And Evangeline feared that wasn’t the only thing her stepsister had done.
Evangeline had suspected Marisol of Apollo’s murder, but she hadn’t been able to think of a reason her stepsister would want to murder Prince Apollo until now. With Apollo dead, Tiberius was the crown prince. Once he married Marisol, he would become king and Marisol would be queen.
It would have been easier to just put a spell on Apollo, but perhaps Marisol had tried and it hadn’t worked because Apollo was already under Jacks’s influence. Or Marisol just found Tiberius more attractive? It was hard for Evangeline to really comprehend any of it.
When Evangeline thought of Marisol, she remembered the way she’d hugged her before the wedding as if they were really sisters. But what if that hadn’t been an I-love-you hug? Maybe it had been an I’m-sorry-I’m-going-to-kill-you hug.
It was still a little incomprehensible to think that her stepsister had tried to murder her. But Evangeline had also never imagined that it was Marisol who had cursed Luc, yet she’d done it.
Marisol had also acquired Northern books of magic so dangerous LaLa and Jacks acted as if Marisol was a villain just for owning them. Marisol could have easily been the witch who’d gone to Chaos’s crypt for the malefic oil.
The motive was the only thing that didn’t feel entirely right to Evangeline. She could understand her stepsister putting a love spell on someone. But she couldn’t imagine Marisol killing multiple people for a crown. That didn’t seem like something Marisol would do. But maybe Evangeline didn’t really know what things Marisol would do.
Evangeline flashed back to the horrible words she’d overheard Agnes say:
“Look at you. Your complexion. Your hair. Your posture is like a damp ribbon, and those circles beneath your eyes are hideous. A man might be able to overlook your little cursed reputation if you were something to look at, but I can barely tolerate the sight—”
Evangeline believed in love and fairytales and happy endings, because that was what her parents had taught her. But Agnes had told Marisol that she was unattractive and unwanted. Was that why she had done all this?
It was all so ugly either way.
“Jacks, wake up!” Evangeline put a hand on his chest, hoping the touch might jolt him awake, but his sleep was so deep, she might have suspected him dead if not for the rise and fall of his chest and the steady beat of his heart.
His heart.
It really was beating. It might have felt a little slower than a human heartbeat, but Evangeline didn’t let her hand linger. She would have liked his help for this, but if he didn’t wake up soon, she couldn’t spare the time to wait for him.
It wasn’t just that Evangeline needed to prove her innocence or that she wanted to save Tiberius from the person who might have murdered his brother. Evangeline wasn’t physically capable of merely sitting in this lost library and waiting. She needed to know if she was right about Marisol.
And she knew exactly how to do it. There was a way to prove if Marisol was either innocent or guilty. Evangeline needed to find a cure for a love spell. If it worked on Tiberius, it would reveal Marisol’s guilt. The same for her innocence if the cure failed.
But Evangeline would have to work quickly to discover a cure and administer it before tomorrow morning’s wedding.
According to Luc, vampire venom could break a love spell. But Evangeline didn’t want to risk another visit to Chaos, and infecting Tiberius with vampire venom might cause more harm than good.
She’d have to find another way.
After lighting a fire in the hearth, Evangeline wandered closer to the bookshelves. It seemed a little too coincidental that she’d find a spell book with an antidote for a love potion, but at least it was a place to start.
Tall and scuffed, the bookshelves covered nearly three-quarters of the library’s walls, and their owner did not care much for organization.
For example, on the first wall of shelves, nearest to the front door, Evangeline found a number of different books about time travel, but none of them were grouped together. They were scattered haphazardly, placed next to volumes on topics like the color blue, how to write poetry, an encyclopedia for the letter E.
Having determined these shelves did not hold any spell books, or cookbooks disguised as spell books, she moved on. She was about to attack another set of shelves when she noticed the desk in the corner—or, more specifically, the pop of color that came from the bottles of Fortuna’s Fantastically Flavored Water sitting on top of the desk. They came in four flavors—luck, curiosity, sunshine, and gratitude—and all were tied together with an elaborate purple bow that clashed with the rest of the room.