Free A Beautiful Evil by Kelly Keaton

automaton back down the aisle as he spouted off the library rules, which basically went something like:
    Don’t rub the books, tablets, or scrolls.
    Don’t blow on them.
    Don’t alter them.
    Don’t take notes.
    Don’t read aloud from them.
    And, above all, don’t carry them past the counter.
    We stopped at one of the front tables, where four tall stacks of books, a pile of scrolls, and two clay tablets sat. Oh boy.
    The Keeper went to the counter, reached beneath it, and retrieved a long, rectangular glass panel. It curved downward at each end, so when he placed it on the table, it was raised off the surface by five inches or so. Around the panel were etchings in glass, thousands of minuscule symbols.
    “This will allow you to understand what you see. Set it carefully over your text and you will be able to read in the glass what is written there. Remember, do not take notes or bring anything beyond the counter.”
    He began to walk away.
    “What happens if I do?”
    He stopped and turned around, his fake eyes giving me the willies. “You forfeit your life. It is that simple.”
    I watched him go down one of the aisles, feeling like the temperature in the room had dropped by ten degrees. No emotion. No care either way. The Keeper’s reply drove home the rules more than anyone else could have. He’d be completely indifferent to my death. There would be no hesitation or remorse.
    Not dwelling, I pulled out a chair and started with a stone tablet. It was small, the size of a paperback book, and was filled with tiny linear slashes and symbols pressed into the clay. I placed it carefully beneath the glass. Words began to take shape within the glass—a strange sort of magic I didn’t question.
    I read about a Sumerian woman named Tiashur and the witch who removed a curse placed on her by the god Enlil.
    Interesting story, but it didn’t offer any clues to how the witch removed the curse other than “untangling” it. I bit the inside of my cheek, wondering if it was really that simple, if all I needed to do to rid myself of Athena’s curse was to find a witch who could untangle the words Athena had spoken to Medusa all those years ago.
    When my mind grew tired and refused to hold any more information, I took the glass panel back to the counter. The Keeper held the gate open, and I walked to the crack in the black wall, pulled it apart, and stepped into the Novem’s study.
    And came face-to-face with Josephine Arnaud. Head of the Arnaud family. A Bloodborn vampire and Sebastian’s grandmère .
    Josephine oozed wealth and old-world sophistication. Never a single hair out of place or wrinkle in her expensive clothes. Her dark eyes burned with intellect. She was a few hundred years old, but she looked like a beautiful young woman.
    She was also a complete and total bitch, right up there with Athena.
    We eyed each other for a second, and then I stepped around her, walking through the cloud of her elegant perfume. I didn’t have anything to say. She gave my father up to Athena and wanted to use me to increase her own power. She didn’t give a shit about me at all. And the feeling was mutual.
    I was halfway to the door before she spoke in her cultured French accent. “Find what you were looking for?”
    I hesitated, knowing I should keep going, but I walked back to stand in front of her. “If I did, I wouldn’t tell you, Josephine. You never could help me, could you?” I asked, remembering her offer to remove the curse in exchange for my allegiance.
    “No one can remove your curse. It’s too old, too powerful, too tangled, and spoken by a god.” She laughed and shook her head. “Your naïveté is astounding. In three and a half years, you will become a full-blown gorgon.” She cocked her chin. “And my grandson will have learned a great life lesson.”
    Like she cared about Sebastian’s personal growth. All she cared about was power.
    “His interest in you is merely rebellion. You are different. Forbidden.