Curse of the Witching Hour Page 7

  He wanted to ask Gertrude, but his attention was stolen when her fingers stroked his fur each time he was with her. It was difficult to focus on anything other than being a cat when she petted him. He didn’t like that her magic made him forget how much he missed Abigail.

  Eventually Lucifer had stored up enough magic that when Gertrude changed into a cat during the full moon and they mated, he was able to turn back into a man afterward. The first words he said to her were, “I need to stay like this so I can help Abby.”

  She showed him then what had happened to his Abigail.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Seeing the Forest for the Tree Nymphs

  Gertrude Periwinkle’s technique for divining the present wasn’t the same as Clarissa’s, but her magic was no less impressive.

  Gertrude was a Celestor and a skilled one at that. She took Lucifer to the roof of the school, where she could be closer to the stars, and fueled herself with their magic to power her abilities of divination. He was surprised she would dress down to her undergarments at a school for at-risk youth, but her knee-length knickers and chemise were probably less scandalous than what humans wore in the Morty Realm with their modern sensibilities.

  Lucifer watched in awe as she drew down starlight and absorbed it into her skin. The air tasted buttery and bright, and she glowed with the power of the cosmos. As she seated herself across from him and poured water into a puddle between them, she conjured an image of Abigail through a combination of clairvoyance and divination.

  He stared into the puddle, examining the gloomy landscape of shadowy trees shown in the vision. The twisting towers of an ominous castle rose out of the forest in the distance. He supposed this was the Raven Queen’s castle. The spindly branches of trees emerged out of pockets of mist as Gertrude’s scrying technique panned through the trees. He expected the scene would shift to the dungeon or someplace in the castle where Abigail was being held, but it didn’t. The vision scanned through the trees.

  Gertrude’s forehead crinkled. She held her hands over the puddle, starlight drifting from her fingertips into the vision, but it didn’t change to the interior of the castle. The perspective only panned around a particular set of trees. Most of them were barren, as though at rest in a winter slumber, but one still had some leaves on it.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t think it’s working,” Gertrude said.

  Lucifer squinted at the tree with oak leaves. “Can you focus on that tree?”

  Gertrude pulled at threads of magic and reeled in the image as though it were nothing more than a photograph on the end of a string. Lucifer inhaled the scent of decaying leaves and wet earth from the forest floor. This tree smelled of oak pitch and spring. The air around it tasted of Abigail’s magic.

  “Is that . . . ?” Gertrude bit her lip.

  His voice came out a rasp. “This is impossible.”

  “Magic is at work with that tree, an Amni Plandai affinity.” She carefully avoided saying it was Abigail, as if afraid of what that could mean.

  It had been years since Abigail had changed into a tree. She’d had full command of her powers then, back before Lucifer’s electrical affinity had accidentally drained her. Yet in recent years her magic had slowly returned—in part due to his influence. The same Red affinity that could disable other Witchkin’s magic when actively used—and in large doses—could also draw out the magic of Fae and Witchkin in small quantities.

  If Abigail’s Amni Plandai magic had been drawn out—by a Red affinity more skilled and powerful than Lucifer—it was possible she might have regained enough of her powers to transform herself. Clarissa might have aided her. Or perhaps Lucifer’s brother, Felix.

  Tears filled his eyes. “She’s safe. She’s a tree.” She wasn’t locked away and being tortured in a dungeon. She had found a way to keep herself from the Raven Queen’s clutches.

  From the way Gertrude shook her head, it was obvious she didn’t understand what a blessing this was. “Have you ever seen the painting Primavera by Botticelli? This is like Chloris trying to escape from Zephyrus.”

  “I don’t know art history,” he said. That was Clarissa’s specialty.

  “Doesn’t it worry you what might make her desperate enough to do this?” Gertrude asked.

  He didn’t have to wonder. He knew. He’d seen it in Clarissa’s visions. This was so much better.

