Black Wings, Gray Skies (Black Hat Bureau 4)

Authors.

Dozens of them.

The topmost one caught my eye.

Hiram Nádasdy.

“No, no, no,” I chanted at it. “You’re pulling my leg.”

The grimoire called my bluff, allowing me a brief glimpse of the spell Dad used to conjure his black magic wings. Before I could do more than recognize the striking illustration’s purpose, it flipped back to the list.

“Goddess bless.”

This wasn’t, and never had been, the Proctor grimoire. There were simply too many other signatures.

That night, when I read the Proctor name, the book must have been showing me the portion he wrote.

These names meant there was more, much more, to this book, and it left a hard knot in my stomach.

On autopilot, I placed the grimoire at the foot of the bed, but I couldn’t tear my gaze from the cover.

“Might as well leave you out,” I told it. “You’ll just be creeping around when I get back anyway.”

Bad idea, talking to a grimoire of its power, but I blamed it on the shock.

Had the book always been meant to end up with me? Had I been meant to hold it until Dad fetched it?

Few safer places existed for dangerous arcana than in the possession of a witch with my reputation.

Aedan suspected Dad had broken into the store. Had he come here searching for me, or the grimoire?

And if he came for the book, then how much of his imprisonment story was true?

I didn’t know.

But my Not-New Year’s resolution was to find out.