Page 58 of A Sip of Sin

Munro

He couldn’t part with Hollen—not yet—but he still let go, leading Hollen home and turning away at the door. The room had smelled like cookies and sweetness before the door was shut, the flimsy wood not enough to keep anything out.

When he arrived back at the teahouse, his stomach was in his throat, his gut churning sharply. The others had left, dismissed almost as soon as they had arrived, except Erie. He was bentover a thick yellowing volume, scanning the page before flipping it to the next gently.

There was no calm permeation of spices, only a quiet loneliness that had steadily been getting louder. In the hours between Hollen, a bleakness had settled in.

“I won’t be able to find this, Munro.” Erie straightened from the book. His eyes were clouded with red. As far as Munro knew, he hadn’t rested since he’d left his home, clearly on edge since he’d arrived.

Munro closed the distance between them, peering at the page. The ink was tiny and swirled, the language barely recognizable.

Erie stretched his hand across the table, rubbing his pinky finger against the back of Munro’s hand. “You and I both know what needs to happen here. I can go through these ancient books and comb the past for magic, but I won’t find it here.”

“I won’t do it.” Munro shook his head. “I can’t.”

“As much as you think you are, you’re not alone in this world.” Erie lowered his voice, the syllables soothing. “I’ll help you.”

A sob was caught in his throat, tears dangling in his eyes as he burned. He couldn’t respond. Strength had been his ally for the entirety of his life, but now he was reduced to a whimpering beast by a demon.

“Don’t help me.” Munro shook his head, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. His fingers came away wet.

“Munro.” Erie let out a long sigh, closing the book with a thud. “You don’t have a choice anymore.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Hollen

Adair touched his cheek, his hand a gentle caress in a tumultuous dream. The landscape of sand and golden tapestries slowly retreated until he blinked his eyes open, staring at the ceiling above.

“You okay, baby? You fell asleep on the couch.” Adair touched him again, his nerves prickling as he retreated. A chill was left in his wake, streaking across Hollen’s face.

“Am I…okay?” Hollen rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His limbs were heavy with sleep and something more, his stomach twisting from hunger. The air smelled of peppers and something fresh, the taste of it on his tongue where there had been salt and sand a moment ago. “I don’t know.”

Adair’s face darkened with concern as he placed the back of his hand over Hollen’s forehead. “You’re not warm. If anything, you feel a little cool. Did you need a blanket?”

Hollen shook his head. If Adair put a blanket on him, the weight would surely squash him. His clothes were heavy, made of iron instead of light fabric. Even breathing was difficult.

“You’ve been working too hard.” Adair bit his lip. “Night shifts are always hard on you, but this one seems worse. The next time I see your boss, I’ll give him a piece of my mind.”

“Don’t.” It was barely above a whisper. “I can’t do this right now.” Hollen closed his eyes, the dreams beckoning him again. It had been so peaceful there with the warmth of the sun on his tanned skin and his lips aching from kissing someone. He had a feeling it wasn’t Munro in his dreams but someone else. A flash of blond hair and brown eyes shifted over his vision. They seemed so familiar.

“Hollen.”

Hollen shifted at the sound of his name, slowly blinking his eyes open again. The lines on Adair’s face had deepened, concern etched into him.

“What’s going on?”

Hollen let out a huff. It was impossible to explain. He could feel himself in his own skin, the fractured slivers lying next to George and shrinking by the day. “George.”

George shifted, whispering beneath his skin. “Sleep.”

Adair touched his face again, frantically moving his fingers. “What do you mean? Hollen?Hollen?”

*****

George

“He’s asleep,” said George, his voice echoing through Hollen’s lips as Hollen slipped away to the back of his mind, the dreamscape George had built for him more peaceful than any of his waking days. “He’s been working hard, and he’s exhausted. Please let him sleep.”

---