Colson

The Price of Knowing

Colson POV

Amaris didn’t sit when she began to explain.

She paced instead, slow and deliberate, fingers brushing over the spines of books that had never been meant for public shelves. Her magic stirred as she moved—not flaring, not threatening, just present. Like the house itself was listening to her.

“The book isn’t whole,” she said at last.

I blinked. “Of course it isn’t.”

She glanced at me, one brow lifting. “You’re not surprised?”

“Nothing about ancient, world-altering spellbooks ever comes in a convenient, single-volume edition,” I replied. “There’s always a catch. Or three. Usually three.”

That earned me the faintest hint of a smile before she sobered again.

“It was separated intentionally,” she continued. “Three pieces. Three eras. Hidden using the same forbidden magic I used to send you back.”

The words settled heavy in my chest.

Forbidden magic.

My gaze dropped to the floor before I could stop it.

“And the cost?” I asked quietly.

Amaris stopped pacing.

“That magic,” she said carefully, “demands balance. When my family hid the book, each witch involved paid with a portion of what they were.”

My throat tightened.

“Power,” I said.

“Yes.”

The word echoed.

I swallowed hard, the implication slamming into me with brutal clarity.

Did my Amaris sacrifice her power?

Was that why she was weaker when it mattered most?

Was that part of the price she never let me see?

I must’ve let something show, because Amaris turned fully toward me, studying my face with unsettling precision.

“You must really love her,” she said softly.

I huffed a breath that was half laugh, half surrender. “I’m doing a terrible job of hiding it, aren’t I?”

She shook her head, not unkindly. “It’s… obvious. Which makes this more complicated.”

“Everything about us is complicated,” I said. “I’ve accepted that as a lifestyle.”

Her lips twitched, then flattened again.

“I wonder,” she murmured, “if I’ll make the same choice.”

The thought chilled me.

“This magic,” she went on, “drains nearly everything. But even if my future self gave up most of her power, the spell Ezra wants can still be cast.”

I looked up sharply. “Because it’s tied to your bloodline.”

She nodded. “Directly. Power weakens. Blood does not.”

My jaw clenched. “So even powerless, you’re still the key.”

“Yes.”

“Fantastic,” I muttered. “I hate that for you.”

She smiled faintly. “You sound very certain you’ll still care.”

I met her gaze. “I’m certain.”

The air between us shifted.

I cleared my throat. “So. Hypothetically speaking—does this mean your family created the spell?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

I stared at her.

“Well,” I said slowly, “that explains a lot and raises several deeply uncomfortable questions.”

She folded her arms, waiting.

“You all must’ve liked my kind at some point,” I continued. “I mean, creating a spell that basically turns the world into vampire-friendly real estate isn’t exactly subtle.”

Her expression darkened—not with anger, but with old regret.

“Not all in my bloodline were good,” she said. “Some believed vampires were the next inevitable evolution. Others wanted protection. Control. Order. Fear makes people write very ugly magic.”

“Trust me,” I said. “I’ve lived in it.”

She nodded once, accepting that without argument.

“One piece of the book exists now,” she said. “In this time. One was sent backward. One forward.”

My pulse jumped. “Forward… meaning—”

“Your time,” she confirmed. “What I thought was my future.”

I let out a slow breath. “So past, present, future. Because fate enjoys symmetry.”

“Because it enjoys arrogance,” she corrected. “The witches who hid it believed no one could ever reunite all three.”

“And yet here we are,” I said. “A walking paradox and a very stressed immortal witch.”

She met my eyes. “I’ll help you retrieve the piece in this time.”

Relief surged—brief, powerful.

“But,” she added sharply, “only under one condition.”

I raised my hands. “I won’t let it fall into Ezra’s hands.”

Her gaze sharpened. “You can’t let it. Even once. Even for a moment.”

“I won’t,” I said. “On my unlife.”

That satisfied her—mostly.

“There’s something else,” she said, quieter now. “Another spell in the book.”

I leaned forward. “Go on.”

“One that doesn’t reshape the world,” she said. “But could… correct a wrong. Fix a singular error.”

My breath caught.

“A do-over,” I said softly.

“Perhaps,” she replied. “That is the spell I would search for in the future.”

I frowned. “Then why hide the book at all? Wouldn’t you know it’s there?”

Her gaze drifted away.

“I’ve never opened it.”

The words landed like a punch.

“You—what?”

She turned back to me, eyes steady. “Opening the book exacts a price too.”

“What kind?”

She shook her head once. “If you truly are my future partner… then it will be me who tells you. Not now.”

I sighed, scrubbing a hand over my face. “You’re always mysterious. It’s incredibly frustrating. Very on brand.”

That finally earned me a real smile.

“Good,” she said. “Then you’ll recognize it later.”

She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Now. The piece in this time is hidden beneath wards keyed to my bloodline—but Ezra has eyes everywhere. If you move openly, he’ll notice.”

“So we don’t move openly,” I said. “We lie. Cheat. Misdirect.”

Her eyes gleamed. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

She laid out the plan quickly—routes that avoided known watchers, spells that masked temporal residue, a decoy trail designed to pull Ezra’s attention toward the wrong relic entirely.

As she spoke, I realized something unsettling.

She trusted me.

Not completely. Not blindly.

But enough.

And that trust felt heavier than any weapon.

When she finished, I nodded slowly. “All right. We get the piece. We keep Ezra clueless. We don’t die.”

“Ambitious,” she said. “I like it.”

I stood, rolling my shoulders. “Then let’s go steal a piece of a world-ending book.”

She glanced at me sideways. “You joke a lot when you’re nervous.”

“Occupational hazard,” I replied. “Also, if I don’t laugh, I tend to start killing things.”

She hummed. “Good to know.”

As we moved toward the door, the watch stayed silent in my pocket.

For now.

And as impossible, dangerous, and deeply ill-advised as this all was…

For the first time since stepping into the past, I felt like we were ahead of the game.

Or at least not losing it.

Yet.