It took a moment to remember where she was. She was in her cottage, on her couch, theLiber Terraea solid weight on her chest. The room was overflowing with greenery, looking more like a tropical forest than the interior of a stone cottage in the Shenandoah Mountains. No doubt the rapid growth had been fueled by the potent emotions created by the joy of holding a copy of theLiber Terraeand the steamy energy of her dreams—the ones that featured a certain mage.
Either that, or Brandon had dusted the book with an eros spell…
Muriel frowned and looked closer at the ancient tome in her lap.There! In addition to the subtle thrum of earth magic was a trace of Brandon’s unique energy signature. Every magic user had one, similar to a human fingerprint. She detected nothing manipulative, however—only a whisper of Brandon’s wish that the book please her.
If he was trying to get on her good side, he was doing a fine job of it by giving her time and space to consider her options and sending her a thoughtful present. Still, a gifted mage could conceal intent, and something told Muriel that Brandon was far more adept than he led people to believe.
Even as she thought that, a sudden shockwave of energy ripped through her, a bold knock on her psychic door. She closed her eyes and extended her senses beyond her immediate space and touched her wards. Each was functioning and intact.
But there was something there. An undeniable presence tugged at something deep in her chest, urgent and insistent. The energy wasn’t malicious. On the contrary, it was achingly familiar.
“Mom?” Muriel whispered.
The sensation intensified, wrapping around her and coaxing her toward the door.
Muriel followed, stepping out into the quiet night, allowing the energy to lead her toward the greenhouse. It had been her mother’s favorite place.
Once inside, Muriel took a moment to let her eyes adjust. “Okay, I’m here,” she murmured. “Now what?”
The clouds above shifted, and a shaft of moonlight pierced the frosted glass, landing on a potting table near the back like a spotlight. Muriel crossed the dirt floor and saw nothing of note. Worktables stood along the walls, covered with an assortment of clay pots and trays of seedlings.
The invisible force pressed down on her shoulders, an obvious command.
Muriel knelt and pushed aside the large planters beneath, exposing dark earth. That was when she saw it—the shimmer of glamour, just above the ground.
Muriel's breath caught as her hand reached out and touched the shimmer. The illusion dissolved, revealing an iron ring and a trapdoor that she’d never noticed before.
“What secrets were you hiding, Mom?”
A breeze whipped through the enclosed greenhouse, impatient and insistent.
“Okay, okay.” Muriel pulled on the ring and opened the door. Scents of stone, earth, and ozone flowed up to greet her.
Drawing the moonlight to her, Muriel shaped it into a ball and held it near the opening, where a narrow set of stairs disappeared into the darkness. The air wrapped around her, coaxing her downward into a small chamber. At the bottom, a heavy wooden door with fastenings of handwrought iron awaited.
The ghostly echo of her mother's voice rang deep in her head.Some secrets must be kept until you're ready for them.
Her mother had said those words to her more times than she could count. Muriel had been a curious child, impatient to learn and test and explore things she wasn’t yet ready for.
Was she ready now?
Taking a deep breath, Muriel turned the handle and entered a place she hadn’t known existed.
Candles blazed to life as she stepped inside. She was immediately surrounded by lingering remnants of her mother's magic, imbued in the wood and stone. Shelves lined the walls, holding items that hummed with power: crystals that glowed with inner light, vials of liquid that moved on their own, and bundles of herbs, neatly tied and hung.
In the center, on a small pedestal draped in dark velvet, was a grimoire.
Ancient. Beautiful. Andalive.
It was unlike any book Muriel had ever seen. The leather binding was so old it appeared black, covered in symbols that seemed to shift and writhe in the candlelight. Power radiated from it in subtle waves, making the air itself feel thick and heavy.
The pull was overwhelming, and in those moments, she knew to the depths of her soul that this was her mother’s legacy. Terrified and yet unable to do anything else, Muriel stepped forward and placed her hands on the cover.
The chamber exploded with light and power and sensation. Her magic erupted in a wave that rattled everything in the room. Images flashed before her eyes, memories that weren't her own. In one, a younger version of her mother, pale hair shining like moonlight, accepted the book from an older woman in some sort of ritual. The same exchange was repeated multiple times,showing women with the same delicate features, the same hazel eyes flecked with brilliant green. Women with willowy builds and fae-like beauty, their alabaster skin glowing with inner power.
But then the visions turned darker. Witches ran in fear, chased through moonlit forests by men with greedy eyes and grasping hands.
When Muriel came back to herself, she was on her knees on the floor, breathing heavily, as if she had been the one chased through the woods. She clutched the grimoire tightly to her chest, candles sputtering around her. Her magic was no longer a calm, peaceful presence in her chest, but a wild thing, surging and receding like a tide she couldn't control.