Blood Witch_ Book Three - Cate Tiernan [2]
I waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. Her response sounded strangely voyeuristic—especially from a high priestess, someone who was otherwise so in touch with people’s feelings. Why couldn’t she see that Maeve Riordan’s book wasn’t just another Book of Shadows? At least not to me.
My initial guilt and nervousness were giving way to anger. Selene had read my mother’s private words. But right then Cal stepped across the room and put his hand on my shoulder, rubbing gently. He seemed to be saying he was on my side, that he understood. So why couldn’t his mother? Did she think I was too much of a child to handle my mother’s secrets?
“Where did you get this Book of Shadows?” I asked insistently.
“From a dealer in Manhattan,” Selene said. Once again her tone was impossible to read. “He had acquired it from someone else—someone who had no credentials, who may have stolen it or found it in a secondhand store somewhere.” She shrugged. “I bought it about ten or eleven years ago, sight unseen. When I opened it, I realized it was by the same young witch who I’d read about dying in a fire, not far from here. It’s a special Book of Shadows, and not just because it’s Maeve’s.”
“I’m going to take it home,” I said boldly, surprising myself again.
For a long moment silence hung thick in the air. Again my heart started to race. I’d never challenged Cal’s mother before; I hardly ever challenged adults at all . . . and she was a powerful witch. Cal’s eyes flashed between the two of us.
“Of course, my dear,” Selene finally said. “It’s yours.”
I let my breath out silently. Selene added, “After Cal told me your story, I knew one day I would give it to you. If, after you read it, you have any questions or concerns, I hope you’ll come and talk to me.”
I nodded. “Thanks,” I mumbled. I turned to Cal. “You know, I really just want to go home now.” My voice was shaky.
“Okay,” Cal said. “I’ll drive you. Let’s get our coats.”
Selene stepped aside to let us pass. She remained in the study, probably to look around at what else I had touched or examined. Not that I could blame her. I didn’t know what to feel. I hadn’t meant to abuse her trust, but there was no denying the reward: I now possessed an intimate record of my birth mother’s life, written in her hand. No matter what mysteries lay inside, I knew I could handle them. I had to handle them.
Cal squeezed my shoulder as we walked down the hall, reassuring me.
Outside, the November wind whipped through my hair, and I brushed it out of my face. Cal opened his car and I climbed in, shivering against the cold leather seats and pushing my hands deep inside my pockets. The Book of Shadows was zipped up inside my jacket, next to my chest.
“The heater will warm things up in a minute,” Cal said. He turned the key and punched buttons on the dash. His handsome face was just a silhouette in the dark of night. Then he turned to me and brushed his hand, surprisingly warm, against my cheek. “Are you okay?” he asked.
I nodded, but I wasn’t sure. I was grateful for his concern, yet I was all wrapped up in the mystery of the book and still uneasy about what had just happened with Selene.
“I wasn’t trying to spy or sneak around,” I told him. The words were true, but they sounded even less convincing the second time around.
He glanced at me again as he turned the Explorer onto the main road. “That door is spelled shut,” he said thoughtfully. “I still have to get Mom’s permission to go in—I’ve never been able to open the door by myself. And believe me, I’ve tried.” His grin was a white flash in the darkness.
“But that’s weird,” I said, frowning. “I mean, I didn’t even try to open the door—it just popped open, and I almost fell down.”
Cal didn’t respond. He concentrated on the road. Maybe he was trying to figure out how I had gotten in there, wondering if I’d used magick. But I hadn’t, at least not consciously.