Harley Merlin 3: Harley Merlin and the Stolen Magicals Read online

  “If Salinger said it was in here, then it has to be. I don’t see why he’d lie about it. Plus, he mumbled something about it again after his third whiskey sour,” I replied. “I’ll keep looking up here. Shout if you find anything.”

  I wandered to the back of the enclosed platform. Two bookshelves jutted out at the far side. Curious, I skirted around them, only to find a glass display case behind each stack. The one on the right-hand side was empty, but the one on the left… I approached it cautiously; a weird vibe was emanating from inside. A closed book rested on a golden stand, but there was no card or description. The cover was bound in a beautiful, cream leather, embellished with swirling vines of silver and gold. A glittering jewel had been embedded in each corner of the front cover—sapphire, ruby, emerald, and diamond, to represent each of the elements. In the very center, a white pearl and a black pearl, side by side.

  “Harley!” I hissed, hurrying back over to the balustrade. “Harley! I think I found it!”

  She darted across the room below and pounded up the stairs, following me back to the glass display case. It didn’t seem to be locked with any kind of magical prevention system, though I presumed that would be triggered if we tried to take anything out of the Special Collections room. That’s what I’d felt on my way in—the defense mechanism to prevent theft. Everything in here had to stay in here. And besides, there’d be no point in putting a magical lock on something like this. It wasn’t finished, by all accounts, and Grimoire spells couldn’t be used unless they’d been finished by the creators. This was, for all intents and purposes, a really pretty book with no actual purpose.

  “Oh my God, this is it,” she gasped. “I can feel their energy pouring out. This is it. This is my parents’ Grimoire. The black pearl and the white pearl—that’s Hester and Hiram. Light and Dark, two sides of the same coin.”

  I smiled. “Nice catch, right? There’s always something hidden behind bookcases in creepy places like this.”

  “But how do we get into it?”

  “I was thinking about phasing through the glass to try and grab it, but those spells are way too advanced. I’d give myself a cardiac arrest just trying it, even with the Orishas protecting me,” I replied reluctantly. “Plus, they’re kind of split at the moment, with half of them watching our fake counterparts.”

  She exhaled. “What if we just smashed the glass and took it?”

  “I think we’d have half the coven in here before we even reached the stairs.”

  “I’m not coming this far only to fail now.”

  I peered at the padlock that held the glass door closed. It wasn’t charmed or engraved with runes. It appeared to be a simple, run-of-the-mill padlock. “How controlled is your Telekinesis these days?”

  Harley frowned. “Pretty good. Why?”

  “How would you feel about picking the lock with your powers?”

  “Won’t that set off the alarms?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so. The padlock doesn’t seem to be charmed at all.”

  “I’ll give it a try,” Harley said, after a moment’s pause. The poor girl was desperate. I could see it in her eyes. To be honest, after all this hassle, I was getting a little too eager for my own good, as well.

  A sliver of shimmering air snaked out of Harley’s palms, the pearl on her Esprit glowing bright as she fed the thin stream of Telekinesis into the padlock. Her brow furrowed with the strain of fiddling with the finicky lock pins inside. In the silence of the second floor, I could almost hear them moving.

  “Well, this is infuriating,” she muttered.

  “I’m guessing this isn’t hairpin easy?”

  She shook her head. “Nope, this is next-level lockpicking. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve broken a lock or two in my time, but this is ridiculous.”

  “You’ve picked a lock or two?”

  She smiled. “Sometimes, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Mainly foster parents confiscating my stuff, but there’ve been a few secret trips to the principal’s office to change a few grades, too.”

  I kept quiet as she continued, her face contorted in a mask of pure determination.

  “Can you say something?” Harley asked. Her voice startled me. “You’re freaking me out, standing there watching over me like a ghost.”

  “Sure… uh… you know, it’s one of my goals in life to create a Grimoire someday. Most of my ancestors forged one—be rude not to keep in line with some Catemaco traditions. That one I’m down with. The arranged marriage, not so much.”

