A Touch of Brimstone (Magic of the Damned Book 1) Page 4

  “Are you kidding me? You wanted to pelt people with coffee beans if they put cream in their coffee and think people who order a frappuccino should be on a government watch list, but the man who believes in supernaturals and thinks I’m a witch gets a pass?”

  “Well, one group is dangerous and should not be allowed near the general public, and the other believes in the occult. That’s quirky.”

  When she flashed me a smile, I wished Reginald hadn’t sworn me to secrecy. There had to be a best friend clause or something to promises. Despite thinking his professed magical ability was utter BS, I was starting to wonder if there was something to his believing in magic.

  Looking up what Dominic said to me was at the top of my list of things I wanted to research. I would do more research on magic and make a concerted effort to keep an open mind. I had a feeling the latter part was going to be really hard. For years I’d read about magic and considered it just fantasy; seeing it as anything else was going to be difficult.

  4

  As I rushed into the bookstore the next day, it was no surprise to find Jackson waiting for me at the table near the employee lounge, flipping absently through a book. When he caught sight of me, he placed the book atop another book instead of returning it to its original spot.

  “You never struck me as one who went for the tall, broody, menacing type,” he said with a pout. After my late night with Emoni and her band, the three hours I spent trying to decipher Dominic’s words, and the sleepless night caused by his accusation, my tolerance was low.

  I hadn’t had nearly enough coffee or sleep to deal with him.

  “Usually, I’m not,” I said. “I usually go for the boyish good looks, coltish build, average height, and tendency to accidentally fall into bed with my friend type. You know, the guy who is just arrogant enough to suggest a three-way after being caught cheating.”

  He winced, but not at the part he should have. Being described as coltish and average height struck a nerve. By intentionally hitting the two things he wasn’t overly confident about, I hoped he’d just stalk away in a huff, calling me an insensitive bitch under his breath. But he let the insult roll off him. It was still a wonder how a person who thrived on unearned arrogance about everything had complex height issues about being five ten. Well, five ten and a half. He’d never let me forget that ever so important half inch only he cared about.

  He rolled his eyes. “I never said a three-way. Monogamy is just so traditional and boring. It sets unattainable rules and limits on people like me. I am aware of what I have to offer and who I am. Doesn’t seem like something you should reject so flippantly.” He extended his arms to the sides, allowing me a full view of what he must have deemed impressive. “Share the wealth.”

  My mouth dropped open, and I quickly snapped it shut. This was one of those times when I wished there were onlookers so I could turn to them and say, “Can you believe this asshole?”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Because I’m concerned about you, Luna.” His faux worry was the last thing I wanted to deal with.

  “You don’t like Dominic, and this should concern me why?”

  “Because he’s a complete psycho. He quietly speculated how long it would take him to choke me to death. And then openly wondered if I’d go easy into death or struggle. Who says things like that! A man like that is speaking from experience. I didn’t want to make a scene and ruin Emoni’s show, so I left. I should have kicked his fucking ass.”

  Nothing about the last part was true. Emoni tolerated him during the relationship; after it ended, she had no reason to pretend to like him. Their dislike for one another was mutual. At the sight of him, I knew pelting him with coffee beans was the nicest thing she thought about doing to him. Her glare could be classified as a weapon. And if he thought for a moment that he could have kicked Dominic’s ass, he would have.

  “Apparently him trying to choke you out in a bar wasn’t psycho enough, because here you are.”

  “Damn, Luna, is this what I’ve reduced you to?”

  On the off chance there was some sincerity to his concern, I turned to him.

  “I’m not seeing Dominic. It was a chance meeting. You weren’t respecting my boundaries. Like now. I’m not interested in you or him.”

  Hopefully the witch accuser was done with me. If he came around again, he’d get a similar rendition of this speech. I made a show of picking up the haphazardly discarded book and placing it in its proper place on the shelf, just a few inches away from him, while still under the pressure of his gaze.

  “Good, because I’m better than that brute.”

  This conversation was over.

  “Better? You’re a cheating, narcissistic, arrogant, unrepentant jackass. Better? You flatter yourself.”

  He inched closer to me as he ushered a look of faux concern onto his face. “I made some mistakes. You made some mistakes—”

  “What was my mistake? Coming home early or not being okay with the cheating?”

  He huffed out a frustrated sound. “Luna, I’m growing tired of this game. Are you really willing to toss me aside for a few indiscretions? Seriously, be practical for once. We get back together and you can move back in with me. Because you live in a crappy neighborhood and I’m sure your apartment is just as bad. That guy last night isn’t right for you, Luna. I am.”

  “You’re right, I really should be more practical. And the first step to doing that is owning up to my flaws. My first flaw: I have terrible taste in men. The worst. Can you believe the last guy I dated was a total asshole on the highest level? I don’t think he knows. Should I tell him?”

  He scoffed and glowered. “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “Jackson, let this be the last time you approach me. Leave me alone and go be with Ava and whatever other unsuspecting person you want involved in your relationship. I don’t want you back. If housing is your selling point, you already lost the argument.”

