A Touch of Brimstone (Magic of the Damned Book 1) Read online

  He nodded, appearing unaffected by the room in the manner I was. If anything, he seemed calmed by it. He inhaled, taking in the room, the two floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books. The expansive wood table in the middle of the room held three large binders. Papers dulled yellow with age peeked from them. A worn, comfortable chair was in the corner, but it was not as plush as the ones in the main library.

  “What happened when you evoked the spell that marked you?” Dominic finally asked.

  “Can we discuss it in the main library?” There wasn’t anyone in it, if privacy was his concern.

  He nodded and I rushed past him to the clean air and a space that didn’t reek of bad intent.

  It was obvious to me that magic or any variants of it unnerved me. Supernatural people—with the exclusion of Reginald, who still had not convinced me of his supernatural status—were violent, unscrupulous, and possibly sociopathic. Magic and spells were chaotic and portentous. My short experience with it showed it to be foreboding and destructive. This incentivized me to do whatever I could to undo the spell and return to my normal, uncomplicated life. I’d never considered my life to be a simple one, but with the soot of the spellbook room still on me, it was blatant that it was.

  Dominic waited patiently as I settled into one of the chairs. Remaining standing, he crossed one arm over his chest and rested the other arm’s elbow on it as he ran his thumb languidly over his lips. I couldn’t help but watch him do it.

  Leaving out any conversations with Reginald, I told Dominic about what at the time was an uneventful moment of finding the ring, me wearing it, and no one claiming it. When I got to the part about me seeing the weird dog, his brow furrowed.

  “Oversized dog?”

  “Maybe the Dark Caster sent it after me. I don’t know, but a dog who looks like he should be guarding the gates of—” I stopped before saying “hell” because I was, unbelievably, actually in the Underworld, speaking with a supernatural jailer… guardian… or whoever he was. The “man with a military welcoming committee” who lived in a mansion absent a sun or any greenery. Saying hell in this place seemed blasphemous. No, not blasphemous, but maybe a smug reminder of where we were. Either way, it was definitely apropos.

  There was a hint of humor in his eyes. He said, “Zareb,” and moments later there was the clicking of nails along the marble floor as the massive dog made an appearance. Gasping, I jumped to my feet and shuffled away from the animal.

  “I sent him,” Dominic informed me.

  “Why?”

  “Your scent. Once he has it, he can track you anywhere. He’s a better option for scouting.”

  “You think a horse-dog is less inconspicuous and better at scouting than you would be?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  With a small tremor the terrifying creature disappeared. If I hadn’t just seen him, I wouldn’t have known he was near. The only hint of his presence was the feathery touch of warmth that flitted across my skin. Dominic moved toward us and reached out, his hand stroking the air. The dog reappeared, revealing that Dominic was rubbing the top of the dog’s head.

  With Dominic being the only one who could see him, Zareb was indeed a better scout.

  He made a tick sound with his tongue and the dog padded away.

  “Is he the only one?”

  Dominic shook his head. “But he’s the one with your scent. He can track you anywhere.”

  The hint of warning wasn’t missed. Instead of commenting on it, I asked, “Can they track down the escaped prisoners? Surely they can get a scent from the cells.”

  Dominic frowned. “This spell is strong, like a scorched earth scenario. The spells we had that neutralized their magic, strength, and ability to teleport were all destroyed. The binding spell that kept them tethered to the room is broken. And there’s no scent to detect. Tenebras Obducit—Dark Caster—magic is immense, their spells nearly insurmountable. And this particular spell was so meticulously engineered, it will be difficult to find them.”

  Despite what he’d just admitted, he didn’t seem hopeless, which I couldn’t claim. Despair was slowly engulfing me. Optimism about getting out of this situation was slowly dwindling.

  “Then how will they be found?”

