“You were looking for something more specific? A love spell perhaps?”

I peer at him, eyes narrowed, wondering why he just said that.

“Sorry.” He shrugs, eyes grazing my face, lingering on my lips for a few seconds too long. “Seems like trouble in paradise with the way you and Damen are avoiding each other these days.”

I close my eyes for a moment, forcing the sting to retreat. It’s been one week. One week without Damen—his sweet telepathic messages—his warm and loving embrace. The only hint that he even exists is the fresh supply of elixir I found in my fridge. An elixir he must’ve slipped in while I slept, taking every precaution to get the job done before I could wake. Each passing hour so painful, so agonizing, so lonely—I’ve no idea how I’ll get through the summer without him.

Jude’s energy shifts, his aura pulling back just as a sensitive shade of blue flickers at the edges. “Well, whatever you seek,” he says, back to business again. “You’ll find it in here.” He thumps the page with his thumb. “You just have to give it some time to take it all in. It’s a very detailed account, and the content goes pretty deep.”

“Where’d you find it?” I take in the spray of dreadlocks hitting just shy of his lips. “And how long have you had it?” I add, suddenly needing to know.

He shrugs, averting his gaze. “Picked it up somewhere—some guy I once knew.” He shakes his head. “It was a long time ago.”

“Vague much?” I smile, giving a sort of half laugh he fails to return. “Seriously. You’re only nineteen—how long ago could it have been?” I study him closely, remembering the time I asked the same question of Damen—well before I knew what he was. A sudden chill pricking my skin as I take him in, the crooked teeth, the scar marking his brow, the tangle of dread-locks falling into those familiar green eyes—assuring myself he’s merely someone I knew from my past, that he’s nothing like me.

“Guess I’m not so big on tracking time,” he says, the laugh that follows uncommitted, forced. “I try to live in the moment—the now. Still, must’ve been four—maybe five years ago—when I first started getting into this stuff.”

“And did Lina find it? Is that why you hide it?”

He shakes his head, face flushing when he says, “As embarrassing as it is to admit, she came across a poppet I’d made and completely freaked out. Thought it was a voodoo doll. Misread the whole thing.”

“Poppet?” My gaze fixed on his, having no idea what that is.

“A sort of magical doll.” He shrugs, embarrassed gaze meeting mine. “I was a kid, what can I say? I was misguided enough to think it would convince a certain girl to like me.”

“And did it?” I hold my breath, studying him carefully, wondering why those simple words cause a ping in my gut.

“Lina destroyed it before it could work. Just as well.” He shrugs. “Turns out she was trouble.”

“Your usual type.” The words rushing forward before I can stop them.

He looks at me, eyes glinting. “Old habits die hard.”

We sit like that, eyes locked, breath halted, the moment growing, stretching, until I finally break away and return to the book.

“I’d love to help you,” he says, voice low and deep. “But I get the feeling your journey’s too private for me.”

I turn, about to speak, when he adds, “No worries. I get it. But if it’s spell casting you’re after, there are a few things you should know.” His gaze meets mine, making sure he has my full attention before he goes on. “One, it’s a last resort—only to be used when all other avenues are exhausted. And two, spells are really just recipes for change, to get what you want, or alter a certain situation that needs—altering. But in order for it to work, your goals have to be clear—you need to visualize the outcome you want and direct all of your energy toward it.”

“Like manifesting,” I say, wishing I hadn’t when I see his gaze change.

“Manifesting takes too long—magick’s more immediate—or at least it can be.”

I press my lips together, knowing better than to explain how manifesting can also be instantaneous once you understand how the universe works. But then again, you can’t manifest what you don’t know, making the antidote, among other things, strictly off limits.

“Think of this like a giant cookbook.” He taps the page with his nail. “One with liner notes.” He smiles. “But nothing in here is fixed, you can alter the recipes to suit your own needs, and choose your own set of tools accordingly—”

“Tools?” I look at him.

“Crystals, herbs, elements, candles, phases of the moon—that kind of thing.”

I think back on the elixirs I made, just before I went back in time, having thought of it more in terms of alchemy than magick, though I guess in some ways, it’s pretty much the same thing.

“It also helps if you cast your spell in verse.”

“Like a poem?” I look at him, startled. Maybe this isn’t going to work after all. I pretty much suck at that kind of thing.

“Doesn’t have to be Keats, just something that rhymes and has some sort of meaning for what you want it to do.”

I frown, feeling disheartened before I even begin.

“And, Ever—”

I look at him.