  Harley laughed tightly, straining with the lock. “Where do you even buy the kind of blank journal you need to start one? Do they, like, sell them at a magical store?”

  “In a way,” I replied. “There are magical bookbinders out there who specialize in Grimoires. They make the special paper and bindings to accommodate powerful Chaos energy, judging the levels of protection needed based on the magical who’s making it. You can’t just grab a notepad from any old stationery store and jot down your spells and charms. Well, you could, but they wouldn’t work the way a Grimoire does. It’s not just normal paper. There’s an artistry to the work, which is why all the Grimoire covers are so intricately designed. The bookbinders work with the creators to forge the right book for their needs, matching it perfectly.”

  “All that work for one book?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I think you’re right about the white pearl and the black pearl having something to do with your mom and dad being of Light and Dark. The intertwining vines of silver and gold probably represent their unity and love,” I said, pointing to the symbolic details. “This star up here likely has something to do with your mom, as Hester means ‘star’ in Persian. And this triskelion down here, that’s an ancient druid symbol that has been linked to the Merlin mythos for centuries. So, that’s probably your dad.” I gestured to an image of three connected swirls, curving out like the coiled legs of a starfish.

  “How do you know so much about Grimoires?”

  “Like I say, they’ve been in the family for generations. Call it a professional interest.”

  Just then, something clicked inside the lock, the heavy part sagging as the top came loose.

  “I did it!” Harley whooped, covering her mouth quickly in case the sound alerted anyone.

  Eagerly, she tugged open the glass door and reached inside. I stepped back, giving her a moment alone with the Grimoire. She ran her hand across the cream leather, over every indented embellishment and jeweled detail, before opening the cover to reveal the first page. I could only imagine how it felt to hold something like that—something so special and intimately crafted.

  “‘With you, I am never in darkness. With you, there will always be a guiding light. With you, I fear no shadows. With you, I am whole.’” Harley’s voice caught in her throat as she read the dedication aloud. “‘With you, the night becomes a gift. With you, I will always find balance. With you, I do not need to hide. With you, I am whole.’”

  “They dedicated the Grimoire to each other,” I whispered.

  Harley nodded. “Their love… I can feel it, rolling off the pages. It’s… it’s almost too overwhelming. I can feel them in here. They’re in every word. All the love and power and time they poured into it… I can feel every little bit.” Her breathing became ragged, her eyes blinking rapidly. “The intensity… it’s… I can’t put it into words. Every part of who they were… it’s all—” She stumbled before she could finish, gripping the book as she swayed to the side. Her knees were shaking, her whole body drenched in sweat.

  My hands shot out to grab her around the shoulders and set her upright. “Hey, take it easy. If it’s too much, put the book back.”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine. I want to keep looking. We’re running out of time here.” Her gaze fixed on me with a fierce defiance. “I haven’t come all this way just to put the book back, not until I’ve seen more.”

  “I get it, believe me, but I don’t want to have to carry you out
of here.”

  “Let me try again,” she insisted. “I’ll be fine.”

  I let go of her as she started to flip through the book, settling on an index of spells. She ran her finger down the list, her mouth moving as she read each one. Halfway down, she froze.

  “What is it?” I asked, feeling nervous.

  “There’s a section dedicated to the Children of Chaos,” she replied, turning to the corresponding page. The sweat poured off her, her cheeks a worrying shade of red, like she’d fallen into a fever of some kind. As she scanned the pages, I made out a blur of colored ink and haphazard illustrations, before Harley settled on the right one. At the very top, someone had sketched an inky image—a wispy rendering of shadow and darkness, hooded and winged, holding a scythe in one hand. Erebus, the Child of Darkness. No one else would give me shivers like this… aside from my mom.

  I peered over Harley’s shoulder and tried to read the words beneath the sketch. My eyes drifted across the first few lines, which spouted the usual mythos: “From Chaos came forth Erebus…” I was about to read on when I became aware of Harley murmuring the spell under her breath. The whites and irises of her eyes had turned a worrying shade of black, her body fixed in a trance-like state.

