SEVENTY

"You saw—"

"The Book showed me …." Swallowing hard, she shook her head, trying to get her bearings. "Its creation, it …. It was an attempt to keep the old beliefs and old gods alive in secret when these lands were invaded by the Church."

"That makes sense. The Book would be difficult to decipher, even for those it wished to understand, to protect its knowledge."

She nodded, tipping sideways a little to rest her head on his shoulder as she continued. "It wanted to protect the people from those who wished them harm."

He looked down at her face, but her gaze was distant, locked on the roiling, tumbling mass beyond her magical barriers. "They're not just any night creatures are they?"

Again she shook her head, taking comfort in how solid he was beneath that movement. "The screamer … he leads them because that's what he was. He was a knight of the church who'd heard of Velez. He didn't care about the people, or even the church he followed. He …" She took a moment, wetting her parched lips. "He simply wanted the accolades such a discovery would bring. When he found it, he opened it … tried to break through its magics. And in defense, it turned him into that."

She was shaking. He folded his arms around her tight, resting his chin atop her head. He wasn't certain he wanted to know what it was to witness that transformation with one's own eyes. "And the others?"

"They shared his greed. His fellows … when they saw what he'd become, they turned on him. They sought to bring him to the church. But, like him, it wasn't because they thought it the right thing to do. Bringing this corrupt creature who'd fallen so far, and the 'evil' book responsible before their superiors was only a way to brandish their own goodness. They never made it that far."

"This is one vengeful book on our hands," Antonin offered, laughing softly.

"Condemned to dwell as wandering spirits, the lot of them. And those following them?" She lifted her head, meeting Antonin's gaze. "The true night creatures of this land … those are their jailors. Dogging their every step, trying to stop them from ever finding the Book."

"They've been after a way to break their own curses all along. Like …." He frowned. "Like me?"

A smile curving her lips, she cupped his face in her hands. "No! They don't care what they did wrong, they never recognized the reason they were cursed. They only want to dispel it so they can die in peace. Still selfish, even now. But the Book knows it can no longer judge. You're right. It is a vengeful book, and it knows that. And so … that choice is now mine to make."

"Is that even possible?"

Hermione gave a nod. "It recognizes how our bond has changed you. In order to fully unlock its knowledge, we perform that most ancient of rituals," she said, smiling when he chuckled, "and in the process … offer our blood to the Book. Both of us, like I saw in that dream, as a sign of the purity of our purpose."

"And that will be a cure for me, but …." He glanced from his witch, to the book, and then to the mob of ghastly, undulating shapes in the distance. "What about them?"

"It told me … it told me if after learning their story, I feel the knights deserve peace, it will be within my power—and mine alone—to grant it to them."

"I know what most people would think," Antonin offered, a lead-in, aware she was not most people—or at least, not most people he'd ever known.

With a sigh, she thought of Oksana, of all those young witches and wizards positively bursting with life and love at the Ivana-Kupala festival. Of that old witch who'd helped Antonin when he was far from worthy.

Smiling, she swallowed past a sudden, suspicious lump in her throat. "Those knights may not deserve peace … but this land and its people do."