“Sweet molasses,” I said, eyes wide. “I didn’t think that’d actually work. Yes! I can convince anyone of anything. I am a master of manipula—I mean, great. Wonderful. Glad you came to that decision all on your own which I wholeheartedly approve of.”
“But you would do well to heed my warning. You are not safe, Sam of Dragons. You’re strong, and your heart is wild, but Myrin will know where to strike to hurt you the most. You must not lose your way, or I fear that all will be lost. And that must come from within. You cannot depend on anyone else to bring you back from the Dark. That is something you must do on your own.”
I grinned up at him. “I so got this. So, I can go? Like, legit?”
“Did you hear my—”
“Yes, I heard your warning, for fuck’s sake. Come on. Say it. Say it. Say—”
“You may go.”
I raised my hands above my head and crowed. “Hell yeah, dude! I’m going to fucking rock this shit. Just watch. I so got this. I so—”
“—GOT THIS,” I whispered to the empty house in Camp HaveHeart. I traced my fingers over Morgan’s Grimoire, my own and Myrin’s set to the side.
I wasn’t going to turn Dark.
I wasn’t.
I wasn’t.
I wondered if Myrin had thought the same.
And if Randall had too.
I opened the Grimoire, flipping the thick pages, seeing the familiar scrawl flashing before my eyes. There was a bittersweet ache in my heart at the sight of it, and I wanted to slow down, to peruse each and every page. But there wasn’t time. Randall was waiting for me, and I needed to finally see my best friend get his horn back. He’d earned it.
So I turned to page five hundred and twenty-seven.
It was toward the back of the book, right before the section of really dark shit that most wizards had listed. The back of the Grimoire was always dedicated to the things no wizard should ever do. Even the good ones—the best—sometimes had dark thoughts, the difference being that they were written down and never acted upon. I didn’t think I was ready to see what Morgan had written in the back of his Grimoire and was thankful that Randall hadn’t directed me to it.
Instead, on page five hundred and twenty-seven was a page addressed to me, looking as if it’d been written in haste, the words slanting so much so that it seemed they’d fall over with the smallest of breaths. I traced my written name with a finger, hearing Morgan in my head, telling me that I had magic in me and that he wanted to take me away to the castle.
“Oh,” I said. “Oh, Morgan.”
Sam—
If you’re reading this, I have passed beyond the veil.
“Drama queen,” I muttered, voice broken.
And no, I’m not being dramatic. The only time an apprentice should read his mentor’s Grimoire is if the mentor has left this world for the next. If you are reading this and I am still alive, know that your punishment will be swift. I’m aware of a curse that will cause impotency and erectile dysfunction, and given that you are in the prime of your life and “getting laid on the reg,” as you insist upon telling me daily, I believe this will be an appropriate punishment. So, beware.
But if I am gone, then… well. Know this: I have lived a good life. A long life. A life made whole because of you. If I must stand before the gods and point to the single thing I’m most proud of, the one thing I believe shows the summation of my worth, it would be you. You are my heart, Sam. And my soul.
I know part of you is still angry with me for keeping from you what I did. And you are justified in your anger. I wish I had done things differently in that regard. All I ever wanted was to keep you safe and happy, to nurture that spark of life within you until it grew into a conflagration. I knew of you, Sam, but I didn’t know who you were until the day we met. The boy you were. The man you would become. I can say with no hesitation that you have exceeded my every expectation. You are warm and kind and impetuous and ridiculous and so bursting with life that I can barely take my eyes from you.
I fear… I think time is running out. As I write these words, a curl of dread is filling my head and heart. I know not of Myrin’s plans for you. I worry about letting you out of my sight. Why, even now, you’ve gone to visit a sickly girl with the Knight Commander, and though I know you can take care of yourself, I can’t shake the feeling that I shouldn’t have let you go. There’s something I can’t quite—
I don’t know. Maybe I’m overthinking things. Maybe I’m concerned for nothing. You are strong and brave and—
No. Something’s wrong. Something’s wr—
Sam. You must listen to me. If you’re reading this, then I have gone. Whatever happens, know that I’ve made my choice. I chose you because I love you.
If I could have you remember one thing, it would be this: a wizard isn’t as strong as the magic he uses. It’s the magic he doesn’t use that’s a measure of true strength.
Hold on.