  “You. Once we are able to unravel the spell, its owner’s signature will be revealed. I can use that to track them as long as it is unlinked from you. One thing that your little book, I’m sure accidentally, got right is that each of us comes from the same source. Depending on how you view it, we bear the mark of a curse or gift. Each and every descendant bears the mark. If I find a new vampire, within his signature, I’ll know his creator. The same with shifters. No one can hide from me, because I can find their signature.”

  “Not everyone’s. You’re having a hard time finding this Tenebras person. They’ve managed to elude you.” I immediately regretted pointing that out. A wave of heat sweltered the room. The glow of his fiery eyes blasted me.

  Sorry. Got it. Don’t point out Dominic’s shortcomings.

  “True. They’ve never performed magic around me to be traced. Once the magic is pulled from you, I can track the source.” He took in a slow breath, the room cooled and returned to normal, and his eyes held his normal look of dying fire.

  “Continue,” he urged with a faint look. “Please.” He was trying, but he wore the effort on his face along with the remnants of his ire.

  I continued with the story. By the time I finished, his smile had been replaced by a rigid frown.

  “I performed magic.” It was the first time I’d said it aloud. It had been in my thoughts, but I was too busy trying to distance myself from it.

  “No, you were used in order for the ring to perform magic. It’s bound to you and your life energy is what’s fueling the spell. You’re blocking me from finding the owner.”

  A look passed over his face that I wanted to ignore, but it was too telling. One sweeping act of violence would break the spell and return the prisoners. Swallowing my fear, I tried to inconspicuously put more distance between us while I furtively looked around for a weapon. My phone was still in my back pocket, but it wasn’t much help without the benefit of surprise. And my punches had very little effect on him.

  “So, I’m a magic signal jammer?”

  “To put it simply, yes. Once unraveled from you, it can be tracked.”

  “Dominic.”

  His name came in a deep, throaty purr from the woman who swept into the room. Although she was a deeper olive than Dominic, there were obvious familial similarities. The same dark hair—hers pulled back into a chignon—amber eyes with flecks of gold and orange that looked like fading fire, striking sharp features, and captivating beauty.

  A broad smile remained on her face as she hugged him. She was clearly the affectionate one of the two; his squeeze in return was stiff and obligatory. She pressed a kiss to his cheek before she turned to me. I studied her flowy maroon V-neck bohemian maxi dress. A long slit revealed her legs and lace-up sandals as she moved. She linked her arm through his and the other she shoved in her pocket. That was the moment I envied the stylish woman. Her dress had pockets. I was sold, I needed it.

  Her eyes appraised me and snagged on my finger with the marking. “This is her? She’s the one?”

  Dominic’s head barely moved into the nod.

  “I don’t sense any magic. How can this be?” She moved closer, inspecting me like a peculiar creature she was attempting to name. She ran one finger from my forehead down to the tip of my nose. Then pressed it like it was some strange face button that would reveal my secrets to her.

  Boundaries! I thought, taking a small step back while Dominic explained everything to her. The distance I placed between us was quickly swallowed as she continued to scrutinize me with amusement. An amiable smile settled on her lips. I eased into it, relaxing some and ignoring her blatant disregard for social norms and acceptable social distance. Suddenly, her hand cuffed my neck. It was such a gentle touch that I didn’t feel t
hreatened.

  “Do you want me to kill her?” she asked in such a gentle, melodic voice it was like she was trying to ease me into acquiescence. I jerked from her hold and moved away. The genteel smile she gave me was unacceptable.

  No, psycho, I’m not okay with any part of this discussion.

  “Helena, no,” Dominic said firmly.

  Her eyes dropped to my finger that bore the markings. “Do you think your way is the wisest tactic?” she challenged, looking over her shoulder at him. “Perhaps alternatives should be explored.” She turned back to me, her smile and countenance far too kind, easy, and welcoming for a person discussing murder.

  I hated this world. I hated it so much.

  She shrugged at his stern look. “Her finger. Should we re—”

  “Helena,” he snapped. “She is protected. You won’t remove her finger, nor will you kill her. You have no business in this. Are we clear?”