  “Whoa there, Harley,” I said, shaking her by the shoulders. “Hey! Harley! Snap out of it!”

  A black mist pooled off the page, dripping down in wispy tendrils and swirling around us. My Orishas shuddered in the air beside me, freaking out at this sudden appearance of powerful magic. Stop her… Erebus must not be summoned… Stop her or we shall be forced to, they whispered, their voices echoing in my head.

  I lunged for the Grimoire and tried to wrestle it out of her hands. Harley’s head whipped around to face me, a pulse of intense Telekinesis surging from her hands. I barely had time to think as she hurled me down the length of the second-floor platform, my back hitting the balcony with a jolt of agonizing pain.

  Gathering the Orishas to me, I scrambled to my feet and sprinted back to where Harley stood. A circle of icy wind whipped up around her, creating a dark tornado of near-impenetrable black fog, with her at its center.

  What the—what’s it doing to her? This shouldn’t be happening!

  I’d never seen anyone respond that way to a Grimoire before. A few people passed out if the magic inside was particularly strong, but this was something else. And it was getting way out of hand. In a few moments, Harley would lose control completely. My Orishas could sense it.

  Forced into survival mode, I thought back to what my mother had taught me about my Santeria heritage and the magic that came with it.

  This is going to come at a high price, but there’s no other way.

  I called to my Orishas and felt the steady pulse of their strength within me. Using the raw core of their energy, I raised my hands and gathered a swirling vortex of blue-and-black light between my palms. As I pushed the orb of intense energy forward, the midnight-blue tendrils snaked through the air, wrapping around the cover of the Merlins’ Grimoire.

  Unable to pull the book free, the slithering fronds sank beneath Harley’s flesh. I could feel each one venturing inside her veins, tugging at the sinew of her muscles to try and break the link between her and the book. I gripped tighter to the essence of my power as the inky tendrils reached her brain. With another push of energy from me, the dark magic pulsed inside her, freezing every spark of electricity that jumped between synapses.

  As if an electromagnetic wave had gone off, Harley slumped to the floor with a thud. The Grimoire tumbled down beside her, and the tornado of black fog disappeared with a snap of ice-cold wind. I let go of the black tendrils as soon as she collapsed, the raw, Orisha-fueled magic zapping straight back into my body. It hit me in a bitter rush of frosty sparks, each one biting into my skin. Still, I wasn’t worried about me. I’d never used this spell before, and I had no idea whether I’d held it for too long. Please… please say I haven’t killed her.

  Harley’s eyes popped open, her lungs gasping for air as though she’d been on the brink of drowning. She struggled to sit up, looking around at the Grimoire and the open display case. Her face had drained of color, the feverish red of her cheeks dissipating.

  “What happened?” she asked, turning to me.

  “The Grimoire happened.” I walked back over to where she sat. I put the book back in the display case, fixing the lock into place. We’ve had quite enough of you for one evening. I felt relieved to see it back behind glass—and a little bit sick, although I knew that had nothing to do with the Grimoire.

  Someone is coming, my Orishas whispered.

  “Just what we need,” I muttered.

  Harley frowned. “What?”

  “Someone’s coming. Can you stand?”

  She nodded, getting to her feet. “I think so.”

  “Good, then let’s get the hell out of here before they throw us in Purgatory.”

  With her leaning on me for support, we hurried out of the Special Collections reading room. Salinger was just coming from the Global Library ahead, still chattering on about something or other. I couldn’t quite hear what he was saying, but it didn’t matter. Our imitations walked obediently after him. With a flick of my wrist, and a word to the Orishas, the facsimiles vanished into thin air, the spirits rushing back to join me as we darted down the hallway. As he turned and saw the empty space behind him, he glanced about in confusion. An embarrassed look drifted across his features. Been talking so long you’ve lost your captive audience? Sorry, Salinger. You’re going to wake up with a lot of regret tomorrow.

