Bobbie’s wineglass was empty, so she grabbed Nora’s and took a fortifying swallow. She then hit a key on the laptop and the screen filled with black-and-white images of plants, robed figures, geometric shapes, frightening beasts, and strange symbols.
“These spell books don’t give off I Dream of Jeannie vibes,” Bobbie said in a hushed voice. “Grimoires exude something dark and dangerous. Their strangeness makes them seductive, and they’re some of the most highly collectible texts in the world. If that page came from a genuine grimoire, then someone’s sitting on a gold mine.”
Nora thought of the symbols tattooed on Bren’s neck, and the young woman’s penchant for black clothing. But there’d been no signs of spellcasting in her house. No burned candles or painted mirrors. It was just those symbols. On her neck. On the arm of the man from the park. On the book page.
Cult.
At least two residents of Pine Hollow had used that word to describe Still Waters.
“Is there more?” Nora asked.
“When you were talking about Celeste, you said that her statue was called Juliana.” Bobbie was typing again. The grimoire images disappeared. “Here she is. Saint Juliana of Nicomedia.”
Nora met the guileless stare of a serious young woman with dark eyes, a pinched nose, and thin lips. Unlike Celeste’s statue, the Juliana in this oil painting lowered her head in a humble or penitent pose. A narrow halo encircled her head. Her long brown hair was partially covered. Her robe fell in loose folds. She was devoid of personality.
“I like Celeste’s version better,” Nora told Bobbie. “Her Juliana is confident. Almost fierce. She wears a chain around her waist. Celeste said that a devil was attached to the other end of that chain. She also said that there are many different versions of Juliana’s story.”
“True. The Juliana in this portrait is the patron saint of sickness. Her unwavering faith allowed her to subdue the devil. A lesser-known legend speaks of a beautiful, young Turkish woman with the gift of healing. This woman’s desire to convert her new husband to Christianity was seen as a betrayal by her non-Christian family, so she was first tortured and then put to death. According to this story, the devil offered to end her suffering, but she refused. Her husband fled to Europe where he remarried and tried to honor his first wife by becoming a healer.”
Though Nora was captivated by the Juliana tales, she didn’t see how they led to an identification of the book page. She said as much to Bobbie.
Bobbie shrugged. “When you mentioned Juliana’s name, I just got this feeling that she and the book page share some common thread. I’d have to do more research on Juliana legends to figure out what it is. And I’m not going to bother unless that sheriff lets me have that page.”
“Did you ask him?”
“When I got to town yesterday, I marched right down to the station. The sheriff and I had barely finished shaking hands before I asked him to introduce me to you. We walked to your darling bookstore and, well, you know how that went.”
Heat rushed to Nora’s cheeks. “I couldn’t face you. I’d just gotten off the phone with Jed and I was shell-shocked. Then I saw you. It was too much.”
Bobbie squeezed Nora’s hand. “Looks like neither of us got our Mr. Darcy. Good thing we can have as many book boyfriends as we want. We can have a whole harem.”
“In the romance genre, that’s called a reverse harem.”
“Really?” An expression of wonderment crossed Bobbie’s face. “If I live to be a hundred, it won’t be long enough. There will still be too many new things to learn about books. Too many books I’ll still want to read. I’ll have to be buried in one of those big mausoleums so I can take all the unread books with me. Just in case I can read in the afterlife.”
Bobbie’s comment sparked a memory in Nora. “Back to the grimoires. Weren’t they burned after their owners’ deaths? Or is that something I read in a novel?”
“If the grimoires belonged to a witch, then yes. They’re meant to be used by one person, and one person only. Anyone else is immediately cursed. We’ve seen examples of these curses in nineteenth-and twentieth-century grimoires. If you open the cover, the warning is right there. The wording changes, but the message is always the same. Mess with this book and you die.”
“Is that why these books are so rare?” Nora asked. “Not because of the curses, but because so many were burned?”
Bobbie grunted. “No historian worth her salt believes that theory. Grimoires are rare because occult books were never popular. Before Gutenberg, the Church was the primary source of written material. Fast-forward a few centuries from that first printing press, and you’re still risking your life by penning a grimoire. The last official witch trial held in the United States occurred in Salem. But it wasn’t the Ipswich trial of 1878. There was a civil case as late as 1918. Grimoires are rare because they’re dangerous. To the authors, the readers, and those who profited from their sale.”