The Ex Hex (Ex Hex #1)(33)

And if she smiled a little when her back was to him, that was her business.



There was something wrong with this library.

Rhys hadn’t been in all that many libraries over the course of his life, but he’d been in enough to know they usually didn’t feel like this. Hell, even his family home, the scariest place on god’s green earth, as far as Rhys was concerned, didn’t feel like this.

It wasn’t just the chill in the air, although as he and Vivienne walked through a pair of heavy wooden doors to access the back of the library, he was very glad he’d thrown on his leather jacket this morning.

It was something . . . unnatural. Something off.

And the feeling crawled over his skin in a way he didn’t like.

Vivienne felt it, too. He could tell from the way her gaze kept darting around. But she wasn’t saying anything, so he wasn’t going to mention it either, even though he knew they were both wondering the same thing: Was this something to do with the curse and the ley lines?

They passed through long rows of shelves, the space between them getting narrower and narrower until they had to walk single file, Vivienne leading the way. She’d worn her hair up today in a messy knot caught at the back of her neck, and in spite of everything, Rhys’s fingers itched to reach out and take it down.

What would she do if he did?

Kick you in the balls as you’d so rightly deserve, he reminded himself, and shoving those feelings down, continued to follow Vivi through the warren of shelves.

Finally, the shelves opened up, and they stood in a dim, circular room, a massive oak desk in the center of it, raised so high that Rhys’s chin barely came up to the edge. Vivienne, tall as she was, had to stand on tiptoes to peer over.

“Dr. Fulke?” she called softly, and an ancient, wizened face suddenly appeared.

“Ms. Jones?”

Smiling with relief, Vivienne rocked back on her heels and adjusted her bag on her shoulder. “Yes. This is my . . . research assistant.” She jerked a thumb at Rhys, and he looked up at the ancient woman behind the desk, wondering if this would actually work. If she was a witch and worked at Penhaven, there was a good chance she might know who he was.

But the woman at the desk didn’t seem to care much. She barely gave Rhys a cursory glance before nodding and typing something out on a computer in front of her.

“Two hours,” she said, and there was a little whir as a machine printed out a sticker, which she handed to Vivienne, who turned and handed it to Rhys.

v. jones guest, it read, a little time stamp underneath, and Rhys frowned.

“This is . . . a lot more prosaic than I was expecting.”

“We live in the twenty-first century,” Dr. Fulke said from her perch, folding her arms over her narrow chest. “Forgive us for not scratching your name on vellum with a quill.”

“Well, I don’t need vellum, but the odd quill would be—”

“Thank you, Dr. Fulke,” Vivienne said quickly, pulling Rhys away.

“Your research assistant?” he asked as they moved deeper into the stacks.

“It was the first thing I could think of,” she whispered back. “And, I mean. It’s not completely untrue.”

She stopped as they reached the back of the room, nodding at a row of doors. “Take anything you find into one of those rooms, and I’ll meet you back here in an hour or so, as soon as I get out of class. You can ask Dr. Fulke or any of the other librarians if you need help, but don’t—”

“Vivienne.” He stopped her by stepping closer, reaching out to put his hands on her shoulders before he thought better of it and stepped back again. “I am a grown, adult man,” he said instead. “I think I can manage asking for help without giving away the whole plot.”

Her pursed lips told him she might not actually believe that, but she gave a nod anyway. “Good. I’ll help once I’m back.”

With that, she was turning away in a swirl of golden hair and black skirt, leaving Rhys alone in her deeply creepy library.

Not just creepy, but heavy. Ancient magic, the truly old, deep stuff, hummed through the room like a current of electricity, the kind of magic that made you feel a little uncomfortable, skin suddenly too sensitive, teeth aching slightly.

Grimacing, Rhys rolled his shoulders and stepped farther into the breach.

Fifteen minutes later—and with no assistance at all, thank you very much, Vivienne Jones—Rhys had a stack of books and made his way to one of the doors in the back.

The study room was tiny, nearly claustrophobic with no windows, the only light from a heavy glass lamp overhead, and nothing more than a large wooden table in the middle, an ancient slab of oak that also seemed to hold some magical properties. When Rhys put his hand flat on the top, he could feel a slight vibration.

Sighing, he opened the first book from the stack.

It was mostly in Latin, and Rhys felt that part of his brain creak slowly into life as he read. Hadn’t had much use for Latin since school, and had taken something of a perverse pleasure in not being as fluent in it as his father and brothers, insisting any magic that required this much work wasn’t worth it.

He maybe regretted that now.

Just a smidgen.

And as he read, he couldn’t stop thinking about his father, whom he definitely should be calling, right now, this minute, actually several hours ago.