Page 32 of A Bond with the Dark

After parking at the 16th Street Mall, I search for the fountain that looks like a bunch of stacked blocks, as Mara had said.

Approaching the fountain, I place my hand on the smooth surface, and like a silent symphony, the water in the fountain obediently parts.

Emerging from the other side of the fountain into an inverted Denver, the skyline and cobblestone streets are devoid of cars. The graceful-hooved beings traversing the walkways and the vividly colored fairies fluttering about paint a picture of a world distinctly apart from the one I left behind. The towering structures remain recognizable, yet the two large moons casting a metallic glow against a rosy sky confirm I’ve crossed into a different realm.

Mara told me to look for a crystal shop calledWhispering Willow Potions.

Making my way through the hustle and bustle of Neverdusk, I find the store on the street she’d said it would be on.

The shop, ensconced within the verdant embrace of the concrete jungle around it, emanates an enchantment that draws seekers of magickal remedies. Adorned with winding vines and bioluminescent flowers, the exterior adds to the ethereal charm.

Pulling the handle on the wooden door, a bell chimes, alerting the keepers of the shop that I’ve entered.

The interior is bathed in a soft, ambient glow emanating from alluring crystals suspended from the ceiling. The air is rich with the heady fragrance of rare herbs and magickal ingredients. Shelves adorned with intricately labeled jars line the walls with powders, roots, and exotic flora. The polished, worn wooden floor creaks beneath my feet as I move through the shop, and the gentle sound of bubbling wafts from a hidden chamber. There are corners filled with beguiling trinkets, charms, spell books, and parchment scrolls bearing handwritten ancient recipes. The space feels both intimate and expansive.

The proprietor, a slender man wearing a dark blue cloak, moves gracefully among the shelves. His demeanor stiffens when he catches sight of me. His skin, the color of milk chocolate, flushes and takes on a darker hue.“Oh. The blood donors are down the way; I have none here,” he says in an accent I can’t place, his blueish-gray eyes sweeping over me with disdain.

“I’m not here for that,” I say hesitantly, not wanting to scare him. “I was hoping to ask you some questions.”

“I see.” He blinks owlishly. “I may not have the answers you seek, but I can try. Please, come with me.”

Nodding, I follow him to a back room beyond a layer of beaded curtains.

When we arrive at what looks to be his office, he sits amongst the clutter on his desk, and I take a seat in the chair opposite.

“I’m wondering if you have any information on the witches helping the fae king and queen make warlocks? Or maybe have any information on how to find the warlocks creating the inundation of grimspawn we’ve been having above.”

Like everyone else we’ve talked to, except Shayde, he pauses and rubs his brows. “I don’t think anyone in this area will have that information. But the Velvet Moonrise Coven in Vegas may have some answers.”

“The Velvet Moonrise Coven?” I repeat, setting the name to memory.

“Yes. They are a very large organization out there, shouldn’t be hard to find them.”

“So you are unaware of the grimspawn or the rise in their numbers or anything?”

He shakes his head, the blonde locs swaying with the movement. “They don’t come here, and I don’t make it up there often. If I hear anything, I can let you know somehow.”

“Yes, please, if you don’t mind.”

He retrieves a pad of paper and a pen from the drawer and hands them to me.I scribble my name and number and then offer the pad back to him.

“Also,” I add as he rips the top page off with my number and places the pad back in the drawer, “have you ever heard of a phoenix?”

His eyes narrow to crinkled slits. “The bird that rises from the ashes?”

“Well, yes, but in this case, I feel it would be a supernatural being. It’s mentioned in one of my mother’s grimoires as to how to defeat these grimspawns.”

He inventories his surroundings, his gaze sweeping over his bookshelves that take up one wall. “I may have seen something,” he says, rising and going to them. Pulling out a sizable burgundy book, he sits back down and flips through the pages.“Ah, yes. There.” He points to the page he’s opened up to, flipping the book around so that I can see better.

The drawing shows a woman floating in midair, naked, encased by flames. Her arms are outstretched, her head is tilted back. She seems to enjoy the fire rather than being burned by it.

He turns the book back around and leans in. “It says, The Phoenix will come when grimspawn ravage the earth. When times are detrimental, the only outcome is total annihilation. Look for them in the burning embers of the broken. Watch for them in the sorrows of the dismayed. They are conditioned for this; their souls are put through a series of tests to withstand the fire. For them to rise, they first must die.

“The margins here say,Last recorded phoenix was in sixteen ninety-two.That was around the time of the witch craze.”

“What does that mean?” I ask him, my voice thready with wonder.

“It means the phoenix will come when times get too dire.”

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