Salem. Not a nickname I cared for, but Nate had called me worse.
I
opened my laptop, popped in a thumb-drive, and pulled up the scanned
copy of my mother’s grimoire. The book was safely stored elsewhere, too
precious to go about with a pair of reckless men intent on finding
things that might kill us. Besides, that tome has a tendency to compel
me to do things that would traumatize Nate. He might be an ass, but I
love him.
Headlamps illuminated the road. Engine thrummed. Nate
stared into the distance, pretending he didn’t know I was memorizing
spells.
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