Page 10 of A Touch of Brimstone

“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 the 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.

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