I paused at the open grimoire. A glass case enclosed it, but I knew, without seeing its cover, what it was. It was the first book of spells. La Prima’s personal spell book.
“How did you get this?” My voice was too loud in the smaller room. “It was with me the night I—”
“The night you nearly killed the human sycophant?”
I spun on my heel, glaring. “It disappeared that night. I thought… an Umbra demon.” I inhaled deeply. “You sent one to spy on me, didn’t you?”
“Spy is a nasty word. Not to mention, it was watching the monastery. You happened along. Wrong place, wrong time.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and strolled over to the next stand. Another open book. “What you call the first book of spells is not a complete manuscript. It’s one third of a grander, more elaborate text.” He nodded at the book. “The Mother and the Crone are in my possession; the Maiden has gone missing. Goddesses are tricky beings with even trickier magic. And to cross one…” He whistled. “That’s inadvisable.”
“The first book of spells belonged to the First Witch, not the goddesses.”
“My dear, I don’t know what the witches who raised you claimed, or why, but these books were written by the goddesses. Your so-called First Witch stole the book of the dead, the Crone’s book of underworld magic. I can tell you the Crone was not amused.”
He spoke as if he knew the goddesses. “Where is the Crone now? Perhaps I should speak with her myself.”
“By all means, if you find her, please send my regards.”
I blew out a frustrated breath. Something wasn’t quite right with this story. Envy not only had a book of spells that could enchant skulls, he’d practically used the phrase one had uttered verbatim. He had to be the mysterious sender, but for whatever reason, he wasn’t admitting to it.
“Are there spells on necromancy?”
“The Crone is the goddess of the underworld. Her spells reflect the moon, the night, and the dead. Amongst other things, like darker, more violent emotions.” He watched me closely. “Bloodwood Forest is a spectacular sight. It lies between my land and Greed’s. No demon house may claim it; therefore, you don’t need an invitation to travel there. The trick, however, is gaining passage through the territories that border it.”
I pulled my attention away from the book of spells. “Why are you telling me about it?”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
If we were being friendly, I might as well push that to my advantage. “You mentioned something called the Temptation Key earlier. Is it part of your collection?”
“I’m afraid not. Though not from a lack of trying to acquire it on my part.” He started walking away but called over his shoulder, “Before you retire for the evening, you may want to read the plaque of this painting. I find it to be quite informative.”
“Where are you going?”
Envy did not answer.
Apparently our time together was over for tonight. I stared in the direction of the demon prince long after he’d left the room, mulling over all I’d learned. Envy was after the Triple Moon Mirror and the Temptation Key. Two objects I was now very interested in obtaining myself.
When I was sure he wasn’t returning, I strode over to the painting he’d pointed out. It was an unusual tree. Large with gnarled wood and ebony-and-silver-veined leaves. There was something about the painting that reminded me of the artist who’d captured the seasonal garden in my bedroom suite in House Wrath.
The shadows and care with which the artist had shown each piece of bark or falling leaf was remarkable; it looked as if I could reach into the painting and pull a leaf from the tree.
I ran my fingers over the silver plaque and read the inscription.
CURSE TREE FABLE
Deep in the heart of the Bloodwood Forest lies a tree planted by the Crone herself. It is said, among other favors, the tree will consider hexing a sworn enemy if the desire to curse them is true. To request the Crone’s Curse: Carve their true name in the tree, write your wish on a leaf plucked from its branches, then offer the tree a drop of blood. Take the leaf home and place it beneath your pillow. If it is gone when you arise, the Crone accepted your offer and has granted your wish. She is the mother of the underworld—beware of her blessing.
I reread the fable, unsure why Envy had pointed it out among the fifty or so other paintings lining the walls in this room. Nothing a prince of Hell did was by accident. I had a feeling I’d been unwittingly brought into one of his schemes, but I’d twist his deceit to my favor.