Sleep still evaded me after Wrath and Lust left, so I decided to do some research. Until I saw my sister again, little could be done to learn anything else regarding Vesta’s disappearance, so I tackled the next biggest item on my list of goals. Breaking my spell-lock.
Thanks to Domenico’s snide comment about my mother having more important matters to attend to, I knew she wouldn’t be there, but I went to Celestia’s tower anyway. If anyone had any texts or notes on spell-locks, it would be the Matron of Curses and Poisons.
There had to be a way to remove the spell without sacrificing my heart. I refused to believe having Vittoria rip it out was my only option. If I could break the spell on my own, it would be one less thing to worry over. One less reason for people to try to keep tearing me and Wrath apart.
“Hello? Celestia?” I gently rapped my knuckles against the wooden door, waiting a few beats before trying the handle. It twisted easily, and the door swung open, revealing an empty, darkened chamber. Wane light trickled in from the windows set high in the tower, muted from the overcast skies and latest wintry storm.
I went in and found some candles and lanterns to light. I set them on the table piled with bundles of herbs and baskets of dried botanicals, then glanced around the circular chamber.
It looked like it had the last time I’d visited. There was a skull with arcane symbols etched onto it sitting on the mantel, various glass jars filled with items that tapped the sides, figurines, herbs, spices, dried petals, liquids in a wide array of colors, cauldrons and steaming vials of unknown origins. But the stack of grimoires and books—those were what I set about gathering. Once I had a decent pile, I pulled one of the wooden stools out and sat.
My mother, strange as it still was to think of Celestia that way, had meticulous notes on different remedies. I flipped through one grimoire that had sketches of plants along with quantities needed to blend the perfect tonic. Poisons and potions for love, for heartache, for upset stomachs and aching heads, for cursing an enemy with warts or pox or a flesh-eating rash.
I paused to read one; a spell for forgetting.
Goddess above. For a second, I’d been worried it was a spell Nonna had used on us, but we’d only collected grave dirt to bless our amulets. We’d never cleansed a stone and slept with it under our pillows. Though I remember teasing my friend Claudia about it once when she’d admitted to doing something similar after her crush rejected her.
That was one of the simpler spells. I flipped page after page of notes that progressively used stronger magic. Celestia had a remedy for any malady or hex.
It was truly astounding what she’d created. I was startled to realize both Vittoria and I had taken after her in some way once we were “mortal”—my sister loved to tinker with perfumes and cocktails, and I loved to create in the kitchen. Putting that unsettling realization aside, I pulled another journal out and flipped through more of the same.
There were no notes on spell-locks. No magic elixirs to cure what troubled me. It had been something I’d hoped to find but hadn’t expected to.
If spell-locks were that simple to remove, they wouldn’t be very effective. Plus, Wrath knew I had a spell-lock, and he’d likely have had Celestia working on a cure if she hadn’t already been trying herself. No matter what Vittoria had said about our mother being distracted by other whims, I didn’t think she’d sit back and allow witches to potentially kill her daughters without attempting to save us. I’d just gone through another grimoire when I came to a curious tincture with a ghastly name. The Bleeding Heart.
I ran a finger over an illustrated vial of pale purple liquid the matron had drawn into the margin, my pulse pounding at the familiar tincture. Wrath had an entire decanter filled with a similar liquid. I’d even sampled it when I’d sneaked into his personal library that first time.
Surely it couldn’t be the same one, and yet I held my breath. It felt like I was reading a secret, one he’d certainly like to keep, but I had to know if this was what he was drinking and why. My attention fell upon the description—unlike the memory spell, this was just a simple list of ingredients along with its use. I read aloud to myself.
To prevent the ill effects of love or other strong emotions from taking root.
I reread the handwritten note, clearly depicting its sole purpose. I had to be mistaken.
Bleeding heart plants were toxic to mortals, but Wrath wasn’t mortal. I read over the list of ingredients, my stomach twisting into knots. Bleeding Heart petals. Vanilla bean. A drop of lavender oil. Brandy. Orange peels, dried with purple dragonfire and set to distill under a full moon. Almost all the flavors I’d identified in that lavender liquor. The very drink Wrath poured himself tonight. A night filled with high emotion.