Page 100 of A Bond with the Dark

The first thing that comes to my mind is those idiots in Las Vegas and Dom killing them for attempting to rape Anna. This man murdered his own children and raped and tried to murder his sister and her son. This is the type of man who deserves to die, and he’s out and about, doing gods know what to gods know who.

Throughout my day at work, I research during my downtime, trying to focus on my daily grind—but this situation bristles me to my core, and I’m bound to kill two birds with one stone.

Literally.

I google Chaco Dominguez’s mugshot to find the stories about his crimes and his episode on my favorite true crime podcast,Sword and Scale, which is fueling the fire. Barely getting any of my work done, I formulate my entire plan while feigning a productive employee, ending the day by printing a map of the Denver area he is suspected to be in.

The minute I arrive home, I consult my grimoires, searching for the locator spell I’d seen in passing.

Gathering the color of candles I need and a few other ingredients, I sit in my living room in the candlelight and place the map and picture on the floor. Sprinkling some charcoal dust on the map, I hover my hand above the map and close my eyes.

In complete concentration, I summon Lilith.

“Dark goddess of death and madness, guide me to the one who shatters societal norms and embodies sickness itself. Illuminate his whereabouts, so together, we may deliver him unto you and purge the world of his insatiable malevolence.”

My vision goes black, drinking the light around me.

There are suddenly flashes of light, like spider silk, spindling a nightmare.

A dusty, dingy hotel room with two twin beds adorned in red floral print from the ‘80s. A heavy-set Mexican man with a thick Spanish accent is sitting before a rickety round table, snorting a line of cocaine. When he leans back up after snorting the line, I can see he has a thick black handlebar mustache, and his eyes are as hard and cold as night itself.

Two sickly-looking men are with him, speaking in Spanish, and while I do understand the language, I can’t make out what they’re saying.

The vision splinters, and when I open my eyes again, I’m back in my house, on my living room floor, sitting before my lit candles.

A sinister circle of charcoal dust marks the area around the hotel.

Before blowing out the candles, I take a photo of the map with the circle and plug it into Google Maps.

Dom is going to be at the house later. It has been a habit lately for him to come to my house when he gets off so we can at least see each other for a few moments.

Like ships in the night.

When my head hits the pillow, I’m so worked up with anticipation and rage I can hardly get my mind to shut off.

Sleep interlaces with my mind when I feel the bed shift, Dom climbing into bed beside me. It’s still dark in my room, so it must be early. I curl up to him, and he kisses my head.

“Hey,” I whisper into the darkness, his scent of Earth and cedar and maybe a little sweat surrounding him.

“Hi, beautiful,” he answers sleepily.

I snuggle up to his warm chest and feel that immediate comfort as he wraps me in his strong arms. Counting the breaths coming from his chest, I know he’s tired, but the anticipation of telling him my plan is eating away at me.

I have to tell him.

“I have someone for you,” I blurt out and feel him crane his neck to see me.

“Youhave someone for me?” His voice is stern.

“For you to kill.”

Silence.

Is this okay?

“Oh, you do, do you?” he deadpans.

Maybe he’s hesitant to have me be involved in the killer part of his world.

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