  His lips were pressed into a tight line, eyes full of vivacity—I knew he was running a number of arguments through his mind. He was still not getting the hint to go away, so I pushed past him and went into the employee lounge to put my things away and drive home the point. Go away and don’t come back.

  Jackson was gone when I returned.

  I welcomed the mundanity of my day, the highlight of which was ordering a list of obscure history books for Peter. While I placed the order, he studied my ring.

  “What does the writing mean?”

  Studying it, I shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  He seemed to find it amusing. For all I knew, it meant the wearer of this ring was shallow as fuck and that might be true. Since it was obvious that no one was going to claim it, I wore it because it was unique and cute. Peter made a face, likely because he’d never do that.

  You want your books, then stop it, Mr. Judgy.

  In a rush to get home to finish The Discovery of Magic, I was quick with closing down the store: I reshelved the books and closed. Keep an open mind, I reminded myself as I waved goodbye to Lilith, who went through the door before me while I gave the store another sweep to make sure things were in place. When I stopped to grab a book left out on the counter, Lilith paused. We never left anyone alone in the store.

  I urged her to go. “I’ll just put this away. I’ll only be a sec.”

  She hesitated, frowning at the book.

  “I’m fine. It won’t take long.”

  With a reluctant nod, she agreed.

  The weathered book was definitely not ours. No ISBN number on the back and just sigils in place of a title. This was left behind for me. I just knew it. Being asked if I was a witch, the odd way the strangers with Dominic had looked at me, and his accusation the other night were not coincidences. I was positive Reginald hadn’t left the book. He wouldn’t have just left it.

  Dominic. It had to be from Dominic. Maybe this would explain what he’d said to me. Witch. This was definitely a case of mistaken identity. As I hugged th
e book to me, I admitted I was just as bad as Reginald, enticed and seduced by the mystique of the occult. This book would be akin to The Discovery of Magic. It was exciting.

  The fifteen-minute walk to my apartment seemed like miles with me anticipating what I’d learn.

  A bag of popcorn and a poorly assembled sandwich was my dinner. I placed the book on my lap, thumbing through it between bites of sandwich and handfuls of popcorn.

  Disappointment flooded through me. Unlike The Discovery of Magic, which read like a meticulously detailed journal, this book seemed like it was written between shots of tequila. A jumbled word salad: “Death eludes the walker of night. Taballuh. Lifts the veils of thrall. Light and darkness align. Acostmias.” I read it over and over, trying to make sense of it. Riddle? It didn’t make sense. Code. Perhaps. Flipping through the pages only revealed more coded language and meandering storytelling.

  Curiosity dwindled to boredom and I flipped a few more pages. I started when a page sliced my finger, blood welling up and staining the tip of the page. The metal of the ring on my finger warmed.

  I tried to push the book from my lap, but it was stuck to me. Line by line, the words disappeared from the page as I split my attention between the book and the ring that had reshaped itself around my finger. The interlocking design was gone, and in its place was now a simpler rendition of itself.

  I finally managed to push the book from my lap. It landed on the floor, open to the page I was reading, all the words gone.

  The ring had tightened on my finger. It took me almost ten minutes to get it off. Under it, on my skin, were markings identical to the initial version of the ring.

  My breaths came in slow clips, the anxiety overwhelming. I forced myself to gulp a deep breath because otherwise I was going to pass out. I focused on the wall, but my eyes kept returning to the book and the markings on my finger.

  What. The. Hell? It became a mantra on repeat.

  5

  My day off started how the previous night had ended, with me trying to remove the indelible markings on my finger, which was raw and painful from all the scrubbing. Eventually I gave up.

  The book had been relegated to the kitchen counter. I refused to get anywhere near it. The page was still bloodstained, but it and the adjacent page were blank of text. My ring was barely recognizable and I now had symbols tattooed on my finger. There were so many things wrong with the situation and my mind was a mess trying to make sense of it.

  My first instinct was to contact Emoni, like I would with any problem. But I decided against it. This wasn’t just a quirky incident. It was so much more, and while I was trying to wrap my head around it, I didn’t have it in me to usher someone else into the mess. Actually, it would be less ushering and more like plunging her into icy water.

  Reginald believed in the supernatural. It wasn’t just something eccentric that people believed, like thinking if you go on enough camping trips, you’ll eventually run into Bigfoot.

  Although I had a hard time keeping an open mind about it, he didn’t. Reginald had suspended all logical belief. This required outside-the-box thinking and an abeyance of everything practical.

  After leaving yet another message for Reginald to call me, I went through another series of failed attempts to remove the markings on my finger, watching my phone expectantly.

  “What’s wrong, Luna?” Reginald asked after I rushed out a quick hello.

  “We need to talk,” I whispered. As if someone could hear me.

  “What’s the matter?” Concern was clear in his voice.

  “I need to show you rather than tell you.”

  “I have a couple of clients, but I can come by your place around one,” he told me. “Is that okay?” He seemed so disquieted that I made an effort to sound calmer, more assured when I responded.

  “That’s fine.”

  I used the time waiting for him to arrive to scrub at my finger again and look up what Dominic had said to me. Nothing came up. It was another language and I was probably spelling it so incorrectly that even Google gave up.