  Abigail had always told him how peaceful she’d felt when she’d turned into a tree. She’d never been able to transform this completely, but even in the half-leshi tree-nymph state she’d been able to reach as a Witchkin rather than a pureblooded Fae, she’d been able to restore all injuries. It had brought serenity to her mind as a meditation might do for someone else.

  He leaned in closer. “It looks so clear, I feel like I could step right through to the other side.”

  “Don’t,” Gertrude said sternly. “This isn’t a portal.” She let her fingers touch the surface, the water rippling, and the vision wavering.

  “Can you turn it into a portal?” he asked hopefully.

  She placed her hand on his, her eyes full of pity. “What would you do if you could get to the other side, pet?”

  “I would go to her.” He could comfort Abigail, let her know he was there for her and that he hadn’t forgotten about her.

  Gertrude frowned. “And then what?”

  He bristled. The impertinence in her tone made his fingers want to curl into claws. “I’d help her turn back into a human.”

  “How?”

  He straightened, his spine rigid with the anticipation of an attack, though Gertrude made no movement indicating she intended to do so. Her expression held no malice, only concern.

  He kept his voice even, lest he give away the raw fury fighting to get out of him. “I was always good at helping Abby return to being human before—back when she had magic.” He couldn’t see why it would be different now. He’d been able to help her remember her humanity when she’d wanted to stay as a tree.

  Gertrude’s blue eyes were full of pity. “You think she’s going to turn back to being human just like that? With you just going up to her and snapping your fingers and telling her to change back before guards from the Raven Court detect a trespasser? They’ll imprison you. Or worse yet, they’ll enslave you and torture you so they can use you for your magic.”

  He fought the urge to lick his hand and smooth it against his face. “Maybe I’ll go to the Raven Queen and strike a bargain with her. I’ll offer her my services in exchange for freeing Abigail.”

  Gertrude rolled her eyes. “How old are you? Twelve? That’s the most idiotic plan I’ve ever heard.”

  He pretended he hadn’t heard and stared at the textured bark of the tree in the divination. He couldn’t see anything of Abigail’s face in the lined surface, but it was so obviously her.

  “Do you understand why Abigail being a tree is so dangerous?” she asked. “She’s completely vulnerable in that state. If you march in there and strike up a deal to try to free her, the Raven Queen will twist that bargain to her advantage—and make a slave out of you in the process.”

  “No. Abby is safe from the Raven Queen. I won’t tell her she’s a tree.” He’d lived with Baba Nata enough years to have a handle on making bargains with wicked witches. A wicked Fae couldn’t be so different.

  “What if she already knows about her being a tree and simply doesn’t care? Abigail is only safe if the Raven Queen doesn’t decide she wants firewood.” Gertrude waved a hand over the vision, and it faded. “Believe me. I know how Fae law works. I’ve studied their contracts. They only work it if it’s to their advantage. It will be full of loopholes, but not ones that benefit you. You need to come up with a better plan.”

  Lucifer stared at the puddle, wishing Gertrude hadn’t dissipated the vision so soon. “What do you suggest?”

  “People aren’t meant to be changed into plants. They lose themselves. For starters, I’d suggest figuring out how to
sneak into the Raven Court’s territory without detection. Next you need a spell to change her back. Last—”

  “What do you mean? Abby is a tree nymph. It’s natural for her to turn into a plant. She doesn’t need a spell to make her human again.” He could hardly keep up with Gertrude.

  She didn’t bother hiding the impatience in her expression. “No Witchkin is meant to be a plant for this long I’d wager. She’s been a tree for—well—I don’t know. But I wouldn’t recommend it unless she were very powerful and knew what she was doing—and for a short amount of time. That’s the key. No more than a few days.”

  “Baba Nata changed me into a cat—and that isn’t even part of my affinity. It’s been thirty years, and I’m fine.” He held himself taller, quite proud of himself.

