ignore the way my stomach just dipped when he spoke. Having no idea what it means or why I should care if Honor likes Jude, but preferring to push it away nonetheless. “Why? Do you think I should warn him? You know, tell him what she’s really like?” My lips pushing into the hollow at the base of his neck, right next to the cord that holds his amulet.

He shifts, rearranging his limbs, pulling away as he says, “If he’s as gifted as you say, then he should be able to read her energy and see for himself.” He gazes at me, voice careful, measured, overly controlled in a way I’m not used to. “Besides, do we even know what she’s really like? From what you’ve described, we only know her under the influence of Stacia. She may be quite nice on her own.”

I squint, trying to imagine a nicer version of Honor, but unable to get there. “But still,” I say. “Jude has a habit of falling for all the wrong girls and—” I stop, meeting his gaze and sensing that things have taken a definite turn for the worse, though I’ve no idea why. “You know what? Never mind all that. It’s boring and stupid and not worth our time. Let’s talk about something else, okay?” I lean toward him, aiming my lips toward the edge of his jaw, anticipating the prickle and scratch of the stubble that grows there. “Let’s talk about something that has nothing to do with my job, or the twins, or your ugly new car—” Hoping he was more amused than off ended by that. “Something that doesn’t make me feel quite so—old and boring.”

“Are you saying you’re bored?” He looks at me, eyes wide, aghast.

I lift my shoulders and scrunch my face, wishing I could pretend otherwise, but also not wanting to lie. “A little.” I nod. “I mean, I’m sorry to say it, but this whole cuddling on the couch while the kids sleep upstairs—” I shake my head. “It’s one thing when you’re babysitting, but it’s a little creepy when the kids are essentially yours. I mean, I know we’re still adjusting and all—but—well—I guess what I’m trying to say is, it’s starting to feel like a rut.” I peer at him, lips pressed tightly together, unsure how he’ll take that.

“You know how to get out of a rut, don’t you?” He jumps to his feet so swiftly he’s a shiny, dark blur.

I shake my head, recognizing that look in his eye from when we first met. Back when things were fun, exciting, unpredictable in every way.

“The only escape is to break free.” He laughs, grasping my hand and leading me away.

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