  Minutes before Reginald was to arrive, I shored up the courage to open the book again. I handled the pages gingerly, cautious to prevent another page attack. The book was sentient; no matter how illogical and ridiculous it sounded, the book nicked me—no, it bit me. This wasn’t a simple paper cut.

  When I opened the door for Reginald, his face was flushed from what I assumed was a quick run up the three flights of stairs in my garden-style apartment. He looked around my place appreciatively. It was much smaller than the home I’d shared with Jackson and definitely on the other side of quaint. Now that it was decorated, he found it far more appealing than when he came with Emoni to visit me two days after moving in.

  With the help of intensive bargain shopping, furniture consignment shops, Craigslist, and Facebook Marketplace, I’d created a cozy home. Rust-colored sofa and a large print chair that looked better than it felt. A worn ottoman—one of the pieces I took from my home with Jackson. Reginald smiled at the abundance of plants throughout the living room. The greenery did make me feel like it was a new beginning. A new life.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  I wasn’t sure what to do first, show him my finger or the book. My words rushed out like a broken dam and it felt like I did both at the same time. Waving my hand in front of him, I held the mangled ring, showed him my finger, and told him that the book bit me. At that moment, it seemed like a perfectly fine thing to say. Of course, the book bit me. That’s what they do. Nick people and erase words. Move along, nothing to see.

  He examined my hand first, then the ring that was now a sheet of metal, something I’d never consider picking up off the street.

  He picked up the book, hissed, and dropped it. His hands and fingers were bright red. It was the words quickly disappearing from the page that made me grab my phone and start to capture it, recording just seconds of video before the entire book was nothing more than weathered blank pages.

  “What. The. Fuck,” Reginald hissed from the sink where he was running his hands under cold water. From his vantage point, he was able to see that there had been words in the book and now the pages were blank.

  “Yeah,” I breathed out, shaking my head. With apprehension, I lightly touched the edge of the book, without any problems. I was still hesitant about picking it up. After a few more preliminary safety measures, I picked it up.

  Checked each page; all blank.

  “It’s a spellbook,” Reginald informed me. That came as no surprise.

  Reginald didn’t have the same look of excitement and intrigue as he had when he gave me The Discovery of Magic. His face was strained by the emotions playing across it.

  He asked more questions, urging me to remember the phrases I spoke while reading the spellbook. It felt like an interrogation. But the words had all jumbled together. If they made sense or there was some rhyme or reason to them, it would have been easier to remember.

  “I don’t know how to help you, Luna,” he admitted, rubbing his hands over his face.

  Please don’t let this be the time he confesses he’s not a witch. He needed to be a witch.

  Frowning, he looked down at his hands.

  “How’re your hands?” I asked.

  “Just a little tender. It was a deterrent, not meant to injure,” he said with enough confidence that it reignited my hope in him being able to help.

  “I’ve heard of magic like this, but the witches in my coven don’t possess it.”

  “Coven?”

  He nodded. Screw it, I was all in. Coven, shifters, witches, vampires, magic, books that bite and self-destruct. Yesterday, dammit, I saw a hellhound.

  My head pounded and I became increasing lightheaded. I held the counter for support. The lightheadedness wasn’t from the plunge into the unknown, but hypoglycemia. I hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before. And it hadn’t been much of a dinner. I needed food.

  “I’m going to fix a sandwich. Do
you want one?”

  He nodded, taking the same care I had as he flipped through the book. There was nothing to gain from it since all the pages were blank, so he laid the book face down and studied the patterns on the front and back covers.

  “I don’t know what these sigils mean,” he said. “The spell, was it in English?”

  “Everything was,” I told him, quickly making us a turkey and cheese sandwich with a side of a pickle and chips. Giving him a glass of water, I studied him. He looked like he needed something stronger.

  “You have a coven of witches like you?”

  “I only know of witches like me. We don’t have strong magic.” He waved his hand around the apartment. “Whatever happened here was strong magic. Out of my wheelhouse.”

  “Do you think someone in your coven knows witches who might have experience with magic like this? Maybe they can help?”

  “I’ll ask but”—he looked contemplative between the bites he took—“we’re supposed to be discreet. If I bring this to them, I risk being tossed out because they’ll know I told you I’m a witch.”

  “I don’t want you to risk that.” I didn’t but I needed someone with magic that didn’t seem like an Instagram job.

  “No, I’ll do it. There just needs to be some discretion,” he said.

  After we finished lunch, he took several pictures of the markings on my finger, the sigils on the book, and had me send him the video.

  After he left, I couldn’t stop thinking about Dominic and his role in this. I needed to find him.

  Without a last name, finding Dominic was nearly impossible. I searched Facebook first, scrolling through pages and pages of names, viewing profiles for someone who looked remotely like him. But what would happen next? Did I friend him? Send a message? What was I going to do, search hashtags? I couldn’t even imagine the rabbit hole that would have sent me down.

  After two hours of searching Facebook and Instagram, I was so desperate, I contemplated roaming the streets and just calling out his name. It would have yielded the same results. He had found me, twice. Could he be looking for me?