  She frowned, her mood dampened, but I was very confident it was only because he raised his voice and not the censure that accompanied it.

  “Very well, we’ll do it your way. I’m off to have an early dinner.” She turned to me again. “Would you like to join me? We’re having roasted duck with beet salad and mashed pumpkin. I think you’d enjoy it.”

  Is she serious? Moments ago, she was requesting permission to kill me or sever my finger; now she wanted me as a dinner date. Nothing about this world was acceptable.

  Stunned into momentary silence, I just gawked at her. All the fear, frustration, confusion, and annoyance at being pulled into this abhorrent situation erupted.

  “No, you sociopathic bitch. I do not want to eat with you. What is wrong with you?”

  Unaffected by my outburst, her face remained chillingly pleasant as she gave Dominic another smile and quick peck on the cheek. “If she changes her mind, you will direct her to the dining room, won’t you?”

  “Of course,” he said, returning her pleasant smile.

  Our long silence was fraught with tension as I stared at him. Reaching into his pocket, he removed my ring and handed it to me. “My sister has a directness to her nature,” he attempted to explain.

  “The word ‘directness’ is reserved for people who are blunt and unintentionally rude, not for a person asking their brother for permission to murder or dismember someone.”

  “Her enjoyment leans toward darker elements. She finds a certain pleasure in murder and torture. She’s quite good at them both,” he said mildly, as if he’d just disclosed something mundane, like her favorite color was yellow. I wondered how different these siblings were. Was he okay with these behaviors but just didn’t really enjoy them to the extent she did?

  “What you call ‘darker elements’ is known to us mere humans as state’s evidence,” I tossed out before closing my eyes, inhaling the air, and letting the calm of being in a library wash over me. It was the only thing that kept me somewhat grounded.

  When my eyes opened, Dominic was close and staring down at me. Too close.

  “Are you afraid of me?” he asked.

  “You just described enjoying torture as darker elements of amusement. How should I feel about that?”

  He studied my lips, his face expressionless. Neither one of us spoke, just stood in the tension-filled silence. His eyes turned expectant as he waited for an answer.

  “No.” That wasn’t entirely true but close enough. Even if I felt it, admitting it to him—to myself—would change the balance. For some peculiar reason, I needed that. “I’m afraid of the woman who offered me food after glibly suggesting killing me or cutting off my finger,” I admitted.

  His voice was low, rough, unyielding. “She’ll never touch you as long as I wish for you to be safe,” he assured me as his eyes roved slowly over my face. “Nor will the others. The consequences would be too great.”

  With that, he was moving with a relaxed stride as if he’d offered me some comfort.

  He returned to the spellbook room’s door and looked back at me. I guessed I wasn’t going to get a please or will you follow me.

  8

  Back in the spellbook room, I was unsuccessfully trying to get used to the atmosphere and becoming increasingly curious why it didn’t bother Dominic. Did magic appeal to only magic? Could this room sense that I didn’t belong and its eeriness was repellent, trying to force me to leave? It was working; I didn’t want to be there.

  Leisurely moving from shelf to shelf, I examined the books while feeling the full weight of Dominic’s attention.

  “What should I do here?” I asked.

  “These books hold the strongest and most arcane magic known. Something in here should work.”

  I heard the hesitation in his voice and turned to him. “What else?” I asked.

  “You’ll be able to find it better than I can.”

  Lifting my finger, I said, “Because of this?”

  He nodded.

  Of course. It all came back to the markings on my finger. It was the beginning and the end.

  “What do I do?” I asked again.

  “Touch the books, go through the spells, and see if you feel anything. I believe antagonistic spells will respond to it.”

  “Spells that want to undo what’s in place.”

  He nodded.

  Find the books. Starting at the lower shelves, I ran my fingers over the bindings of the books, feeling sillier with each passing moment. Dominic urged me to continue but nothing happened. Then I took one off the shelf, slowly gliding my finger over each spell in the book. If another book bit me, dammit, I was going to bite back.

