Page 75 of My Faire Lady

I grimace. “Like a goat?”

She huffs a laugh and shakes her head. “Murrell witches don’t sacrifice living things. It’s more of an offering, I guess, like she dripped blood onto the parchment and used that to draw the rune.”

“Have you tried that?”

“Only about a dozen times. It was like the paper was coated with wax, the way my blood rolled straight off the edge.”

I worry my lip. “Maybe that’s a good place to start? See if the blood soaks in this time?”

She nods. I expect her to pull a small blade from her pocket, but she traces a series of shapes across her palm, and a small cut forms in the center of her hand.

“Could you hold the scroll open for me?” she says.

Swallowing at the blood pooling on her skin, I unroll the paper and coax the edges apart until it’s flat.

She hovers her hand over it and closes it into a fist. A single teardrop of blood falls, drips onto the center of the scroll, and freezes on the page.

Her breath hitches, and she reaches a tentative finger toward the blood. She drags it around the page, smearing it across the code until it resembles a crooked arrow.

“What’s that one?” I whisper, as if speaking too loud would scare away the magic.

“Translation.”

A shimmer ripples over the blood, and it fades into the paper, disappearing completely.

I lift my head. “Did it work?”

She sighs. “No.”

Grimacing, I study the symbols, down to the curves of the lines, searching for a difference. There is none. “We must be getting close, since the blood didn’t roll off the page. Maybe just try to flood your magic into it? The way you did with me the other day.”

A faint blush creeps into her cheeks, but it’s gone as she eases the paper out of my grip. “It’s worth a try.”

She sets the scroll in her lap and plants her palms against it, closing her eyes. Across the library, Frankie and Boden talk in hushed whispers, glancing our way. They catch me looking and dip their attention back to the spell books.

The slight glow surrounding the scroll brightens—pulsing as if it has a heartbeat of its own. But a moment later, Scarlet sighs and drops her palms.

She shakes her head. “Nothing.”

I slump against the chair. “We’re missing something. What could be so secret that your mom left behind a message written in code? One that is so hard to translate.”

Scarlet taps the arm of her chair. “Unless it isn’t a message.”

My brows scrunch together. “What do you mean?”

“What if it’s something else? Something she was scared of someone finding out—some knowledge that could get her in trouble.”

I straighten. “Something she would have shared with you when you were old enough.”

“A warning.”

At the table, Boden and Frankie stop flipping pages of the spell books. They lift their heads and glance our way.

Scarlet’s face pales. “But if she was going to show me, she’d use her own blood, which means we need it.” She drops her forehead into her hands. “I don’t have any.”

“Unless,” I scoot forward, close enough for our knees to touch, “all it takes is two people.”

“If that’s the case, we’re out of luck. I’m the last⁠—”