Bled & Breakfast (9 page)

Grimoires—I knew this much for sure—were handwritten. Like scary, hocus-pocus scrapbooking projects. And due to the paper cut from hell, I was not a fan of scrapbooking projects.

“Sorry, Malik,” I mumbled. “But I can’t exactly follow you through a solid bookcase.”

Or could I?

There were fewer rooms on this third floor than on the second, but this last room wasn’t any larger to make up the difference. So what happened to all that extra space?

I felt around on the bookcase, pulling out books as I searched. I felt along the frame, along the top. My hands came away dusty, and I swear I touched a big, furry spider.

“Are you just messing with me some more, ghost boy?” I said under my breath. “I’m going to call 1-800-EXORCIST. See how you like that.”

This wasn’t working. I had to go back to the inn and come up with a Plan B. I should have guessed Plan A wouldn’t work. It never did. Luckily there were twenty-five other letters in the alphabet.

But then I leaned against the bookcase.

And it moved.

I jumped back and looked at it warily for a moment. I’d been looking for a hidden lever. This was just as good. I pressed my hands against the edge of the bookshelf and pushed. The entire unit began to swivel like a revolving door.

One that led to another staircase in a hidden fifth room.

I hesitated for a full minute before moving another inch. I’d been given this particular tip by the ghost of a malevolent witch hunter. Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough time to be choosy about my informants.

The stairs led to another door, which I pushed open.

It was the attic, full of boxes and books. And also a glowing ghost with an extremely devilish look on his face.

“You can find the grimoire up here,” he said, then nodded to the left. “Over there, actually.”

I didn’t take another step. “Why are you helping me?”

“Do you always question those who wish to lend assistance?”

“Usually.”

“Not the trusting type?”

“Unfortunately, I’ve trusted too many people who don’t deserve it. Have the scorch marks to prove it from the times I’ve been burned. Kind of like the witches you tied to the stake and set on fire.”

His amused expression didn’t flicker. “You’re thinking of England. We didn’t torch witches here in Salem. We hanged them.”

I shuddered. “Thanks for the history lesson.”

“It’s in the box with the red lid. Use it well, vampire.” And then he disappeared into thin air.

I spotted the box easily. It was the only one that didn’t have a thick coating of dust on it. I had two choices. Leave now or check out the box, which could very well have a larger version of the bookcase spider lying in wait inside it, ready to chew off my hand.

I went directly toward the box and opened it up. No spiders. Instead, there was a large black book covered in worn leather, with parchment pages filled with writing and illustrations. I flipped through it quickly, my eyes widening with every page.

Raina’s ancestor’s grimoire. This was it. Thank you, evil dead witch hunter!

I thundered down the stairs with it clutched against my chest. Out of the corner of my eye, through a window on the second floor, I saw Raina’s car pulling into the driveway.

The witch was back. And if she found me here attempting to steal her property, I had no doubt clucking like a chicken would be the very least of my problems.

I
thundered down the rest of the stairs until I landed on the first floor.

“Heather!” I yelled.

Heather appeared. Her face was smudged as if she’d been searching in dirty places. “What?”

“Raina’s back. We need to get out of here. Now!”

Her eyes went very large. Then she grabbed my sleeve and we hurried through the kitchen toward the back door. She flicked the lock and we burst out into a fenced-in backyard.

“You have the grimoire!” she said, amaze
d. “How did you find it?”

“I’d say it was divine intervention, but I think that might be giving the credit to the wrong place.” I clutched the large, heavy book tightly to my chest. “Malik’s ghost helped me out.”

Heather gaped at me. “Malik, the witch hunter?”

“Is there another one around town?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Then yeah, Malik, the witch hunter. He’s extremely helpful, if seriously creepy.”

We climbed over the back fence and swiftly made our way back to the car. My heart pounded hard, but I tried to focus on the future—not the past. And not the fact that I’d just stolen a grimoire from a witch’s attic.

My mind raced, making plans. “We get this book back to the inn. We go through it and hopefully find a spell to fix Thierry. Then I’ll come back and return it and give her some cash for the damages.” I nodded, going over every Choose Your Own Adventure outcome in my head. “Simple, right? My karmic scoreboard of shame will be wiped clean.”

She nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

We got in the car and Heather wasted no time in peeling away from the curb. I checked the rearview mirror and relaxed a fraction to see there was no raven-haired witch chasing after us shaking her magic wand and yelling “
avada kedavra
.”

My knowledge of magical spells extended only as far as Hogwarts.

“Even if Raina knows it was us who broke in,” Heather said after a moment, as if she too had been frantically imagining the outcomes of our actions, “there’s a protection spell on the inn meant to keep away anyone with dark intentions. She won’t be able to enter if she’s . . . uh, really upset with us.”

I looked at her with surprise. “I don’t care what you say, you are
seriously
witchy. And I meant that in a good way.”

She twisted her necklace. “My grandma helped with that one. And—I mean, I don’t even know if it works.”

I sighed. “Can you at least
try
to be confident here, Heather? Just a little?”

She grimaced. “Sorry.”

