My throat stiffened, all at once swollen by hurt and frustration.

“I think I’ll take breakfast alone.” I turned back to the settee.

Thea grabbed my wrist. “Wait.”

I turned back, and she pulled me across the room to sit by the fire. Her gaze flickered back between the grimoire and me. “You’re correct about several things. Raphael did go to Greymere based on the information I gave him, but it wasn’t about the Black Grimoire. I can’t even find that book with my sight. It’s cloaked in too many centuries of magic for a single seer to find. Frankly, I’m confused as to what he even wants with it—vampires and witches alike are loath to be around it. It gives me the creeps just being in the room. If anyone knew Raphael had it in his possession, that he’d actually sought it out, there would be questions.”

Questions from whom? “But that doesn’t tell me what you sent him looking for.”

“Right. There’s a creature that appears every few hundred years. Mortal enemy to the vampires. Raphael isn’t just king because he’s strong—he’s king because when this creature appears, he hunts it down and guarantees the safety of all Vampire Kingdoms.”

A creature that vampires were scared of… either I should be scared of it too, or I should hope Raphael was unsuccessful in finding it. But it was clear from Thea’s tone she believed in whatever mission Raphael had been on.

“Sam, the truth is, I’m at a loss about what to think now that the book is in Damerel, and Raphael isn’t answering any of my questions either.” She heaved a sigh. “Now, can we please get breakfast? We can go to the library after and get all the dusty old tomes you like—but don’t tell them what you’re working on.”

I stood reluctantly, looking back at the grimoire which still beckoned from the opposite end of the room.

“Sam, I promise no one wants to be near that book.”

“Alright,” I agreed.

But I turned back and tucked the grimoire between the couch pillows all the same, hiding it from view when I really wished I could have taken it with me.

“What is your business?”

An ancient-looking vampire peered down from an elevated countertop. His skin sagged slightly, his red eyes rimmed with bloodshot whites. Unlike everyone else who looked at Amalthea with a healthy dose of respect, the librarian’s brusque tone said he was irritated with both of us. To the right of his podium was an iron gate. Amalthea had explained on the way over that the librarian answered to no one but the king, so entry was at the librarian’s discretion. And that it was best not to tell him what we were looking for. Even if he didn’t know about the grimoire, no vampire wanted anything to do with sharing hard-won witch knowledge.

“I’m showing the king’s Chosen all of the kingdom’s wonders,” Amalthea said, unperturbed by the librarian’s tone.

His face didn’t so much as twitch in acknowledgment.

“If you please.” Her imperious tone made it clear that it was not a request.

The vampire still didn’t say a word in recognition, but he pulled a lever, and the ceiling-high iron gate swung open.

“Do vampires age?” I murmured as quietly as I could when we passed.

Amalthea shot me a stunned look, but it was the vampire librarian who answered. “I was old when I turned, girl. Now, the years pass like seconds.”

In short, he’d looked that way when he’d turned, which was also a long time ago. I tried to fight off the flush at my rudeness. “I suppose I know so little about vampires. Are there books for me to learn more about them?”

An ancient, bushy white brow rose as the librarian slowly extended his arm towards the open door. The answer was obvious.

“We’ll find you some,” Amalthea assured me, tugging me the rest of the way inside.

Amalthea led me on a quick tour of the library, which mainly meant gesturing broadly at several thousand books at a time. The library was utterly non-magical but no less wondrous than the one in Apante. Shelves were carved into the stone, towering to dangerous heights. “Histories here, novels over there, plays because those are different, skilled workbooks are in this section, religious studies on the gods basically take up this entire wall…”

“Where would books on vampires be?” I hadn’t lied—I did want to find some books about how vampires worked. Specifically, I wanted to know how to break the bond between Raphael and me.

“That’s a bit broad.”

“Their powers, then.” And how to counteract them.

Amalthea considered me and then eyed the rest of the library. “I know just the book. I’ll bring it to you tomorrow. In the meantime, let’s find what you need to translate that cursed thing.” She was careful not to mention exactly what I was translating. Not when a vampire could overhear.

Unlike the bustle of the Great Library, the library of Damerel was silent. Our footsteps were swallowed by plush carpet as we moved forward. Amalthea navigated the space with ease.

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen the books I need?” I asked hopefully.

She cast me a rueful smile. “Not quite. But I spent enough time here when I arrived at Damerel that I learned a lot.”

She eventually located the stack of books she wanted. They were buried in the farthest corner of the library, dust covering the tops. I frowned. These books would have been prized in the king’s library, but here, they seemed to be kept almost reluctantly. Why were they so disdained? Simply because they were witch books or specifically about Old Runyk? Thea offered me a piddling selection of books, and I picked the four that were the most promising. Nothing as simple as a dictionary, unfortunately, but the four were enough to leave me better equipped to translate the grimoire.

We split the books into two piles between us.

“I don’t understand why everyone is so scared of that book,” I said softly as we headed towards the entrance.

She cocked her head at me. “You know how grimoires work, right?”

As much as any void could. “They’re like cookbooks. Witches record spells that work in them.”

“Not quite. That is true, but witches also imbue magic in them. Unlike enchanted cards, however, only witches with the corresponding skill set can use them. And in most cases, the magic doesn’t fade. Grimoires are guarded jealously in families and often fought over as an inheritance.” She paused at a shelf and grabbed two more books, putting them on top of our piles. “I’d always heard they can take on a life of their own, with enough time. Not sentient, exactly, but something like it. They don’t like witches outside their bloodline touching them.”

I frowned. “But there’s no witch who has control over death magic.”

Thea said nothing while I continued to ponder what she’d said about grimoires. Even if there were such a witch, this grimoire had been left in a tomb for who knows how long. The Black Grimoire must have been different, which was why it had become part of witch folklore.

Another puzzle piece fitting into a picture I couldn’t quite see.

We reached the entryway. Amalthea attempted to stride through, leaving me speeding along behind her, but the librarian wasn’t fooled by the books she had placed atop our piles.

“Halt,” the librarian hissed. “She can’t look at those books.”

Amalthea arched a brow at the librarian. “Your king says she can do exactly that.”

“She certainly can’t take them,” he continued, indignant.

The tone made me want to cower and apologize. Amalthea felt nothing of the sort.

“I suggest you try telling King Raphael that. Maybe he’ll realize it’s time for a new librarian,” she said breezily, hooking my arm and pulling me away while the ancient vampire sputtered.

We disappeared down the hall before any further complaints could be made. Once we turned a corner, I shared a glance with Amalthea.