Page 32 of A Touch of Brimstone

My feet felt heavy walking toward the door and I glanced back at Reginald’s worried expression, trying to figure out how to make him remember. I gave him a little wave of reassurance.

“I’m going home to crash. I’ll be better on Thursday. Emoni is singing at the Wine-Down.”

The glint of excitement in his eyes was the lifeline I didn’t realize he needed. It was a brief moment of normality.

Who had wiped his memory? Dominic, the Conventicle, someone else? When Kane snatched me off the street, how long had they been watching me, and had I done something to implicate Reginald? I squashed any thoughts of telling Emoni; I couldn’t get her involved.

I knew I wouldn’t have to look for Anand. The moment I stepped out of the store, he found me. Emerging from nonexistent shadows again. He studied me for a long moment. If I looked as bleak as I felt, it had to be concerning to see. This was a game of survival and it appeared I was alone in it.

“Ready?”

Did it matter if I wasn’t? An unenthusiastic nod was all I could offer.

Traveling with Anand was different than with Dominic, and although it only took a few seconds, I spent that time wondering if I’d spiral into an unknown destination, a place between my world and the Underworld. Anand barely touched me. Once we were standing in front of the darkened estate that housed the Perils, he snatched his hands away from me as if he’d touched a flame. With Dominic, I knew we’d end up in the same place; with Anand, I wasn’t so sure.

In front of the gloomy house, devoid of the vitality of greenery and sunlight, I still found some comfort in knowing exactly where I was.

At our approach the doors opened, but we weren’t greeted with a fanfare of guards. The moment we breached the entrance, Anand headed in another direction. Initially I stood waiting, expecting Dominic to greet me. After several minutes, I realized he wasn’t coming. The large home was elegant and luxe but impersonal, making me feel even more alone since I no longer had Reginald in on it. Each step I made toward the spellbook room made tamping down my irritation harder. I was more determined than ever to repair the damage and sprint back to my nice, normal, magicless life.

No amount of encouragement or hype could prepare me for the feel of the spellbook room. I inhaled the comforting smell of leather, old paper, sandalwood, and hints of lavender that lingered in the air of the main library before stepping into the spellbook room. The feel and smell of it served its purpose as a staunch reminder of the dark and portentous world—and my new role in it.

As I dropped my bag on a chair, I took in the new changes: shorter bookcases, a juniper-scented candle on a warmer, a clock on the wall, and a bowl of fruit, individually packaged nuts, and chips in a bowl. The juniper couldn’t overshadow the scent of potent magic that thickened the air. Or the nudge of reproach it inflicted on me. I was an interloper. Definitely someone who didn’t belong, and the room made sure to remind me of that. The markings on my finger didn’t seem to be enough grounds for entry. Despite that, I removed the ring.

Taking a seat, I pulled out the notepad and looked at the notes I’d scribbled last night once I realized insomnia had won. Seven spells from the markings needed to be disengaged. Dominic hadn’t given me specifics, but I assumed they were spells that stopped shifters shifting, prevented vampires zoning, nullified magic abilities, inhibited preternatural strength, and bound prisoners to the cell. Two spells were missing; I wasn’t sure what they were needed for. Examining the markings on my finger again, I wondered if the other two were overlapping spells. Or I might not know what the hell I was doing, which was likely the most accurate possibility. I was still examining the markings when Dominic walked in.

“I would consider it a work of beauty if I didn’t know its purpose,” he said.

I wouldn’t go that far. It was unique and definitely a conversation starter, but not a work of beauty. Obviously, my views were biased.

Dominic looked at the notepad on the table with curiosity. My scribblings of words were in languages I wasn’t familiar with, and I had spread books out on the table.

“I got started,” I told him, keeping my eyes on my work. If I’d looked at him, it would reignite my anger that he might be the person who tampered with Reginald’s memories. That anger would just distract me. Stay focused and don’t deviate.

“As I expected you would,” he provided in a crisp voice. Feeling the weight of his eyes on me, I flicked a look at him and returned to sorting the spells from the book I was working on. His baleful indomitable presence added a heaviness to the room that poked at my flight response. Working and shooting him furtive glances made productive work impossible. Even when he’d moved to the other side of the table, his presence couldn’t be ignored.

“Luna.” Command rasped in his voice.

I ignored him. He called me again; it demanded compliance. Something I wouldn’t give. The stony silence continued, until I finally succumbed to it. My eyes locked with his.

“What the fuck did you do to Reginald!”

I was the only one surprised by my outburst. We watched each other with mutual skepticism.

“It needed to be done,” he said, his tone cool and his expression flat.

Did it? It wasn’t for Reginald’s safety; it was for theirs. “Did you compel him to forget, like vampires, or manipulate his memories?”

He nodded. “I can’t compel people, only vampires can. Manipulating memories is close.”

“Can you do it from just a look, like the vampires?”

His head barely moved into the nod but his eyes showed knowledge. I was sure Anand had told him about my run-in with Kane.

“Anand said I should gouge a vampire’s eyes out if they try to get me to look them in the eyes. What should I do to you?”

Moistening his lips, he fixed me with a roguish smile. “What would you like to do to me, Luna?” There was nothing innocent about his insinuating words or the look he gave me.

Heat ran up my neck and over my cheeks. I dropped my head to look at my book and hopefully hide my flush. If the warmth radiating on my face was any indicator, I wouldn’t be able to hide the strawberry coloring.

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