Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Do you have it?
What? I click on the number but all it says is 446
I text back anyway because curiosity gets the best of me.
Have what? Who is this?
I wait. And then wait some more. After twenty minutes of pacing around my room, it dawns on me that they’re probably not going to text back. I toss my phone onto the couch and make my way back to the bed, picking Micaela up to put her down for a nap. Once she’s all tucked in, I grab Daemon’s book and open to the page I was up to. I flick through the pages I’ve already seen but find myself back to CAPITULUM I and II - the cabin. This time, I run my fingers over every detail, trying to find a clue. So Daemon has been here before, but why did he draw this? Why has he even created this book? Daemon never does anything without a reason. I have started feeling bad for not sharing this with Madison too, but the selfish side of me doesn’t want to just yet. Not picking up anything different with the drawings, I flip to the next part. CAPITULUM V. Hands clenching a jail cell, with one pole broken and bent. The ground is shaded to look like 3D. I bring the book closer to my face in an attempt to make out what it is that’s laying on the ground.
A short shaped stick connects to an oval-like ball. There are squares and circles colored into it. This is the first item I have come across that has color and so much detail. My stomach curls when I realize it’s a baby rattle. I slam the book closed and rush for the bathroom, pulling my hair back as everything I ate over the last twenty-four hours comes spewing out of my mouth. Swiping my lips with the back of my hand, I flush and then go to the sink, washing my hands. I know this. I know what happens. I know the duty of The Lost Boys, and of course I knew Daemon was the Princeps. That should bother me. I peer at myself in the mirror. My ivory skin has been invaded by a flush of pink spread over my cheeks. Cupping water in my hand, I scoop up some water and rinse out my mouth. Why doesn’t the fact that I know what Daemon has done impact the feelings I have toward him? If Nate had done something like that, it would bother me so much so that I’d probably accidentally drive his car off a cliff. With him inside. So why not with Daemon? I can see that there aren’t many more pages left, thank God, because I don’t know how much more I can take.
Making my way back into the sitting room, I check on a sleeping Micaela, my eyes finding its way back to Puer Natus.
Nope. Not today.
I pick it up and slide it under my bed, annoyed with my curiosity.
Lying on my bed, I count the lines on the ceiling until I slowly drift off to sleep again, tired from last night.
When I was twelve, I experienced my first crush. I think it was the first time that I ever really crushed on someone. The stomach clenching, heart aching, palm sweating, need to have him. His name was Jordan Samuel. I thought he liked me too until he made an ass out of me in front of the whole school by playing a prank. “No, Tillie, ew, I don’t want to date you… leave me alone. Nerd.” I can still feel the burn on my cheeks and the knife turn in my gut. I quickly learned why they call it a crush. Because the feelings you develop for that person are heavy enough to fucking crush you. Love is something else entirely, and although I’m not sure I’ve found out exactly why I think it’s something else entirely, I think the reason why I know is sitting on my bed, playing with our daughter.
“What’s up?” he asks when he catches me staring. He woke us from our nap to have cuddles with her.
I shake my head, my eyes falling to Micaela. “Nothing. It’s just that I love seeing you with her.”
He doesn’t answer, so I swing my attention back to him. His go lazy, his lip kicking up in a grin. “Are you swooning?”
I freeze. “What? No…”
He licks his lip and chuckles, picking Micaela up and hugging her into his chest. “Mommy is swooning over Daddy,” he coos into Micaela’s head, but his eyes are still on mine. There’s something different about the way he’s staring at me this time. I almost see the Nate I fell for last year. He’s something made from witchcraft. Everything alluring and evil, his magic and charisma like a stubborn magnetism that ultimately brings you to your death.