  “Yes, but a cat is active. A tree is passive. You’re always plotting what you’re going to hunt or whom you’re going to attack.” She raised an eyebrow with knowing. Apparently, he hadn’t gotten it past her that he liked to claw his enemies. Or simply people who annoyed him. “Abigail can’t think like a human—or anything close to it—while she’s in a tree state. Her brain is going to atrophy.”

  Vega was the one who had told Lucifer about his own mind atrophying if he remained as a cat. She’d warned him that thirty years was excessive. She was surprised he’d changed back to being human at all, even if it had been accidental.

  More important than his mind and his ability to think and behave as a human, there was the matter of his soul. She’d warned him his mind wouldn’t ever be the same if his soul deteriorated into that of a cat.

  What would happen if Abigail had transformed so thoroughly she had become more tree than human? He wanted to believe that her Amni Plandai affinity and heritage of being descended from tree nymphs like the leshi—who looked more tree than human themselves—would keep her from losing who she was.

  Gertrude was right about everything else. He needed a new plan.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Book of Secrets

  Lucifer didn’t know how long he would stay in his human form this time. He intended to keep his affinity fueled to ensure he was able to remain human.

  Part of that included a daily regimen of recreational activities with Gertrude, which she seemed happy about. Lucifer felt conflicted about spending so much time with a woman who wasn’t Abigail, but ultimately he didn’t know a more effective way to manage his affinity.

  He didn’t want to risk falling in love with Gertrude, and he feared he might be leading her into believing he would love her. On one of the occasions they were together in bed, and she was in the throes of passion, she said Felix’s name instead of his own. She was so consumed by the moment that he suspected she didn’t notice.

  “Well, this is awkward.” He drew back enough to force her to meet his gaze. “Are you … in love with my brother?”

  He had never questioned why she had taken him in as a cat and looked after him without asking for anything in return—unless sex counted.

  Gertrude’s cheeks flushed a rosier red. “Of course not, pet.”

  Before he could ask further questions, she kissed him again and bewitched him with siren magic.

  Ultimately he decided her feelings for Felix weren’t any of his business. So long as Gertrude’s unrequited crush on Felix didn’t interfere with Lucifer’s current agenda to remain human, he could focus on more important matters.

  His next goal was to make the most of his time as a human while he could.

  “There’s a secret room in the library with books that might be able to help us,” Gertrude confided in him. “But not just anyone can go down there.”

  “I’ll be careful with the books. If they’re old, I can wear gloves.” He only knew about this being an important detail because Abigail had visited libraries searching for archaic texts that might hold an answer to his cure. There were special protocols for old books. Not that she’d found the answers she’d been seeking.

  “It’s not just that.” A crease deepened between her brows. “The door is warded. It won’t open for everyone.”

  “Oh.” His shoulders sagged. “It might not let me in because I’m not a librarian.” That would be just his luck.

  She looked away, her eyes dark with gloom that wasn’t usually there. “The thing is, I can’t get the door open.”

  “Oh.” The weight on his shoulders felt even heavier. “Why did you even bother mentioning it if we can’t get in?” He supposed she might want to use him for his magic. Gertrude didn’t speak of his affinity out loud, but surely if she understood Red affinity magic, as he suspected she did, she had to understand how powerful he made her.

  “Clarissa could open the door.” She mumbled the words, as if they shamed her to say them out loud. “She didn’t even try to use magic. The door just opened for her.”

  Clarissa was a Red affinity. He was a Red affinity. He understood now.

  “So I might be able to open this door?” Lucifer threw off his gloom like a cloak. He circled an arm around Gertrude’s waist, squeezing her to his side. “Let’s take a look at this door.” He was as excited as a cat with the prospect of catnip.

  Gertrude took Lucifer to the back of the library at night when all the students were supposed to be in bed. The door looked like it could have belonged to a closet, nothing special. She showed him how the handle wouldn’t turn. Lucifer tried, but it didn’t open for him.

  Gertrude gestured to the door again. “Keep your hand on the knob for a minute. It took Clarissa a few seconds before too.”

