chapter 10

A strange book, full of anomalies."

My fingers hesitated above the keys.

Scholars do one of two things when they discover information that doesn't fit what they already know. Either they sweep it aside so it doesn't bring their cherished theories into question or they focus on it with laserlike intensity and try to get to the bottom of the mystery. If this book hadn't been under a spel , I might have been tempted to do the latter. Because it was bewitched, I was strongly inclined toward the former.

And when in doubt, scholars usual y postpone a decision.

I typed an ambivalent final line: "Needs more time?

Possibly recall later?"

Holding my breath, I fastened the cover with a gentle tug.

Currents of magic stil thrummed through the manuscript, especial y fierce around the clasps.

Relieved that it was closed, I stared at Ashmole 782 for a few more moments. My fingers wanted to stray back and touch the brown leather. But this time I resisted, just as I had resisted touching the inscriptions and il ustrations to learn more than a human historian could legitimately claim to know.

Aunt Sarah had always told me that magic was a gift. If it was, it had strings attached that bound me to al the Bishop witches who had come before me. There was a price to be paid for using this inherited magical power and for working the spel s and charms that made up the witches' careful y guarded craft. By opening Ashmole 782, I'd breached the wal that divided my magic from my scholarship. But back on the right side of it again, I was more determined than ever to remain there.

I packed up my computer and notes and picked up the stack of manuscripts, careful y putting Ashmole 782 on the bottom. Merciful y, Gil ian wasn't at her desk, though her papers were stil strewn around. She must be planning on working late and was off for a cup of coffee.

"Finished?" Sean asked when I reached the cal desk.

"Not quite. I'd like to reserve the top three for Monday."

"And the fourth?"

"I'm done with it," I blurted, pushing the manuscripts toward him. "You can send it back to the stacks."

Sean put it on top of a pile of returns he had already gathered. He walked with me as far as the staircase, said good-bye, and disappeared behind a swinging door. The conveyor belt that would whisk Ashmole 782 back into the bowels of the library clanged into action.

I almost turned and stopped him but let it go.

My hand was raised to push open the door on the ground floor when the air around me constricted, as if the library were squeezing me tight. The air shimmered for a split second, just as the pages of the manuscript had shimmered on Sean's desk, causing me to shiver involuntarily and raising the tiny hairs on my arms.