Three of the room’s four walls are made of floor-to-ceiling bookcases, a sliding ladder connecting them. Along with books, the shelves are lined with all kinds of interesting items. Maps, cards, thimbles, bells, stones, figurines, sea glass, stacks of vintage postcards. I even find a tiny globe in front of a section made up entirely of travel books. Peru. Bolivia. China. Australia.

Did Sage go to all of these places?

As I walk through, I let my hand drag across unfamiliar titles. Develop Your Psychic Skills. The Door to Chakra Healing. Spirit Guides. Everyday Spells. Witchcraft for All of Us. One shelf is dedicated entirely to decks of tarot cards. Another is devoted entirely to books about boats and sailing, and on the floor in front of it stands a large, worn-looking statue of a dark-haired woman who seems to be leaning into the wind, the paint of her dress weathered bone white. Every single item feels like it has its own story, and I wish Sage were here to tell them to me.

The longer I look, the more I love it. Sage is a kindred spirit. I can feel it. My dad once said that the best way to understand someone is to look at the things they keep, and I can’t imagine anything telling a better story than this house. The space has so much personality, it feels like I’m looking directly at Aunt Sage. She is eclectic, tasteful, adventurous, and interesting, and I’m starting to feel a hollow spot in my throat when I think about the fact that I’ll never actually get the chance to know her.

I circle my way back to the living room. This time around I notice that the coffee table holds a single book that has been propped up with candles on either side of it. The cover is light lavender with a baby-pink spine, a small pentagram etched into the center of it. It’s clearly loved, whatever it is, with dog-eared edges and several scuffs and bumps.

Maybe it’s only the placement, but something about the book feels important. And familiar, almost? And then I see the words scrawled in pen across the top of the cover.

BOOK OF SHADOWS.

My heart leaps. This is what Violet told me to find. I’m nervous to pick up the book, so instead I google the title.

A Book of Shadows is a magical recording of a witch’s journey, generally not written for others unless intended as legacy or artifact.

So this is like… a magical diary?

My heart flutters. Did it belong to Sage? On a whim, I grab the lighter and quickly light the candle before picking up the book. On the inside cover are five lines:

ONLY THE INVITED

WILL EVER READ

ALL OTHERS

WILL BE FORCED TO ACCEPT

THE CONSEQUENCES