  Lucifer did so. He waited. The library was as silent as a graveyard, the only sound his heart thumping in his ears. The lock clicked.

  Lucifer opened the door, the wood creaking. Gertrude rushed past him, quicker than a cat avoiding a bath. Sconces on the walls flared to life as she descended a set of stone stairs.

  “What about the special gloves?” he called after her.

  She didn’t respond.

  He followed her down the steps, catching every cobweb in his face along the way. By the time he’d reached the bottom of the stairs, he recognized the scent of vanilla.

  He inhaled deeply. “It smells like Abby’s baking down here.” He passed an open door to a dark room and then another. A faint glow came from farther down the hallway.

  “It’s the fermenting of the ink,” Gertrude called from one of the rooms up ahead.

  He inhaled again. “I smell apple pie.” His belly grumbled as he remembered Abigail’s candy-coated crust. She’d always permitted him one bite as a cat but wouldn’t feed him more because he was supposed to be a carnivore. Yet he’d always wanted human food, specifically her cooking.

  His mouth watered.

  “That fruity smell is a dead body,” Gertrude said. “Mummified remains sometimes smell like berries or apples.”

  “Oh. That’s . . . nice.” That hungry feeling in the pit of his belly soured.

  He found Gertrude in a room full of books, perusing the spines.

  “Don’t touch the dead body in the other room,” she said. “Apparently Clarissa did that once, and it came to life and tried to kill her.”

  Lucifer had no intention of touching the dead. Necromancy had been one of his mother’s abilities. He didn’t know whether it was the necromancy that had caused his mother’s madness or her grief at losing his father and reanimating him with her succubus powers that had caused her to change, but he didn’t intend to find out.

  Necromancy was considered a forbidden art for a reason. The dead could stay dead as far as he was concerned.

  Gertrude removed a title from the shelf and hugged it to her chest as though the book were a dear friend. She radiated with Celestor magic almost as brightly as she had on the roof after absorbing starlight. It was rare for a Witchkin to be a double affinity—as rare as being a Red affinity like Lucifer was, but Gertrude was as much Celestor as siren with a water Elementia affinity.

  She h
eaped books into his arms. “This is an ancient text about shapeshifting. Here is a book about the history of the Raven Court and their magic—but be aware, it was published at least five centuries ago. It doesn’t have any modern history in it. This one is about wood nymphs, but it’s in Greek. Do you read Greek?”

  He tried to remember the languages Baba had taught him for spell casting. It was all so long ago. “Um….”

  Gertrude went on, “No matter, I do.”

  “These aren’t the kinds of books we need.” He scanned the walls of shelves. “There has to be something here on how to become a powerful witch who can defeat Fae enemies.”

  “You can barely manage to remain human. Do you really think you’re ready to use that kind of magic?” She reached for another book, selecting one on breaking curses.

  She opened that one and began to scan the pages. Lucifer had thought Gertrude stunning when she absorbed starlight or when she radiated siren magic and her skin turned mother-of-pearl. But in actuality, he realized now, she had never looked more beautiful than she did when she was reading.

  He hoped he wasn’t falling in love with her.

  Her thirst for knowledge was sexier than the allure of siren bewitchment.

  They removed books from the secret room and read late into the night in bed in companionable silence. With Gertrude snuggled up beside him, Lucifer felt oddly closer to her while reading than he ever had during physical intimacy.

  * * *

  In the book, Curses for Fiends and Enemies, Lucifer found one reference that changed his understanding of the last thirty years and his own curse.

  Many curses are inactive unless set off by a trigger. It might be a location, temperature, or seeing a person. The tale of Sleeping Beauty is based on a princess whose curse lay dormant until she pricked her finger on a spindle. In the tale, her curse was broken by fertility magic. What the Morty-written books omit is that she also suffered from narcolepsy anytime henceforth that she pricked her finger on sewing needles, rose thorns, and other sharp objects. The curse wasn’t truly broken.