Tangled in Moonlight: Unshifted novel Chapter 452

Chapter 452: Ava: Not Just Witchy

Eleanor’s face pales. "It’s a compliment! A compliment. You aren’t old. You’re beautiful."

I narrow my eyes at Eleanor, scrutinizing her nervous expression. She looks sincere enough. No matter how hard I stare at her, she just looks like a weak little rabbit who’s wandered into a den of wolves.

Could be wrong, though. Lucas will probably have something to say about this.

Is she saying beautiful people can’t be old? Grimoire sounds positively affronted, his voice ringing with indignation. I’ve existed for ages, and I’m gorgeous.

His ego shouldn’t surprise me anymore, but sometimes it does. Like right now.

You can’t be beautiful. You’re a book most of the time.

I ignore their bickering, focusing instead on the woman’s journal in my hands. My fingers tap against its worn cover. "Why do you think I’m the Crone? Of all people, why me?"

Eleanor’s eyes brighten, her enthusiasm practically tangible. "Because you’re so powerful! Every person I’ve ever met has only the faintest hold on their magic—most have almost none. But you—" She gestures at me with both hands, like I’m some sort of miracle. "You can do all sorts of things! I can feel it radiating off you."

I frown, not entirely comfortable with her assessment.

Grimoire, why isn’t she in danger without formal training? Everyone kept saying I was like a bomb waiting to go off and I’m a danger to everyone around me.

He hesitates before answering. She has a different type of talent compared to yours. Her abilities seem more... analytical than creative.

Hmm. I frown. How does it make a difference?

I can’t be fully certain until I evaluate her magical signature more closely. From what I can tell, she doesn’t create magic so much as perceive and catalog it.

Still, it doesn’t leave me very reassured. For someone Grimoire claims to have massive talent to come here without any training whatsoever, after everyone claimed I’d die without help...

Well, it’s not like I’m going to just let her go. We’ll keep an eye on her.

"Vester," I say, turning to him, "we need to bring her to Wolf’s Landing."

Eleanor’s face transforms with joy as she scrambles to her feet, snow falling from her practical hiking clothes. "Really? Oh my Goddess! Thank you!" She clutches her hands together. "Would you—I mean, could I possibly come under your wing? I would love to be part of your coven."

A shudder runs through me at the word. Coven. Me as some wise old Crone leading witches. The image doesn’t fit at all.

"We’ll, uh, talk about it more when we get there," I say weakly.

It’s probably in your best witch to found a coven, you know, Grimoire chimes in, clearly delighted with his awful pun.

Selene groans, but then makes a good point. Ava’s knowledge is too widespread to be considered just witchy, isn’t it?

Grimoire hesitates. That’s true. She’s more of a jack-of-all-spells, really.

Their words settle uncomfortably in my chest. "Does that mean I’m not capable of mastering any?"

What do you mean by that?

"You know... ’jack of all trades, master of none’?" The old saying feels suddenly personal, my old insecurities shining through once again. Despite everything I’ve accomplished, I still feel like I’m fumbling in the dark sometimes.

That’s a silly assumption, Grimoire scoffs. The ability to pick up many things doesn’t mean you can’t have extra talent in a certain direction. Some people excel at versatility.

Most people would call that overpowered, Selene says dryly.

My lips quirk. Me? Overpowered? Yeah, right. I’ve gotten so much stronger than I was before, but I’m still the same Ava who struggles against her propensity for bad decisions and multiple kidnappings.

Eleanor stares at me, and I swear the sparkles in her eyes have increased, completely oblivious to my inner turmoil. "Are you... are you conversing with the Goddess, Crone?"

The way she keeps calling me Crone, I want to scream. I’m not one.

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