  We rushed toward the mirrors, my stomach churning with every step we took. Cold sweat drenched my body, and nausea gripped my insides. Well, this isn’t good… but I knew the price would be high. At least it was worth it.

  What troubled me more than the sickening feeling in my stomach, however, was the fact that Harley had been able to read the spell aloud and make it work. The Grimoire was unfinished. She shouldn’t have been able to do that. And yet, the evidence was overwhelming—I’d seen it happen. Something had allowed her to bridge the gap. Her bloodline, maybe? Crazy-strong Shipton and Merlin power lurking inside her? Whatever it was, she had almost completed the spell of her own accord… and that was a terrifying thought.

  Even with the Suppressor in place, she was too powerful for her own good.

  She was becoming a danger to herself, and everyone around her. I only hoped that Shipton blood didn’t run too deep.

  Twenty-Two

  Harley

  Stepping back through the mirror, into the Assembly Hall of the SDC, my body felt electric. If someone had told me I’d just shot-gunned a six-pack of energy drink, I would’ve believed them. My nerves were wired, and I was pretty sure I could hear colors. There was definitely something buzzing in my ears. A rush of blood, zinging through my veins at a million miles an hour.

  Santana, on the other hand, looked like she was recovering from a heavy night after a six-pack of something else. Her face had a green tint, and a waxy sheen coated her skin. As we came to a halt on the Hall podium, her breath heaved from her chest, her hand shaky around my waist. She’d been helping me along after what had happened in the Special Collections room, but now I felt like I was the one who should be helping her.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, breaking away.

  She nodded. “A bit tired, but that’s all. That took a lot out of me.”

  “What happened back there?”

  “You wouldn’t stop reading some spell in your parents’ Grimoire. It had something to do with Erebus,” she replied. “You went into this weird trance and wouldn’t snap out of it, so I had to break the link. It wasn’t easy. I feel like someone just drove into me with an eighteen-wheeler.”

  I made a face, feeling guilty. “I’m sorry for dragging you along to try and find it. We should’ve just taken the copies and come back here.”

  “Hey, I’m all for rule-breaking when it counts, mi compa,” she replied with a grin.
“If we’re going to go running into the fire headfirst, we can’t go around feeling sorry for ourselves when we get burned. Although, if I’d known you were going to go all Exorcist on me, I might’ve tried to persuade you that looking for the Grimoire wasn’t such a good idea. You kind of… disappeared for a minute there. And you might have cracked a vertebra or two.” She rubbed her spine for dramatic effect, making me feel even guiltier.

  “I threw you, didn’t I?”

  “That’s putting it mildly.” She laughed, showing there were no hard feelings. I was grateful for that. I’d only just started to make friends here; I didn’t want to lose any due to my volatile reactions to Grimoires.

  I shook my head. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve known something bad was going to happen.”

  “What do you mean? You couldn’t have known you were going to go ape after touching it.”

  I flashed her a sheepish look. “Well, actually, it’s happened before.”

  She gaped at me. “Are you kidding?”

  “Afraid not,” I said. “It was a while back, but I was looking through one of the Dark Grimoires with Garrett, and I completely clocked out. I started reading it out loud, and he had to stop me before I did something terrible. I don’t know if it has something to do with my affinity for Darkness, or if it’s something else, but the Grimoires seem to have this weird effect on me. Still, it was even more intense this time. Last time, Garrett could break me out of it, but my parents’ one gripped me and wouldn’t let go.”

  “You should have told me that.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I wasn’t even thinking about it.”

  She shrugged. “Well, no harm done. I imagine reading a Grimoire that was created by someone you’re related to is different than reading a normal one. It is always going to be more intense,” she replied casually. “Although, I’ve been wondering how you managed to read the spell and make it work. Your parents’ Grimoire was never finished, which means you shouldn’t have been able to. It’s been bugging me.”