fifteen

“Hey.”

I look up, surprised to see Jude standing before me, so engrossed in my work I didn’t even hear him come in.

“How do you do that?” I squint, taking in his aura, now beaming a nice shade of blue.

“Do what?” He leans against the counter and looks me over.

“Always manage to sneak up on me like that?” My gaze rests on his black tee, curious to see who’s being featured today. “What’s that?” I motion toward it.

He closes his eyes and lifts his hands before him, attempting to draw his index fingers toward his thumbs but not getting very far before he gives up and chants, “Ommmmmmm,” the sound coming from deep within his diaphragm. Peeking at me when he adds, “It’s the sound of existence—the sound of the universe.”

I scrunch my nose, having no idea what he’s getting at.

“The universe is made up of vibrating, pulsating energy, right?”

I nod. “So I’ve been told.”

“Okay, so Om is thought to be the sound of that energy—that vast, cosmic energy. You’ve never heard that before? Don’t you meditate?”

I shrug. I used to meditate. Used to cleanse my aura. Pretend roots were growing from the soles of my feet deep into the center of the earth and all sorts of feel-good nonsense like that. But not anymore. I mean, it’s not like I have time to sit around observing my breath when my entire world is collapsing around me.

“You really should get back into it, you know. It really helps to balance and heal, not to mention how it—”

“And is it healing you?” I look pointedly at his arms, still debating whether or not to act on the idea I had the other night, adding up the pros and cons and still not coming any closer to a decision.

“Got a doctor appointment a bit later, so I guess we’ll find out.” He shrugs, eyes roving over me when he adds, “And speaking of—” Our gaze meets. “I was wondering if you could give me a lift. I could take the bus, but then I’ll have to cut class a little short and I prefer not to do that, you know?”

“Class?” I look at him, drawing a blank.

“Yeah, you know, Psychic Development 101 with an emphasis on self-empowerment and Wicca—surely you remember?” He laughs.

I nod, rising from the stool, gladly giving it over to him. “How’s that going, anyway?” I make my way around the counter so that he can take my place.

“Okay.” He nods. “Your friend Honor seems to have a real knack for it.”

I stop. Stop everything. He’s got my full attention now. “Honor?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, you know. I thought you guys were friends?”

I shake my head, remembering what I observed on the last day of school, and the plans Honor has for a major Stacia coup. “We’re classmates.” I shrug, pressing against the wall and allowing him to pass. “Not really friends. Trust me, there’s a difference.”

He stops—stops when he should keep moving. Stops in a way that practically pins him against me. His eyes searching my face in a way that never fails to send an immediate flood of calm through my system—the first calm I’ve felt in—days. Not since before I left Summerland. After Summerland, all I could think about was Ava and how she managed to con her way in. And even though it only lasts a few seconds, even though he soon moves past me and onto the stool, the impact, the calming charge of his presence still lingers.

“She’s either applying herself in a really big way or she’s got a real knack for magick,” he says, grabbing the box of receipts with two of his good fingers and awkwardly flipping through it. “Seems pretty single-minded though, so my guess is the former.”

I squint, trying to recall what I know about Honor, but other than her position as Craig’s girlfriend and Stacia’s disgruntled BFF, it’s not much.

I look at Jude, wondering if I should tell him that from what I saw that day when I peeked inside her head that Honor’s intentions aren’t all that—honorable. But it’s not like Stacia’s ever done me (or anyone else for that matter) any favors, so who am I to get involved?

“So, what time does class start?” I ask, deciding to stick to the practical as I make my way toward the back room.

“In an hour. Why?” He glances over his shoulder.

“I’ll be in the back until you need me,” I say, slinking into the office and shutting the door behind me. Retrieving The Book from its hiding place and slapping it onto the old wood desk. Taking a moment for a few deep, cleansing breaths before I hunch over it, tracing my fingers across the elaborate gold inscription on its front, debating whether or not I should do this.

The last time I visited this tome, things didn’t go so well. And now that I know about Roman’s connection to it—well, I’m no longer sure I can trust it. Because if he really is responsible for it ending up in my hands, then my reading it now would only make me (yet again!) a pawn in his plans. But then, if he does have influence over these pages, then maybe there’s a clue buried somewhere, a clue as to how this game ends or how he plans to win.

Maybe, just like the akashic records in Summerland, it’s all about asking the right kind of questions.

But while the akashic records permits only the worthy within its grand halls, The Book of Shadows only requires a code, followed by a coded question, preferably in rhyme.

So after softly chanting the rhyme Romy and Rayne taught me: