Page 22 of A Touch of Brimstone

He didn’t seem to find my comment insulting. In fact, he seemed pleased by it.

“It’s safe to assume that the people they deemed worthy of being imprisoned are worse.” I stepped closer, meeting his intense gaze. “You and I both know the Caster unleashed them all, and I suspect it was for one person. You have to be curious as to who and why.”

This was just my theory—an educated guess. Perhaps they wanted to sow chaos. Or it was a giant screw you to the arrogant domineering guardian of the Perils or the Conventicle who sent them there. But my gut was telling me there was more to it. I had no idea what, but if I was the only link, Dominic needed me more than he was willing to admit.

The taut muscles in his neck relaxed. There was a hint of a smile, but he quickly relaxed it until his expression was indecipherable.

“Come with me, please,” he said, and without another word, he led me back upstairs to the library. Tamping down my excitement became harder the farther we walked into it.

I wanted to open my arms wide and spin around, though I knew there was no spinning allowed. But how could I not in a library that rivaled the one in Beauty in the Beast?

“We’re going this way,” he directed, leading me to the far left. As I inched farther into the smaller room off the main library, leather and sulfur inundated the air. The room felt sentient. The thick air clung to me and wrapped around my limbs as if trying to determine if I belonged. I didn’t. Nor did I want to.

Despite the warm, gentle hues from the overhead lighting, the calming mint-green walls, the plush oyster-colored leather seats, the room was cold and shrouded in darkness. It teemed with an unsettling and ubiquitous toxicity. A fustiness that overtook my senses and coated the air with a thickness that made breathing a challenge.

“Spellbooks?” I pointed to the wall of weathered leather books in the tall bookcases that reached just a few inches shy of the ceiling.

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.”

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