Lucien wasn’t sure how long he laid there, basking in the bittersweet memories, but the sun still shone brightly through his windows when he clambered to his feet.  A vine from his plant swept across his nightstand and carefully tangled around the temples of his glasses to hand them over to him.  

After a small yawn, Lucien slid them back up the bridge of his nose and stepped over to his window.  It gave him a perfect view of their backyard with the grass freshly cut and the leaves all cleared away, immaculately well kept as always, courtesy of his mother.

Out near the wooden fence that bordered their property, the old tree house stuck out as a harrowing reminder of what he'd lost. Whispers of childhood adventures drew him out onto the back patio, dressed in a coat for the cold and boots as old as his memories

The breeze nipped at his rosy cheeks as he ambled up the small wooden stairs before waving his wand over the door frame to open the enchanted lock.  They had always used their magic to guard their little safe haven.  Either of their parents easily could’ve deconstructed them, but to Lucien’s knowledge, they never did.

It was nostalgic to step inside their whimsical little treehouse, decorated with firefly lights and old blankets.  Doodles they’d drawn on construction paper were taped all along the walls of magical unicorns and dragons.  Lucien smiled at the drawing Charlotte had made of them flying on the back of a giant rainbow-colored dragon.  He remembered her telling him all about how she’d find a way to summon one into Briarwood. 

Magic couldn’t bring back creatures that went extinct many moons ago, and Lucien doubted there were even dragons painted the color of rainbows.  But at that tender age, he had believed anything his big sister had told him.

Lucien curiously examined all their fairytale books stowed away in the book nook their father had built for them.  Just touching the colorful and fragile spines they’d crafted from cardboard and fabric made him smile.  They were a mishmash of shapes and colors, all created from the wondrous tales of Charlotte’s imagination.  He had always told her she should’ve published them.  

While skimming through old fairytales, he found one book he didn’t recognize.  The cover wasn’t as wellworn as the others, and upon flipping open to the first page, he recognized the red ink held other secrets within the paper.  It was an old trick of Charlotte’s she loved to use.  With the wave of his wand, he chanted their childish hex, watching in awe as the colorful descriptions of whimsical animals and beautiful worlds away from home vanished.

Uncanny diagrams of vampires appeared across the pages, followed by sketches of their burned bodies appearing in her notes, charting every little detail pertaining to how they died.  

Black magic residue was found in an alleyway at one of the crime scenes. Charlotte had detected three types of death curses performed on them before someone covered it up by burning the bodies beyond recognition.  Charlotte deduced it was the killer’s first victim, as it was the sloppiest of them all so far.  The others hadn’t left any traces of black magic that she could find.  She noted how it was possible the killer figured out how to clean up the residue left behind, but as far as Lucien knew that was impossible.

Lucien continued reading through her book with hopes that somewhere amid her notes she’d written down suspects.  Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.  What if someone had killed Charlotte because she knew too much?  How did she even get involved in a case like that?

Too many questions and not enough answers spiraled through his head.  Charlotte had kept her investigation a secret for some reason.  An uncanny thought occurred to him, but he couldn’t see either of their parents letting her look into such a dangerous case without any help.  

The Supernatural Council wouldn’t have tasked her with such a case, would they?

Lucien took the book with him when he stepped out of their treehouse and climbed back down the small stairs.  He needed to show Castor what he had found.  Maybe he’d even recognize some of the death curses she had written down.  

When he returned to his room, he fetched his crystal ball off the nightstand and channeled his magic through the glowing orb.  It vibrated against his palms for a few seconds as a cloud of smoky red filled glass ball, slowly dissolving into Castor's familiar features. He explained his findings, and Castor promised he’d fly over before ending the call. 

It wasn’t a moment later when Castor pecked on his window as he hovered patiently on his broomstick. Lucien hurried over to shift it open, helping Castor ease himself inside when he dismounted from his broom and tread on the windowsill. 

In an ungraceful manner, Castor clambered to the floor as some of Lucien’s plants curiously slithered vines across his friend’s feet.  When they didn’t sense his presence as a threat, they retreated.  

“This one’s new.” Castor crouched down to examine his tradescantia plant.  “I like the purple leaves.  Anyway, you wanted to show me that spellbook of Charlotte’s.”

“Right.” Lucien snatched the book from his nightstand and revealed the enchanted text hidden within the pages.  “Maybe you’ll know some of the death curses in it.  I don’t know how she ever learned about such wicked magic.”

Castor frowned as he flipped through the pages.  “This is some really dark shit.  Why did she have this?  It’s her handwriting, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, and I don’t know why she has it.  Maybe she was looking into those vampire murders?” Lucien suggested.  “I considered the Supernatural Council was making her investigate or she somehow became obsessed with it?”

“Maybe she was seeing one of the vampire victims?” Castor suggested.  “It would explain why she got so invested in their murders.”

“You don’t think she did this to them, do you?” Lucien asked softly.

“Do you think she’s capable of something like this?” Castor glanced down at the journal again.  

“I don’t know.” Lucien shook his head.

“You realize how risky it is to cast a death curse, right?  It siphons your strength and blights your magic.  Casting enough of them can cause a wizard or witch to lose their sanity.  You already know the tales of what happened to my ancestor, Emmaline Vale.  Nobody ever lets us forget about it.”

“I’m sorry.” Lucien sat on the edge of his bed and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I’m just trying to figure out what happened.  We used to be so close, but look how much she hid from me.  Why was she donating her blood to vampires?  Why would she have a notebook full of ways to kill their kind?”

“I wish I had the answers for you.” Castor nestled down beside him, bringing one arm around his shoulders.  “You need to keep this book hidden, okay?  I don’t know what Charlotte got herself into, but these kinds of death curses aren’t types that amateurs cast.”

“Should we show it to Sebastian?” Lucien asked.  “It might help him keep his people safe if he has an idea of what he’s up against.”

“I trust Sebastian, so I don't think it would hurt to show him, but it's up to you.” Castor placed the book behind them on the bed.  “Before we do, I want to make sure you’re okay.  I can’t imagine finding that book was easy.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Lucien leaned closer to Castor, enough that their legs brushed against each other.  “But I’m okay, I promise.”

“You know I’m always here for you, right?” Castor gave him a small smile.  “Anytime you need me, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

“I know.” Lucien waited for Castor to drop his arm from his shoulders before standing up and pulling away from his comforting warmth.  “Grab your broom.  We’re flying back to Nevermourn.”