Chapter Twenty

Miss Mylda's humorless laugh sent a chill up my spine. That was what I could only assume was a bad first reaction to seeing the cursed book lying on the table between us.

Maestus had shown us around the labyrinthine puzzle that was the Meeker House, sweeping across every room and hallway with shocking ease before settling us all into what appeared to be an old-fashioned tea parlor. There, I'd unlatched my knapsack and slapped the leather book down on the table with a fervor that surprised even me. I was excited, of course, to finally be in the presence of magicians to break the curse, but I also believed that somewhere in my paranoid mind, I was terrified of the possibilities.

While Miss Mylda gave many mixed reactions to the outward appearance of the cursed book, Maestus, who was perched stoutly next to her, muttered its Latin title to himself before rubbing his chin and leaning back on the couch. Jaren stood silently but with apparent interest near the corner of the room; Evyne, Atlas, and Lefeli sat around me on either side, letting off a nervous aura of their own. Finally, Maestus spoke.

"The carving on the front, exsecratus, means 'cursed,' if you didn't know." He flipped open the cover with no hesitation and nodded once, though I wasn't sure what he meant by it. "And I presume these are each verses of this curse in the form of a Latin poem?" He looked to his mother for confirmation and she smiled wisely.

"Very good, Maestus. In addition, I believe this is a dark magic curse, meaning that the Meekers aren't able to aid you in breaking it since we all practice potion brewing, which is not a dark magic. However, I happen to know of somebody who I'm confident will be able to help you." She whispered something to Maestus, then stood up slowly and made her way to Jaren, whispering to him also. Watching the secrecy of it all made me twitch with anxiety, but when I caught a glimpse of the calmness on Miss Mylda's face, I tried to settle down. I'd been living with the book's curse for close to a month, now. I wouldn't let it unnerve me now.

I jumped as Miss Mylda snapped back around and snatched the book off the table, rifling through its pages. She read the passages—lines in a poem?—almost furiously until she got to the most recent entry. Her eyes narrowed, then she clapped the book shut. "I won't tolerate a curse on my household, Veia dear, and that's just what this book has done. Jaren, please go with her to have Firhetya dispel it."

She pulled me up to my feet, tucked the book into my bag, and shooed me out into the hallway with Jaren in a stern, matronly way. She smiled as she batted us away and out the door, closing it with a click before opening it a second later. She peeked her head out, a strand of her wispy gray hair falling from its place in her bun. "And be back before dark, would you? The night is dreadfully cold this time of year and I wouldn't want to have to send Maestus out to get you."

"Yes, Ma'am." Jaren bowed slightly and swept me off down the drive to where a spotted gray horse waited for us as if summoned by magic—which was probably true, now that I thought about it.

Jaren helped me mount, ever the gentleman, and hopped up behind me, then we were off down the street.

I tried not to focus too much on the fact that Jaren was sitting directly behind me, his lean arms on either side as he held the reins, so I focused instead on the colors that painted the sky. For now, it was a pale blue, but I could see the hints of orange and pink blushing on the horizon from the nearing sunset. I shivered. For many unspoken reasons, I, like Miss Mylda, also wanted us back before dark.

The ride continued in a perpetual—but not uncomfortable—silence. Jaren found a way to make it pleasant without conversation, but I couldn't help the creeping thoughts of the dark magician we were going to meet. Images played across my mind again of the poison sellers and otherworldly beasts thrashing at us through the bars of their cages. What if this Firhetya was like my imagination feared him to be? No, Jaren and Miss Mylda were good people. If they were magicians, then my hometown must have been wrong to say magic was the work of the devil; these people were no monsters—or monster summoners, for that matter. I'm sure Firhetya was an honorable magician.

The horse whinnied as we slowed to a stop in front of a small, hut-like building with plain wood walls and a curtain hanging from the front door frame. I stared at the wind chimes and small bells that hung outside the doorway as we dismounted. Some were stained glass, others a polished silver, more yet were what appeared to be a glimmering crystal that rotated and flashed so many soft colors in the evening light. As a breeze came by, they all chimed with each other and my feet stopped moving beneath me as if just to listen to them required all the energy in my body, and yet it invigorated me at the same time. How could I not listen? Their melody was so high and pure, like the silent songs of faeries and the changes of church bells as they played a morning peal. I closed my eyes, picturing the sunlight filtering between green leaves in a forest canopy above me, the calming ring playing almost as if from the heavens themselves.

