The Hidden Grimoire Karla Brandenburg (best color ereader TXT) 📖

in on the progress of his projects across the street. He’d finished laying the last hardwood floor and ordered French doors to replace the sliders to the patio. The house was going to be lovely, much more updated than mine. On my way back to the kitchen I glanced around the wood-beamed ceiling, at the ecru paint on the walls that brightened the main room. As nice as Kyle’s house would be when he finished, this house was home to me. Any further improvements I wanted to make Kyle could help me with—the benefits to marrying a handy guy.

I reheated leftovers for dinner, and when we’d finished eating, Kyle checked his watch. “I promised my dad I’d go with him to his AA meeting tonight. He’s celebrating a sobriety birthday. You going to be okay by yourself?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’ve had a couple of interesting days.”

“I have, and you know what? I’m going to be fine. You go support your dad. I’ll be here when you get home.”

“Home,” he repeated. He eased out of his chair and crouched in front of me. “I like that.” He palmed the back of my neck and pulled me in for a kiss. “You’ll call me if anything unusual should happen?”

I rolled my eyes and pushed him away. “Go.”

He smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He rose, stopped in the kitchen doorway and gave me one last smile before he left.

Ash crunched on food in the utility room while I cleaned up after dinner, then she hopped onto the clothes washer while she waited for me. When I hung the dishtowel on the stove handle, she jumped to the floor and headed toward the workroom—our usual routine.

I flipped on the lights, but there was no grimoire waiting for me on the table. Just as well. I had essential oils to bottle. I called out for Siri to play music and sang along while I worked.

After bottling the condensate from the still, I strained the oregano oil that had been steeping. The soaps curing on the shelf under my worktable weren’t ready to cut yet. In the mood to pour a candle, I went to the cupboard in the corner for clove oil, and when I turned, a grimoire lay open on the worktable.

The hidden grimoire.

My heart raced. I’d gotten used to the books in the cupboard moving around and showing me recipes, but this one was different.

It’s just another book.

One with a skull and crossbones and a warning.

I can do this.

I let my breath out slowly, and checked to see what the book wanted me to do—the spell to protect the next daughter born, Georgia unless I missed my guess.

In darkness, light a candle of Eucalyptus, Agrimony, Myrrh & Sage. By such light, incant the words herebelow. Lift the candle and sign a cross. With success, the rune will linger in such shape before the wind catches it away.

Alrighty, then. I surveyed the workshop—my workshop. After the fire, I’d replaced most everything that was lost, organized everything in a way that made sense to me. I wasn’t sure I had a candle made with the required ingredients.

In the corner, the cupboard opened by itself, raising the hairs on my arms. Yes, I knew the magic was a part of me, and yet I was still unnerved when the world chose to show me things on its own. I crossed to the cupboard, looked over the shelves of herbs and oils. I knelt and moved things around on the lower shelves until I came across a jar candle. I pulled it out and read the label—exactly what I needed. “Thank you,” I said to whatever spirits guided me.

I hesitated, remembering the first spell I’d cast that had backfired so spectacularly. Calling on the magic intentionally comes with unintended consequences. The magic was calling on me this time, the magic which also dictated to do what you will, but do no harm.

I could do this.

Nora had performed this spell for me, and for my cousin Jeannine—just in case. I set my resolve, turned off the lights and lit the candle. My voice cracked as I read the verse inscribed, but before I lifted the candle to make the cross, the flame blew out. Did that mean the spell hadn’t been successful?

I turned the lights on. The grimoire was open to another page. The picture drawn at the top was that of a sleeping child, a cloud floating over her.

Guide her dreams.

“Wait,” I called out. “What about the spell for protection?”

I didn’t really expect an answer, did I? I turned in a circle, surveyed the room, then reached for my phone. I called Nora to ask her what to do.

“Did you try again?” she asked.

“No. The book opened to another page. There’s a spell that says guide her dreams. I never dreamed about you.” The uncomfortable I’m not in control of this feeling crept over me. I knew I wasn’t in control. I wasn’t meant to be. I was a cog in a wheel, a small part of the bigger picture.

“I was never called on to cast a dream spell,” Nora said. “Then again, you didn’t know me.”

“I’m going to try again,” I said. “If it fails a second time, I’ll try the second spell then.”

“Do you want me to come over tomorrow?” Nora asked. “And I can call on one of our wiccan sisters for advice, if you’d like.”

“Our wiccan sisters?”

“You met them at the solstice celebration,” she said.

I didn’t remember any of them by name, if I’d even been introduced, but the connection I’d felt with them that night, my connection to the world, had given me the confidence to accept my legacy. “Sisters?” I repeated, an uneasy feeling taking hold.

“Well, not actually sisters, and yet we are all connected, aren’t we?”

Which meant Narcy’s ‘sister’ might not be a blood relative either. Not something I was ready to contemplate right now. First things first.

“Let me try the protection spell again,