  After ten minutes, there was no refuting his logic or the hard jolt and noxious feeling I got when my hand went over certain spells. I placed a gray, age-warped book on the table and took some Post-its that someone had placed in the middle of the table and marked them. It went faster than I imagined once I realized slow, deliberate movements weren’t needed. The spells wanted to be found.

  I found the spells, and Dominic added them to a notebook, placing them on different pages; I assumed in categories based on their designation.

  Despite the phone screen having survived being used as a weapon, it wasn’t working. No service in the Underworld. Oddly, the clock on my phone hadn’t changed. I had no idea how long I had been searching. Hours had to have passed because my stomach was growling. Staying on task was increasingly difficult. But if the only option for food was to eat with Helena, I’d starve.

  “We should take a break,” Dominic suggested. “Let’s get some food.”

  He had to have heard my stomach, too. Understanding my hesitation, he went on. “Helena’s long finished with dinner. But we’ll go to the kitchen. That’s one place we’ll never find her.”

  “I know she eats, so why don’t you think I’ll run into her in the kitchen?” I said, following him out of the room, through the library, and down the hall. Avoiding her was my mission and not knowing how much time had passed, it was possible I could run into her again, on her way for a snack.

  “She eats but doesn’t believe she should have to prepare it. She has a kitchenette in her suite so she doesn’t have to come down for anything to drink.” The sharpness of disapproval was heavy in his voice. She was a self-indulgent prima donna who enjoyed “dark entertainment.” Helena seemed terrible on so many levels.

  The kitchen was a chef’s dream and larger than Books and Brew’s entire store. Black stainless steel throughout, and a large marble island near the double oven. One of the counters displayed a variety of pastries, cakes, and cookies that made my mouth water. A well-stocked wine fridge was to the left, and from what I could see it contained an extensive selection. The other door near the refrigerator was undoubtedly the pantry.

  Sitting on a leather barstool at the counter just a few feet from the fridge and the dessert display, I watched Dominic while he moved through the kitchen with familiarity. He opened the refrigerator and the pantry. When he finished, he placed an assortment of cheeses and breads, be
rries and grapes, prosciutto, summer sausage, and smoked salmon on a platter in front of me. He moved in graceful silence as he opened a bottle of pinot blanc and poured two glasses of wine.

  “I’d like water, please,” I requested when he placed one of the wine glasses in front of me. He nodded, took a bottle of water from the fridge, and poured water into a glass. “This should tide you over while I prepare something for you. Do you like steak?”

  “You don’t need to prepare anything. This is more than enough. I appreciate it,” I told him, looking at a platter that could easily feed four people.

  Nodding, he tilted the glass of wine he’d given me and finished it in a few swallows. He drank the other glass more slowly.

  Great, drunk research. Nothing can go wrong with that.

  I slid the platter over toward him to share. He took some bread and a few pieces of cheese, which I believed was just to be polite.

  Eating a few berries, I took in the view from the bay window. Moroccan-style lanterns provided ambient lighting for the mélange of flowers that managed to be simultaneously intriguing and disturbing.

  Dominic leaned in, his head close to mine, glimpsing what drew my attention.

  “Roses.” He pointed at a section of the garden. I could feel the warmth of his skin, smell his alluring scent. Focus, Luna, focus.

  He directed my attention to another section. “Black Forest calla lily, and those gruesome looking things are bat orchids, compliments of my sister’s wicked inclinations.”

  I nearly missed the bizarre plant as I became increasingly aware of his closeness, his warm, wine-scented breath breezing against my face. The hint of pear, white nectarine, and faint notes of honey and apple lingered on it.

  He didn’t seem to mind our proximity. He left just enough space between us to bring the glass to his lips again and for me to become acutely aware of how savagely beautiful he was. After finding myself staring at him, I shifted back and shoved a piece of cheese in my mouth and concentrated on tearing off a piece of baguette.