Five minutes later, Heather pulled into the Booberry Inn’s driveway and we hurriedly went inside. My heart twisted to see the unconscious Owen-possessed Thierry still sleeping on the couch.

“Welcome back, girls!” Rose sat in a rocking chair nearby, knitting.

“So,” I began, “any reason why there’s a toad sitting on his forehead?”

Rose put her knitting down as Heather sat on the arm of the large chair next to her. “Hoppy is being a good little guardian toad, watching over the sleeping vampire. Aren’t you, Hoppy?”

Hoppy let out a small croak, as if in agreement.

“Good boy,” Heather said fondly.

I shifted the grimoire in my arms and tensely studied my amphibian-laden, possessed husband. “Do me a favor and don’t get him all slimy,” I told Hoppy, while I shivered a little from how chilly it suddenly seemed in this room. “I’m very fond of that forehead.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Thierry!” I spun around to see him standing in the corner.

The fear I’d felt since the moment he’d disappeared last night vanished like . . . well, a ghost. I hadn’t let myself dwell on it, but deep down I’d been afraid he was gone forever.

Whatever he saw on my face made pain slide through his gray eyes. He was at my side a moment later, reaching for me, before his hand dropped as if he’d suddenly remembered he couldn’t touch me. “Sarah, don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying,” I insisted, wiping at my cheeks. Despite my stinging eyes, I couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear. “I’m glad you’re back. When you disappeared . . .” Another chill went through me that wasn’t caused by the ghostly presence in the room.

His dark brows drew together. “I now see I must better control my emotions if I want to remain in the mortal world.” His gaze lowered to the grimoire in my arms. “What is this?”

I looked down at the spell book that currently held the promise of an answer between its leather-bound covers. “A grimoire we stole from a local, book-clubbing coven leader named Raina Wilkins. It allegedly belonged to a very powerful witch once upon a time, so I’m hoping rather desperately there’s a spell in here that can help us.”

The truth seemed the best story to tell—warts and all.

His expression tightened. “May I speak to you in private?”

Uh-oh. “I broke laws for you, Thierry. No reason to get upset.”

“I’m not upset. If I was, I’d probably disappear again. Our room. Please, Sarah.”

“Okay, fine.” I handed the grimoire to Heather, reluctant to let it out of my sight. “Start looking for a spell, okay? I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Will do.” She gave the cover of the spell book a wary glance.

“Now that you’re back from your quest, Heather,” Rose said, “I’m going to do some more gardening. Please keep an eye on the vampire and holler if he starts to wake up. Come on, Hoppy.” She picked up the toad from his current perch.

“Stay close to the house,” Heather warned.

“Why?” Then Rose grimaced. “Oh dear. The protection spell? Well, better safe than sorry, I suppose.”

Better safe than sorry. Yup, that pretty much summed it up.

With a last glance over my shoulder as Heather settled into the armchair near the slumbering Owen and Rose headed toward the backyard, I followed Thierry up the stairs to our room. He watched me, his arms crossed, from the side with the window. The sunlight brushed across his handsome but stern, ghostly features.

“I didn’t only steal her grimoire,” I said, feeling the need to confess everything, “but I went all Chuck Norris on her front door, too.”

“I see.”

“You
will
see. That grimoire is going to help us . . .
if
Heather can find a good spell in it. It wasn’t easy, you know. It’s not like Raina just had it lying out on the coffee table. It was hidden up in her attic in a box.” I didn’t know why I felt so defensive—breaking, entering, stolen property. Oh, right. That was why.

But I’d gladly break more laws if it meant we could fix this mess. Just watch me.

Thierry cocked his head. “Then how did you know where to find it?”

“Malik showed up. We had a little tête-à-tête at the witch’s house. I think it’s one of his daily haunts.”

His expression grew strained. “The witch hunter.”

“The
dead
witch hunter.” That ghost still gave me the heebie-jeebies. “No idea why he helped me, though. It’s not like he’s a stand-up sort of guy. But he’s harmless—a scary barking dog with no teeth. Anyway, why did you want to talk to me? Are you mad about me stealing the grimoire?”

“You don’t know how powerful this Raina woman is.”

I raised my chin. “I can deal with her.”

“I’m sure.” This feigned confidence had coaxed a half smile to his lips before it faded. “However, we need to discuss what happens next if we can’t fix this in time.”

I held up a hand. “I’m going to stop you right there. Because we’re
not
going to fail. We will figure this out.”

He met my gaze full on. His had turned stormy. “I know you mean well, Sarah.”

“I mean very well. The wellest. The grimoire plan—”

“Might not work. And very soon what’s happened to me will become a permanent—”

“Stop it, right now.” I glared at him. “Did you eat your pessimistic cornflakes today? That won’t happen because I won’t let it happen. Got it?
You’re not escaping me mere days after we get married. It’s just not going to happen. And if you’re even suggesting that I stay with Owen and see if we have a love connection—”

“Never,” he growled. The room grew as cold as a meat locker in seconds.

I couldn’t help but grin. “Just testing you. Glad to see you’re still in the game.”

