Autumn of the Grimoire (Sisters Solstice, #1)

by J.L. Vampa

The Sisters Solstice gathered around a blazing fire Seleste conjured, each of them facing the flames from whence their magic came: Wendolyn from the Nord, Sorscha from the Est, Seleste from the Sud, and Agatha from the Ouest.

Agatha stood and shuffled her way to Seleste, taking the gargantuan Grimoire from her. The weight of it in her arms dragged her heart down to the Underworld—precisely the opposite of what it should do.

“I don’t make the rules.” Winnie’s voice was soft. Almost as if she cared. But Agatha knew better. “No, you just enforce them with the tender care of a dungeon warden.”

It’s good for the soul to have something to crave; to tend; to strive for.

The first Sisters Solstice—Talan, Hissa, Monarch, and Belfry—spent their entire preternaturally long lives penning visions, dreams, and spoken messages sent to them from the Goddess Three, Hespa. The Sisters wrote in parchment and ink spelled with the sands of time. Each word was only permitted to come forth at the proper time for the prophecy, and only visible to the proper Sister Solstice—the one who would use it to mould History. For, anything of note in History has begun at the hands of a Sister Solstice.

Agatha closed her eyes and could almost feel the phantom touch of Ira’s fingertips as they ran down her bare back. She could nearly taste his lips as they turned insistent the further she deepened their kiss. Ira had been afraid, until that night. Afraid someone would see them together and harm Agatha for being with a man of his station. A man of his origin. That was the night she defied the laws of her kind for the first time. She told Ira she was a witch and that no one could harm her. They spent the whole of the night with legs tangled tight and her heart swelling. With Ira’s breath against her ear and his lips upon her skin, she never could have imagined what a lie she’d just told the first and only mortal she ever loved.

There shall come a day, as the nights lengthen and the leaves hath begun to fall, that a Daughter of Autumn shall join a Son of Gem and Bone. Together they—

Agatha Joubert shall enter into marriage with the Crown Prince of Seagovia, His Highness, Thackery Frederic Peridot III, before the leaves hath all fallen and frost kisses the castle garden.

“She shall come,” he recited, “shrouded in black, but not of mourning…” With a continued look of astonishment, he reached out and pointed to her black skirts before looking at her face. “With eyes of the honey moon.” His disbelieving gaze remained fixed, and it was a struggle not to let her own eyes go wide. “And Autumn in her locks,” he continued, watching Mabon use his teeth to withdraw a tiny ruby leaf from where it was unknowingly tangled in her hair. “She will come, escorted by a creature of the night.” They both looked at Mabon upon her shoulder. “And a raven shall descend upon her.” The words had hardly left his lips when Sorscha’s raven swooped down from the clouds and landed on Agatha’s shoulder opposite Mabon. She kept her expression as even as her three hundred years of witch madness had taught her and met the magus’ inspecting, flabbergasted stare once more. “She will come,” he whispered. “Our Daughter of Autumn. Agatha of Helsvar.”

Grimm’s lips found hers, one hand coming up to the nape of her neck. The taste of him was beyond the sweetest delicacy imaginable. His hands tangled in her hair and Agatha struggled to breathe. His own breath was ragged and he deepened the kiss, tongue slipping into her mouth. Just as she was sure the heat coursing through her would cause her to combust, he pulled back. His chest heaved up and down as much as Agatha’s own, and she could see the longing burning in his eyes. He ran a thumb over her bottom lip and she shivered. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Grimm came undone. His lips crashed into hers with enough force to nearly tip them into the water. Agatha silently commanded the boat to stay afloat, unwilling to let the moment be ruined. His teeth snagged on her bottom lip and she let out an involuntary gasp. A low rumble came from him in response and his hands roved over her waist, dipping lower. When his mouth left hers, she felt desperate to get it back, but he only unsnapped her cloak and moved his lips to her neck, travelling to the tender skin of her collarbone. Agatha’s back arched, sending her hips into his and Grimm growled, pulling back. “You overestimate my self-control, with or without these other boats around,” he said around heaving breaths.

No—what he thought he’d felt for her did not hold a candle to this. He was irrevocably, desperately in love with her.

“How quickly can you ride?” Sorscha sidled up to Gaius. “Very quickly.” “Come along then, you pretty thing.”