Jaxson pressed his lips together, but I nodded and smiled. “Sure, that’d be
great.”
She disappeared into the other room, and I whispered to Jaxson, “Be
nice.”
He glared at me and continued scanning the space vigilantly, clearly not
trusting the witch. That was fair. She didn’t seem any more threatening than
my aunt…who, in fairness, was an arms manufacturer, could summo
n
demons, and kept the Sphere of Devouring in her closet.
The witch appeared a few minutes later carrying a tray and three glasses
with painted lemons on them, and she set them on a coffee table in the living
room. She took a glass and perched on the arm of a sofa, then eyed Jaxson
curiously. “Tell me, what is it that you need, exactly?”
“Someone has stolen the grimoire from the Order’s Archives and is using
it to trap people in their dreams. We’re hoping that since you’re the author,
you might know how we can help these people and put a stop to this.” His
voice was calm, but I could sense he was on edge.
I passed him a lemonade. He looked down and begrudgingly took it with
a subtle shake of his head. The witch didn’t seem to notice.
“Ah! So that’s where the damn thing ended up. It always had a mind of
its own.” She frowned and took a sip of her lemonade, then drummed on her
glass, seemingly lost in thought. “Yes, yes, your situation sounds unfortunate,
but I’m afraid I haven’t the faintest idea what to do. I’m not the author, you
see.”
“What?” My spine stiffened, and I slid my glass onto the table. “I thought
you said you were S.L. Delamont.”
“I am, and please call me Sorsha. I wrote the thing, but I’m not its
creator.”
I could sense Jaxson’s irritation as he set his untasted glass of lemonade
on the table beside mine. “Can you explain? We’re short on time.”