“Coming from the king of the Underworld, I’m not sure you’re the best gauge of morality.”
Amell grins wickedly, sitting straighter. “Are you afraid your mother had a clandestine affair with me? That perhaps I was able to do things—”
“Say another word,” I growl, half rising from my seat, “and you’ll regret it.”
Slumping back in his chair, Amell gives me an exasperated glare. “I thought that might get you to pull on your dark powers. I was willing to take a face full of sinister magic so you could see what it’s like.”
My jaw drops. “You purposely baited me? So I’d throw shadow magic at you?”
Amell shrugs. “Clearly didn’t work. So, you have no questions of me about your mother?”
I shake my head. I can’t ask them because he’s right… I’m afraid it will taint my memories of her.
“In that case,” Amell says as he stands from the chair, “I’m going to make my goodbyes, have a beer with Heph, and return to my obsidian castle in the darkest of realms. It’s far too sunny here for my taste.”
The smile that graces my lips is sad. I’ve become fond of Amell.
“I have a gift for you,” he says, and with a flourishing wave of his hands, a spell book appears on the kitchen table.
And not just any spell book. This one is full of shadow magic—I can feel the pull of it, almost begging me to open it up and take a look. It’s covered in worn leather with ancient runes stitched into the hide. The corners are protected by faded brass cornices, and it has a large buckle with a keyless lock.
I’ve never studied runes or ancient languages, but when I look at the ones on the cover, I understand what they say. Not word for word, but I know the contents of this book hold seriously complex magic that I’ll be able to wield.
Reaching toward the book tentatively, I ask, “Is this yours?”
“It actually belonged to Kymaris,” he says, and I jerk my hand back in shock. “It contains all the shadow spells she created over the millennia she ruled our realm. Make no mistake, there are spells within that are insidiously evil—my favorites, by the way. But there are helpful spells, annotations, histories as well. If you want to get to know your magic, read the book. You can always decide whether to use it later.”
It’s not lost on me what a monumental gift this is. The book is an immense source of power, but more than that… it’s history.
Priceless history, and in the right hands—mine, perhaps—could change the tide of this war, if I use it properly.
In the wrong hands, it could cause total annihilation. Hesitantly, I reach out again and press my fingers to the leather as Amell watches.
“What do you feel?” he asks.
“Foreboding,” I whisper, not without a small amount of fear. “Darkness. Ill intent.” I pause briefly, open my connection a bit more, and I hate to admit, “Kinship.”
Amell nods in understanding.
“What’s the cost if I use this book?” I ask. “Will I get lost? Will I turn dark?”
“Not if you fight it,” he replies. “If you’re strong, you make it do only your bidding.”
I withdraw my hand, noting a residual tingle in my fingertips. I feel the book calling out to me to touch it again.
To open it.
To use it.
I move a few feet away, more afraid of it than the lessons Amell tried to teach me on how to cast my inherent shadow magic.
Amell steps closer and rests his hands on my shoulders. “Be well, daughter. You will allow me to check in on you from time to time, yes?”
I nod, feeling tears prickle. How in the hell have I managed to actually grow fond of this creature in such a short time?
My father pulls me in and hugs me. I don’t hesitate but wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze him tight.
When he pushes back, he smiles down at me and steps backward, intent to bend distance to the pub.
I can’t help but blurt out, “Why did my mom have sex with you?”
Amell jerks in surprise. I stare back at him resolutely, and he sighs.
Next thing I know, I’m being led back to the table, and he pulls out the chair for me. We both sit, and I clasp my hands in my lap, terrified to have this conversation, but I know I must.
“Do you want the sugarcoated, glossy version, or the cold, hard truth?” he asks, and I flinch that there could be two versions.
“I want it straight,” I reply, a slight lift to my chin to show my bravery, but I’m afraid of what he might say.
“Your mom dabbled in blood magics with Heph. I’m assuming he’s never told you that, since you’ve never mentioned it, but it’s true.”