Page 72 of A Bond with the Dark

“The greater good would be for her to find her fire and stay alive so that we will have her around to keep them from respawning, Mom!”

“Dom, don’t yell at me, I’m only trying?—”

“No! I know what you’re trying to do. Just chill the fuck out and let me handle this. I’ll get her to find it, please. I need more time.”

“There’s nothing I can do, Dom. They know where she lives now. If she doesn’t find her magick by that moon, they will come to kill her.”

Pulling the phone from my ear, I click the red disconnect button and hang up on her.

I can’t even with her right now.

I’m sure I can figure this out before anyone comes to kill her. I’ve already invited her over to the lake house to meet my parents, so if I can keep her alive until then, they’ll see for themselves what a powerful being she is. Then, I can force them to help me.

Steeling myself, I calm my racing nerves as I enter the tunnel below a bridge by the shade cover and find my way to their hiding place.

Their sanctuary is exactly where Jesse said it would be, and as I duck under a fort made of boxes, the mixture of opium and weed swirls around me. The far end of the little house opens up to another tunnel, and beyond this, magick occurs. The barrier that keeps mortals out senses the magick in my blood, and instead of hitting a wall, I walk through it.

As I step through the threshold, leaving Vegas’s grit and neon glare behind, I am enveloped in an otherworldly atmosphere. The architecture of the building echoes the grandeur of a Gothic cathedral, with towering arches and ribbed vaults reaching toward the heavens. The stone pillars are adorned with twisting vines and carved with arcane symbols, and gargoyles take the form of fantastical creatures—half-human, half-beast, frozen in eternal vigilance over the sacred space. The air is heavy with the scent of ancient incense, and a dim, ethereal light filters through the stained glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic patterns on the stone floor.

Instead of the traditional scenes of saints and biblical narratives, the windows are adorned with intricate depictions of witches in various states of power and enchantment. Their figures are rendered in vivid hues of emerald green, deep purple, and midnight black; their faces etched with determination or masked in mystery. Each pane tells a story of magic and mysticism, capturing moments of spellcasting, flight on broomsticks, and communion with the natural world.

The flickering candlelight dances across the walls, casting eerie shadows that seem to come alive in the corners of my vision. The atmosphere is charged with a palpable energy, a potent mix of reverence and foreboding. It’s as if the stones of the building hum with ancient power, whispering secrets of forgotten spells and lost rituals.

Laughter comes from a back room, and I find my way there. When I open the door, I am greeted by the pungent aroma of cookies, witches happily laughing at a table playing cards, and an atmosphere thick with happiness and contentment.

“Hi,” says a witch with amber eyes and blonde hair. “Can we help you?”

“Yes, I’m Dominic Sangravelli. I was hoping I could ask you some questions about the grims infecting our cities.”

“Come join us, Dominic,” Blondie says.

She’s a gorgeous older witch sporting a colorful bandana around her head and a plethora of silver bangles, every finger decorated with colorful rings. She has kind eyes and a bright aura.

“We’ll answer what we can.”

Sliding into one of their chairs, four alluring beauties surround me, all with different hair colors and glimmering bright auras. Spinning my tale for them, I explain what I’ve learned so far and how I came to be here.

“It seems like you’re looking in the wrong places, Dom,” the witch named Emma states as I finish my story.

“You mean the Neverdusk?” I inquire, it dawning on me that I’ve been searching the wrong realm.

She nods and takes a joint that’s being passed around. “They are not going to give you answers because their king, Trystan, is causing this for his own means. You need to look in the Luminara—the light fairy realm.”

“How do I get there?”

“Unfortunately, you can’t,” Krystal says, her brown eyes sparkling into mine. “Because of the feud between Trystan and Tallyn, all access points to Luminara have been closed. You can only go there via invitation.”

“I met with Tallyn herself. She said nothing of this. She seemed like she was new to the information that I was giving her,” I say, inhaling the scent of marijuana lingering with the other scents of patchouli and elderberry incense.

“Never trust the fae,” Nicole states, her onyx brows that rival her hair and pierced with several rings tighten in severity.

“You probably gave her the information she needed to go after Sayah,” Emma adds dismally.

My eyes widen. “What do you mean?”

“If she and her brother are feuding again, and he is making the warlocks, then she will want them gone as much as your family and the Nyktorim Syndicate do. She will want Sayah’s death as well.”

Fuck.

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