Anneliese’s mind spiraled into chaos.
What am I supposed to do? she panicked inwardly. I can’t lie—but I can’t tell him the truth either! I haven’t even told my family. And now, what? Confess everything to a cunning vampire... who’s a mber of the Conclave? What if he doesn’t believe ? What if he thinks I’m a threat and throws into so dungeon? Or worse—what if he will kill , the way he killed that witch?!
Vincenzo stood still, arms crossed, watching her with mounting irritation. His patience was wearing dangerously thin.
Anneliese didn’t notice the shift in his posture until she heard his voice—low, cold, and threatening.
"Didn’t I tell you, Anneliese," he growled. "I’m not a very patient man."
Sothing about the way he dropped the formality of her na made her breath hitch. It felt too personal... too dangerous.
Before she could react, Vincenzo stepped forward and wrapped his hand around her throat.
The book slipped from her grasp and landed on the wooden floor with a dull thud. She clawed at his wrist, struggling in vain against his strength. Her back hit the bookshelf behind her—hard—and sothing sharp jabbed into her spine. She winced, shutting her eyes as pain flared along her back.
Then suddenly, Vincenzo recoiled. He flinched as if burned—because he was. Her hands had begun to heat unnaturally, and his skin sizzled beneath her touch. His grip released, and he took a sharp step back.
Anneliese crumpled slightly, gasping and coughing for air, her blue eyes wide and glistening with tears and fear. "D-Don’t..." she choked, her voice shaking. "Please... don’t kill . I’m just trying to find answers. I don’t know what’s happening to !"
Vincenzo stared at her, stunned.
Her eyes weren’t just terrified—they had glowed for a mont. A crystalline gleam that sparked sothing in his mory. Sothing ancient. Sothing lost.
She’s not human, he realized. But she’s not a vampire. Not a demon. And she can’t be a fairy—those can’t lie. Not a witch either... So that leaves..?.
His voice flattened. "And what, exactly, is happening to you?"
Still breathless but desperate, Anneliese spilled everything in one breathless tumble—working for Mr. Herondale... the book... the glowing blue light... the dream that wasn’t just a dream... and the mysterious reappearance of the Book of Spells in the forest.
By the ti she finished, Vincenzo was silent, deep in thought.
"I’m telling the truth," Anneliese said again, voice firr this ti. "Please, you have to believe ."
"I know," he replied simply.
She blinked. "You know!! You believe ?"
Instead of answering, Vincenzo bent down and picked up the fallen book. But as he straightened, his eyes narrowed. A scent hit him—sharp and unexpected.
"You’re bleeding."
Her hand flew to her back where the sharp iron nail had jabbed her. She winced at the touch, her fingers coming away red.
Vincenzo’s gaze darkened. His jaw tensed.
"That sll..." he murmured. "Your blood. It’s... different."
She frowned, confused.
He explained, voice quiet but intense, "It doesn’t sll like any human. Or any other kind I’ve known."
Then, his crimson gaze pierced her. "What are you, girl?"
"I’m human!" she insisted. "I’ve always been human! Nothing strange has ever happened to until I found that book. That’s when everything started."
Sothing flickered in his mind. Not confusion, but recognition... or was it unease? When the book was placed in his hands three days ago, the air had shifted—not with power, but with mory. Ancient, slumbering magic had stirred, and it was tied to her. She wasn’t a witch. But sothing was watching her... or perhaps, through her. She is sothing. Or the start of sothing.
"What exactly happened in the forest?"
"You were there!" she said, then quickly corrected herself when his gaze turned sharp again. "I-I an... I thought you knew. But—alright. I was nervous. I lied under pressure, and when they started searching, I—I just... wished. I wished that a book—could just appear there. And then... it did."
Vincenzo stared at her.
"You wished for the book to appear."
He stepped closer.
"Close your eyes."
She recoiled slightly. "Why?"
He took another step toward her.
"Close. Them."
Swallowing hard, she obeyed.
"Now say the wish," he instructed. "Exactly like you did in the forest."
Anneliese tried once.
Nothing happened.
"Again," Vincenzo commanded. "Exactly the sa. Word for word."
She took a deep breath and tried to rember her exact words. Closing her eyes again, she whispered in her mind: "If only a book could just magically appear over here! A book that belongs to ."
When she opened her eyes, Vincenzo wasn’t looking at her—he was looking down at the floor, just beside her.
She turned.
There it was.
The Book of Spells, once again, resting silently on the wooden floor.
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