The chimes all stopped suddenly and I was knocked rather unceremoniously from my reverie. "I'm so sorry, little heart! Are you alright?"

I opened my eyes and found another forest spirit, this time draped in flowy clothes and a green headscarf upon his single braid of blond hair. He almost looked like Jaren—who I spotted behind me looking mildly alarmed—but this man's eyes were older and infinitely wiser. I didn't know how I could tell, though. His body language?

He smiled and took a step back, an action that reminded me again of Jaren. "I'm glad you're unharmed." He motioned for us to follow him inside the building. "I apologize again for the chimes. They're my defense mechanism, believe it or not. After all, this can sometimes be a dangerous city, and as you can see, I have no door." He flashed another smile and I cocked my head to the side, brushing through the curtain after him.

The inside of the small hut was covered from floor to ceiling in seemingly random doodads and small mechanisms like the chimes. The sight was breathtaking and I found myself gaping at the intricate inventions.

"So what brings you two here today?" The man spoke again, this time from behind a wooden counter in the back of the room. "Another broken charm at the Meeker House? Or perhaps the Madame Mylda has found another nest of hexed winkerats in the attic?"

"No, sir." Jaren strode up to the counter and motioned for me to the same. "This time, we have a cursed book that has unfortunately afflicted the Meeker household. Miss Mylda immediately sent us to you, Firhetya, under the belief that you would know how to dispel it."

Firhetya? He was Firhetya? I looked again at the two men next to the counter. It was as if they were both straight out of a fairytale grove. How could that man be Firhetya? I walked up to the counter and unslung my knapsack from my shoulder.

So... I guess he wasn't big and scary, then. Or evil.

With only a short moment's hesitation, I extracted the cursed book from my bag and slid it across the counter. The man—Firhetya—touched it delicately, turning it around so he could read the slices on the cover, then he opened the book and turned a few pages, his eyes thoughtful. He shut the book, then turned it over again, tapping his other hand on the countertop as he seemed to contemplate something with himself. Finally, he flipped the book back around and placed it on the counter between us, keeping his hand on it firmly.

"This," he said, his voice serious, "is a curse that, by the laws of dark magic, should not exist."

My breath stuttered and I stared down at the book. That was not what I was hoping to hear.

"Is there any way you can break the curse?" Jaren asked, and Firhetya removed his hand from the book, his expression grim.

"At one time, I had a dear friend named Laveen Merenais who lived not far from me. She was the most talented magician I'd ever known, and everyone knew it. But one day, Miss Laveen closed shop and moved out of Azareba. From what I'd heard, she'd gotten married and went to live in the country.

"All was well for several years until a man covered in blood came to the gate of the City of Magic, half starved, half insane, and started rambling something about Miss Laveen and her family. He was taken inside, then when he had gained his bearings, he explained that he'd been her neighbor and that one night, he'd heard a commotion at her house and went to check on them. When he got there, though, he saw that Laveen's husband had been killed and dissected, and Laveen herself lay on the floor, stabbed through the stomach."

Firhetya paused for a moment, staring again at the cursed book as if it were the morbid answer to a question he had never asked. Finally, he continued. "He said she'd laughed as her blood pooled around her, but before she died, she told the man this: 'My lover has paid with his body for my successor to take my magic. My blood becomes my lifeline in this world.'"

"What does that mean?" I asked quietly.

He shook his head. "Our best guess was that she'd used her husband's body parts to seal a blood curse with her only child, sealing Miss Laveen's magic abilities to the youth. But then why had she been stabbed?"

There was another pause in which a dark idea came to me. "What if the child didn't want Miss Laveen's magic and had stabbed her in the struggle to escape? Was the child ever found after that?"

"No..." He let out a breath, thoughtful. "But there is one thing I'm certain of: the curse on this book is the work of Miss Laveen's magic, and it can only be dispelled by her successor."