Page 45 of The Shadows of Excess

“To get these crazy images out of my head, I’m ready to do anything.” My voice cracked with desperation.

Damon’s muscular frame took up most of the space on my bed as he sat beside me, his arm reassuringly draped over my shoulder. “Don’t worry, sis.” He winked. “We’ve gotten ourselves out of stickier situations than this. And if things get too eerie, remember—I can be way scarier than any ghost.” He playfully gave me his Incredible Hulk scowl.

I leaned my head against his shoulder, feeling a wave of gratitude. “Thanks,” I murmured. Damon’s attempts at brotherly comfort were rare enough to always catch me off guard, stirring emotions deep within me. I blinked away the tears that threatened to surface.

Despite his rough, tough-guy facade, moments like these revealed a gentler side. The warmth of his gesture reached deep into my heart, reminding me of the unspoken twin bond we shared.

As Justice swung open the creaky hotel room door, I stepped out into the brightly lit parking lot. The constant barrage of images and voices in my head had finally stopped, leaving me feeling oddly disoriented. Maybe it was because we were actively chasing them now, or maybe it was only a temporary respite. Either way, I was grateful for the moment of silence as we made our way down the hall.

Damon gripped the steering wheel of the Fairlane as we climbed inside. He glanced at me, concern etched on his face. “You okay?”

I nodded and forced a smile. “I’m fine,” I insisted, trying to mask the nervousness that gripped me.

As we headed toward the library, the atmosphere shifted from tense to a more focused determination. The old red brick building loomed ahead, its ancient stones whispering secrets of the past. It was as old as this town. Damon and I had roamed its hallways more times than I could count.

My brother parked the car, and we got out.

Damon trailed behind, muttering under his breath as he kept pace. His protective gaze never left me, even as he shot wary glances at Justice.

“I still think this could be a wild goose chase,” Damon muttered. “But hey, if it gets us one step closer to figuring out this psychic puzzle of yours, I’m in.”

Justice chuckled softly. “That’s the spirit, Damon. Who knows? You might even find something interesting among these ‘dusty shelves.’”

“I’ve seen them. They’re as exciting as watching grass grow.”

I shook my head and smiled. Research had never been Damon’s forte. He was more of a guns-blazing type of dude.

Justice opened the door for us, and I inhaled the familiar scent of old paper and leather, a testament to the centuries of knowledge housed within. Rows upon rows of bookshelves stretched endlessly, filled with leather-bound tomes, dusty manuscripts, and weathered scrolls, some so old that they seemed to whisper secrets of a bygone era.

In the center of the library stood a large wooden reading table, its surface scarred with the marks of time, surrounded by high-backed chairs that had borne witness to countless readers over the years. The soft creak of our footsteps on the wooden floorboards underfoot or the distant rustle of pages being turned occasionally broke the hushed atmosphere.

I led them toward the back of the library with its display of pictures, history books, and newspaper articles from Mystic Ridge. “We should go to the local section.”

Damon and Justice trailed behind me. Rather, Justice was right behind me. My brother was dragging his feet.

The local history section was a cozy enclave steeped in the essence of Mystic Ridge. I glanced at the walls displaying a gallery of the town’s past, adorned with black-and-white photographs and aged maps. Shelves brimmed with local histories and folklore, their well-worn spines telling tales of frequent handling. Interspersed among the books were artifacts in glass cases. Old newspaper clippings and letters, each a fragment of the town’s rich tapestry.

Damon sighed, his gaze sweeping over the endless rows of books with dismay and resignation. “Great, a library. It’s like being back in high school, minus the bad cafeteria food and hot cheerleaders. What’s the game plan here? Thumbing through dusty old books isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.”

“Just help me, Damon,” I pleaded as I headed over to a bookshelf, looking for anything on graveyards.

Damon flipped through picture books at the display while Justice wandered down an aisle on the other side of me.

I ran my fingers over the smooth leather bindings of the antique books, their spines displaying faded gold letters and intricate designs. The musty scent of aged paper filled my nose, making me feel like I had stepped back in time.

As I headed down the quiet aisle, the only sound was the soft creaking of the wooden floor under my feet. But as I reached out to touch a worn book, a sudden shock shot through my body like an electric current, making my arms tingle and my hair stand on end. My heart raced as I stumbled back, tasting the metallic tang of adrenaline in my mouth.

The air around me seemed to hum with energy, and a faint smell of ozone lingered where the spark had occurred. It was almost as if the books were alive, holding some unseen power within their pages.

“What the hell?” I grumbled as I shook my still-stinging hand. I looked at my fingernails, expecting them to have turned black, but they hadn’t changed.

I examined the book, but I couldn’t read the faded words on the spine.

My heart raced as Justice turned the corner, his long strides carrying him toward me with purpose. I felt the urgency in his movements, and my stomach twisted with nervous anticipation.

He reached me and grabbed my shoulders with a firm grip, sending waves of reassurance through me. His gaze searched mine as he scanned my body for any signs of injury, worry lines etched on his face.

When he found no harm, a small sigh escaped his lips, but he didn’t release his hold. It was as if he needed the physical connection to confirm I was truly okay. He gazed at me intensely, searching for invisible wounds only he could see.

---