His shoulders relaxed and he shook his head, bemused. “I want to find a solution to this as much as you do.”

“Good,” I said, satisfied. “Then along with checking out the grimoire, we need to contact Markus Reed and ask for his help—and the Ring’s help, too. I know you have issues with them, but I’m sure they must have faced something like this before. They have files, right? A history of crazy paranormal wackiness to draw from?”

He regarded me as if what I’d said had taken him aback. “We’re not contacting them.”

I’d expected opposition, but I had to make him realize we needed a Plan B here. “Why not? They hired you to be their consultant. Do you think they’d want to lose you so quickly? Especially with their sudden interest in finding out about your hidden history. No way. They’ll do whatever it takes to keep you around.”

He shook his head, studying me as if, despite his reservations, he found my frenetic plan making fascinating. Kind of like a scientist watching a brunette microbe pinging wildly off the edges of a glass slide. “I’m sure there’s another answer.”

“Oh,
now
there is, huh? A minute ago you were about ready to recite your last will and testament to me.”

Despite the fierceness on his face, the hint of a smile returned to his lips. “You’re rather incorrigible—you know that?”

My heart lightened by a few ounces. “I choose to take that as a compliment.”

Our gazes locked. “Just when I begin to think hope is fading, you appear with it exuding from your very essence.”

“Which sounds kind of gross.” But I was happy he was ready to fight this battle with me. I’d accept no less. “Do you want to find a way to fix this, Thierry? Or do you want to go gentle into that good night?”

He raised a dark eyebrow. “Dylan Thomas.”

“I might be a beach-read girl now, but I did take English lit in college. I can quote with the best of them.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

I reached for him then without thinking, but instead of touching him, all I felt was coldness as his chest turned to that swirling gray smoke. It was like sticking my hand into a freezer. I drew back from him with alarm.

He looked down at himself as his chest re-formed, before his tense gaze met mine again.

“You don’t want me to call Markus,” I said flatly. “Fine. Then you better come up with another plan. Right now.”

He moved back toward the window to look outside. “I don’t want anyone else brought into this situation, Sarah. Period.”

I put my hands on my hips as I studied him, wondering for a moment why my throat felt tight. Then I realized I was angry.

“You’re something, aren’t you?”

He flicked a look toward me. “Excuse me?”

“I usually put you in a different category from all other men. A
better
category, actually. Thus the whole ‘I do’ thing from a few days ago.”

He regarded me with an edge of caution now. “You
usually
do.”

I started pacing the small room, needing to somehow expend my built-up energy. I gestured wildly in his direction. “Yeah,
usually
. Because right now you’re pissing me off. You
are
just like other men, Thierry. This is the proof. This is your ‘I’m lost but I’m not asking for any directions since it will make me feel like less of a man’ thing. That’s not cool.”

“Far be it from me to not be cool.”

“Are you going to help me find a way to save your butt, or what? I already stole a witch’s grimoire for you—”

“A reckless and dangerous thing to do.” But before I could defend my actions again, his hard expression softened. “That I know you did for a selfless reason.”

“No. It was a very selfish reason.” I took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. “Look, Thierry, I know you don’t trust anyone . . .”

“Wrong. I trust you.”

The fight went out of me at that. “Promise me, Thierry, when this is over, and everything’s okay again, that we’ll go on a
real
honeymoon. Somewhere with palm trees.”

He nodded slowly. “Turquoise seas, warm breeze.”

“Being an excellent rhymer isn’t going to cheer me up right now.”

“Once we deal with this, I promise, the world is yours.”

I finally smiled. “
That’s
what I like to hear. Now, let’s go fix this mess.”

•   •   •

Downstairs, Heather was poring through the grimoire, scanning each page before flipping to the next. She looked up as we entered the room.

“This is so fascinating,” she said. “All this history and magic at my fingertips.”

Thierry eyed the grimoire. “Did you find anything, Heather?”

I held my breath and waited for her answer.

“The good news is that I found lots of amazing spells in here.” Heather turned her attention back to the book. She raked her fingers through her long, messy red hair. “This was kept by a witch who was here in Salem during the trials. It’s old—I mean, so old that even
I
can feel the power coming off the pages. This witch could work some serious magic.”

Her words worked like a shot glass of optimism at a positivity party. “Good to hear. So what’s the bad news?”

She swallowed. “I haven’t found anything about possession—nothing at all. Maybe . . . what happened with Owen . . . it was just an accident and it’s never happened before in the history of mankind.”

My optimistic shot glass shattered.

“Possession can occur either by spirit or demon. It’s been documented throughout history.” Thierry’s voice didn’t reveal a fraction of the strain I felt right now after hearing about Heather’s uninspiring findings.

“Yes, but . . . I did some research last night. A possessing spirit never literally pushes out the original soul.
That’s
the part that doesn’t happen. Grandma’s never heard of anything like this, either. Normally, in a regular possession, the spirit takes hold of the body long enough to get across its message, but then the original spirit pushes it back out. That should be the end of it. But here . . .”