“Yes.” And your point is? was the silent continuation.

I recalled the time we’d been in the inn, and he’d let himself out the window. I’d looked and seen no sign of the vampire. But I hadn’t been looking for a bat.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His steps slowed as we hit another trap. “I’ll tell you my secrets as soon as you start volunteering your own.”

Absently, my fingers threaded around the pendant on my neck. Fair enough.

But still… “Can all vampires do that?”

“No.”

That was a small relief.

We continued along the winding path. We crossed a few more traps that Raphael navigated—sliding tiles, trick walls—but no more near-death experiences. At some point, we started going down, the ground beneath us sloped.

“We’re here,” Raphael announced.

Even if he hadn’t said so, the change was obvious. The pitch black of the hallway changed as blue glyphs covered the walls. At first, they were sparse, thickening as we went deeper. The runes glowed, lighting the space enough that I could finally see. Few knew Old Runyk of runes, but my mother had made me learn the basics at a young age. Power, one said. Death, said another. The rest, I couldn’t decipher, but their magic charged the space. Even the air felt different, like it was charged on a stormy day and waiting for lightning to strike. The hallway was wide enough for us to walk side-by-side, so I could better see the path ahead. The runes seemed to call me forward, a siren song that was hard to resist.

I lifted a hand to them, wanting to trace the magical shape with my fingertips.

Raphael snatched my hand back. “Remember what I said—don’t touch anything.”

I drew my hand back from the wall, but Raphael didn’t release his grip. He pulled me forward while I glanced wistfully at the wall.

Then I shook myself. What was I thinking? This temple was devoted to the goddess of death, and she seemed intent on killing trespassers. Why would I try to activate the magic guarding the heart of the temple? It was thoughtless, and I was never thoughtless. The magic seemed to cast a haze over my mind, and even the vague awareness of it wasn’t enough to stop the desire.

The blue glow bounced off the black stone, brightening as the long hallway widened the farther we went. Conspicuously empty.

Until it wasn’t.

It was really here.

Even with the Librarian’s assurances, I hadn’t really believed we’d find the Black Grimoire. It was a myth, lost to time. Yet there, at the end of the hallway, a book sat on a black stone lectern that seemed to be carved from the floor. Whatever magic was in the temple and the runes was magnified tenfold here, a magnetic pull tugging us closer.

Raphael’s pace increased. His face reflected something nearing surprise—as if he, too, hadn’t expected to find it here. In a matter of moments, we stood before the book, shoulder to shoulder.

The cover was ornate, inlaid with shining black stones that formed the shape of a skull, twin rubies in the eye sockets. The grimoire itself wasn’t so large, but it practically pulsed with magic. Raphael lifted a hand toward it, then withdrew his fingers suddenly, as if burned. He let out a vulgar curse, something I’d never heard from him before.

“I can’t touch it,” he hissed. “It’s enchanted so no vampire can.”

I pulled my hand from his grip and flashed him a grin. “Good thing the weak little human is here, then.”

Raphael glanced between the book and me. I forced my fingers to clench at my sides, when all they wanted to do was grab for it.

“Fine. But Samara—”

I was already reaching for the book. The second my fingers grazed the cover, its magic slammed into me. Touching the wall had been like something waking up inside me. Touching the book was like I was waking up after sleeping for years. Sensation overwhelmed me, blocking out the rest of my senses. There was no sound, no sight, only the book between my hands, beckoning me, as if to say, At last, I am found.

I need more. I had to get more of this, whatever it was. It was the same as being a void when you used enchanted cards for the first time, except a thousand times more potent. All the magic I could ever crave, all the power, and it lay just inside this book.

Unable to stop myself, I began to lift the cover.

Distantly, I heard a voice cry out, “Samara, no!” but it was too late.

Three things happened at once.

First, as I opened the book, the magic soured. What had been lively and joyful turned dark, as if it were disgusted with me.

Second, I was knocked to the ground, the book falling from my grip.

Third, Raphael cried out as a whoosh cut through the air. The book gone, I glanced up in time to see arrows spring from every side of the room. Right toward the spot I’d been standing. Raphael had shielded me and absorbed the blows.

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Chapter Twenty-Two

I pushed myself out from under Raphael.

His body was riddled with arrows. Blood coated the ground. So much blood. He lay face down in it.

No, no, no. Not again.

I lifted to my knees, checking him over. At least a dozen arrows covered his back.

I’d be dead if they’d have hit me.

Perhaps he’d done it because he was a vampire, invulnerable to simple arrows. He had accelerated healing. Surely, if I removed the arrows he’d be fine…

“Are you okay?” It was a stupid question, but I just wanted him to say yes. Yes, he was fine. Yes, he was an extremely powerful vampire, and what would fell a mortal was no match for him and his ego.

The only answer was a groan.

I swallowed. Even if he could heal, he wouldn’t do it with the arrows inside him. I maneuvered around, taking care not to aggravate the wounds. Arrow wounds were tricky, because taking the head out ripped the flesh on the inside. There was a special way to get them out… Think, Samara. I’d seen it somewhere. A book, as a child? I’d need something that could hook around the point. I withdrew the contents of my skirt pockets, thanking the gods I hadn’t left everything on Alphonse. In the days I’d spent tinkering, I’d made a few different objects. One had to work… there. What I’d intended to use to make a kit for picking locks. Now, I twisted the metal into a new shape, a long stem with a loop at the end, which I lined with the leather to hopefully protect his body from the worst of the arrows.

“This will hurt,” I warned.

Raphael didn’t answer, but his back tensed. I swallowed and set to work, snapping off part of the arrow shafts and working out the pieces. It was slow. If I rushed, I risked breaking off the tips inside his back. I didn’t dare move him and jostle them further. Raphael grunted through his teeth as I worked, trying to hold steady for me. My fingers grew slick with his blood. I wiped them on my skirt, returning to the task. Don’t think about the blood. Just get them out. For once, memories didn’t take me. Only the pressing need to get the arrows out.

I stole glances at the ripped flesh, hoping it would miraculously knit together. When the last of the arrows were removed, I helped lift Raphael, moving us away from the center of the hall. I didn’t want to risk the arrows coming for us again, but something told me as long as I didn’t open the grimoire again, we’d be safe. The book was… aware. Of that, I was certain. If it didn’t want a vampire to touch it, perhaps opening it had elevated its awareness to the point it detected a vampire—a threat—in the space.

But none of that mattered if Raphael died here.

There was an alcove a short distance past the lectern, with no glowing glyphs on the wall. He was heavy, so it was a struggle to move him that far. By his pained exhale, I wasn’t doing a very good job. Still, with reserves of strength I didn’t know I had, I managed to reach the alcove.