Page 88 of Magic of the Damned

“I just want to go home,” I pled, my voice low, aware of the dark-skinned man with low-cut hair and round-rim glasses that he moved to the tip of his nose in order to scrutinize me. His attire—crisp white shirt, blue herringbone vest with matching slacks—made me feel underdressed in my t-shirt and leggings. There was judgment in his look, which I ignored, going back to trying to get into the room, shoving my hip against the door to barge my way in. The room remained resolute in its denial.

When I added more force, it responded by tossing me back a few more feet. Once I regained my footing, I approached the door again and pressed my forehead against the cool wood. “I just want to look at your books. I will treat each book with the utmost respect, I promise.”

A pledge that didn’t cause it to waver.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. You know me. Let me in the damn room,” I scolded through clenched teeth.

This was a new low. Fighting with a sentient room for entrance. The door remained closed. Removing the anger from my voice, I tried requesting again. It denied my request.

Closing my eyes, I kept my forehead pressed against the door. Maybe the room would have mercy or open just to have me fall flat on my face. I didn’t care what manner the room let me in, just that it would.

Startled by the hand brushing past me and reaching for the handle, I was face to face with Dominic. As soon as we were in the room, he turned me toward him.

“Anand told me about your injury. I’d like to see it.”

I nodded. Taking the same kneeling position Anand had, he lifted my shirt.

“It’s not really an injury. Just a scrape,” I said.

Scrape minimized it, but injury seemed to misrepresent it as well. The warmth of his deeply exhaled breaths breezed across my stomach. His fingers kneaded the skin of my back as he held me in place. If I shifted forward just an inch or so, his lips would be pressed against me. I pushed those thoughts away. Being distracted from my objective wasn’t an option. Dominic blinked. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one who’d let my thoughts go to naughtier places, although it was obvious our denial was for different reasons. It was in the tension of his fingers as they held me, the set of his jaw, and the deep contemplation in his eyes. It was obvious that what he’d discovered about me last night was with him.

His fingers moved across my stomach, leaving a menthol coolness in its wake. The scent of lavender permeated the room, and I eased into the peace that it offered. Dominic stood, taking with him the warmth of his body, which reminded me of the room’s cool disapproval of my presence.

“Can you tell me which shade did this to you?” he asked, his deep eyes searching mine.

“No.” It was the truth, but if I could have given him a better description, I wouldn’t have. The thirst for violence and revenge laced his question. I knew nothing of the shades or whether they were like me, victims of circumstance and magic. I wouldn’t sentence them to further violence. Anand’s punishment was enough. I’d never forget their screams.

“I’ve heard Anand’s version of what occurred. I’d like to hear yours.”

I told him, taking out a lot of the commentary, especially the familiarity of the touch exchanged between Anand and Helena. I paid close attention to Dominic’s reaction when I told him of Helena’s comment about Areleus’s intolerance for abnormalities, an opinion shared by the supernaturals in my world. Dominic’s expression remained indecipherable. His eyes were intense with thought.

“They were able to maintain their solid forms around you?”

I nodded. “They were shadows until they were close. There were a lot of them. What are the shades?”

“The truly cursed. They’re Sorcees. Their own race, best described as sorcerer-demon hybrids. It’s much darker magic, stronger than anything witches possess. They were never given Strata designation because their magic fell into its own category. Like ours. They’ve existed longer than I have, forced to live in this underworld for their misdeeds in your world. They could take on less offensive forms than the ones you saw, allowing them to navigate through your world quite effectively. You saw them in their true form. They are agents of strife and cruelty.”

Well, that decreased my desire to protect them, and the guilt I felt about Anand’s response.

“Their loyalty lay with their kind only. They directed their cruelty, violence, and magic to everyone alike. My grandfather discovered a way to capture them and imprison them here in the underworld, where their lack of form gives them no power. Death would have been preferable, but that had proven very difficult. This was the quickest way to eliminate them. And with their history of hurting supernaturals, they quickly relinquished some of their authority to us because of that.”

“That’s why you were given the role of policing them,” I surmised.

He nodded. “It was a dark archaic spell.” From the rigidity of his voice, I knew he was holding something back.

My speculations ran rampant as I tried to piece together everything that had taken place over the past few weeks. “There’s more to why you eliminated the Dark Casters, isn’t there?” I asked.

Dominic took a long time to answer, perhaps deciding whether to give me the varnished version. I grappled with which version I wanted, as well.

“Dark Casters are the only ones who would be able to release the shades, and they made it their objective to do so. They are menace by nature. No peace or rules work for them. When that happens, clearing the slate is best.”

Clearing the slate is best? Banal description for such a violent act. Killing off a whole group of supernaturals. My goal to leave the underworld refueled, I moved to the bookshelf, grabbing books in English and perusing them for spells. As I stacked the books I wanted to review more thoroughly, I could feel the weight of Dominic’s evaluating stare.

Taking a seat across from my stack of books, he reclined in the chair, his fingers laced behind his head as he tracked my every movement as I removed books from shelves. The buzz of energy from the room’s offence at my invasion continued. Something had changed since my last visit. Before, the room offered me wary acceptance, whereas now there was poorly repressed hostility.

“You believe I missed a spell,” he stated.

I understood the humor in his voice and the implication that a novice would be able to discover something he hadn’t. Plopping down in a chair across from him, I set several English spellbooks on the table.

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