Mind your business, Celine. Mind your business,my voice of reason whispered in my head.Now is not the time to play hero.
I combed my fingers through my dark curls, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest.
But what if…?
Focus on your books, for Christ’s sake. I mean it,the voice warned.
But I couldn’t. I couldn’t focus on anything because my curiosity wouldn’t let me. Every now and then, my eyes would flick toward the aisle while I chewed on my nails.
What if it’s a bomb?I thought.What if I need to alert the school authorities?
Curiosity killed the cat,said the voice.Be sure to remember that.
Crazy how we always recited one half of that quote just to instill fear.
“Curiosity killed the cat. But satisfaction brought it back,” I whispered to myself. “Yeah, nobody ever finishes the saying.”
I rose to my feet, despite the protest in my head. My footsteps were silent on the floor as I moved across the aisle. The plan was to move quietly without drawing unwanted attention to myself.
I was familiar with almost all the books on this aisle. So, as I moved along, my eyes searched the shelves for any odd one out. Then I spotted it: a thick leather-bound book with a worn-out spine.
Don’t do it,the voice warned me.Do not touch that thing.
After glancing around to be sure no one was watching me, I reached out and grabbed it. With lightning speed, I withdrew it from the shelf and paused, waiting for my racing heart to calm.
I exhaled slowly, my chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths.
Now what?
I checked out the book’s cover, front and back. There was nothing special about it. It wasn’t a novel, and it wasn’t a textbook either. It was just a regular book that looked more like a journal. A thick one.
“Let’s check this out, shall we?” I murmured and began heading back to my spot.
You, Celine Hart, are gonna be the death of us.
I slid back into my chair and set the mystery book on the table. At least it wasn’t a bomb. Thank God for that, right?
What if it were some kind of grimoire?
I let out a quiet exhale, glanced around one more time, and then flipped the book open.
Nothing.
No eerie sounds.
No strange feelings.
No gust of wind.
Nothing.
Clearly not a grimoire.
“Hmm.” I stroked my jaw, skimming through the contents of the book.
The handwriting was neat and elegant, almost deliberate. From my experience, it looked like an accountant’s ledger: the dates, the jaw-dropping figures running into millions and millions of dollars.
I squinted my eyes, flipping through the pages of this book. The more I studied it, the more I discovered that its contents weren’t supposed to be public knowledge.