A Touch of Brimstone by McKenzie Hunter

7

“You won’t be able to enter the Underworld without me,” Dominic explained after several minutes of my contemplative staring at his hand. My internal debate continued long after his explanation. It took a lot of pep talk and coaxing for me to fully give in to my decision and take his hand.

I was going to the Underworld.

His lips quirked into a half-smile. His warm fingers entwined with mine.

“What?” I asked.

“I’m glad you agreed. This way is far more preferable. I don’t believe you would have liked the alternative.”

“What was the alternative?”

I took the flicker of menace that shadowed his features and the trace scents of amber, gold, and burnt orange that arose as indications that the alternative was probably more barbaric. Something along the lines of me getting tossed over his shoulder and carried away. I frowned.

I tugged slightly to loosen his grip on my hand. It was hard to relax around him. He’d saved my life but had caged me in flames. I shuddered at the memory. What would have been my fate if I were a Dark Caster?

His mouth barely moved as a diaphanous shimmering wall appeared. There was a moment of hesitation before I allowed him to lead me into it and then we were plunged into complete darkness. Heat poured over me and needlelike prickles flitted over my body. It wasn’t painful but a discomfort I would be happy never to feel again.

When the darkness lifted, it was no longer midday; the moon offered a muted melon glow over the stone castle-like mansion. The palatial building couldn’t be fully taken in. Neatly manicured bushes surrounded the home and lush forestry lay on the outskirts. Instead of verdant green, the leaves were variations of dark grays and deep currant. The air was inundated with notes of pepper and sage. The light from the moon hit a large lake off to the right.

Intricately carved decorated columns surrounded the home, supporting the balcony above. Thick curtains covered the windows. This wasn’t at all what I expected from a supernatural prison.

At Dominic’s arrival, the doors swung open and six guards greeted him on each side. They were dressed in black button-downs and slacks, a small emblem on the chest. Daggers sheathed at their waists and swords sheathed at their backs, each stood at attention, relaxing to ease once Dominic had passed. Their furtive looks of discomfort and intrigue stayed on me, and I felt them continue as we headed along the marble floor through an entrance the size of my apartment.

Abstract art and sculptures on pedestals. The number of winged creatures on display was astonishing. Angels? Was this irony? One sculpture of a copper-winged person on its knees in what looked like supplication—its wings fanned together behind its back—seemed to be a statement piece. I slowed to give it a better look.

It wasn’t me being distracted by the sculpture or being several feet behind him that placed a wary frustration on Dominic’s face. “That is all,” he told the guards. “No need for such formality at my arrival. At ease. Always.”

He looked at me, I assumed to tell me to follow. Before we could continue down the long expansive entryway, one of the guards responded.

“But your father—”

“You’re my guards. You answer to me, not my father.” He made an attempt at a smile, but it seemed to be too much effort. “I will talk to him about it. For me, this is unnecessary.”

You don’t get a twelve-guard welcome if you’re just a glorified babysitter of misbehaving supernaturals. Dividing my attention between the infinite gray of the outdoors offered by the large picture windows, the guards at the door, the palatial home, and the spiraling dual staircases we’d passed, my attention finally returned full circle to Dominic. His brows rose.

“Have you forgotten the reason for your visit, Luna?”

With the mildest change of inflection, lilt, or modulation he managed to say so much with just the simple use of my name. I hated it. A sharp emphasis on the L made it a chastisement. I took a few larger steps to catch up with him. To match his long strides, I had to take double steps. He seemed to be all legs.

“In my world, guards usually don’t live in a mansion, and I’m sure they don’t get such a reception whenever they go home. I’m willing to bet at work they probably just get a simple wave, maybe an unenthusiastic nod before going through a metal detector,” I pointed out, leaving an opening for him. Which he didn’t take, simply responding with a shrug.

“You’re more than just the guardian of the Perils, aren’t you?”

He ignored my question.

This guy.

“You’re…” I prompted, letting the word linger.

“Dominic.”

“Oh, all Dominics are greeted with a military welcome?”

He stopped abruptly. His depthless dark eyes, which always had a flicker of a fading fire in them, studied me in contemplative silence before he resumed his rushed long-strides.

“Why are you guarding prisoners? It seems like you’re in a position to have others do that.” It would be a lot easier to continue with my questioning if he was more forthcoming and not power walking.

“I have help.”

“You do most of it?”

A tiny nod in response.

“Is it a micromanagement situation? Do you feel like you’re the only one who can handle it?”

He sped up, forcing me to jog and ignore the rows of closed doors we passed just to keep pace with him. We turned down a long hallway. At the sight of the library, I stopped. Seeing it lifted my mood even if for just a moment.

Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a rolling ladder, vaulted ceiling with gilded trimmings. In the corner, there were oversized plush chairs in pairs with a small table between, and a circular ottoman in front of each. On the other side of the room, a semi-private area boasted a cognac-colored leather chaise. Warm yellow walls made the room so inviting. The only thing that would complete the paradise would be a coffee/tea bar and a snack station. I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to leave it, even for food.

I stepped in, inhaling the scent of leather, vellum, aged paper, and the faint scent of oak that lingered in the air. It was like being hugged by a book. It took effort not to just stay there, but I turned around to find Dominic regarding me with a smirk.

“Sorry,” I said, backing out.

We returned to our journey down the never-ending hallway. After another turn, he unlocked beautiful double doors, but when I pressed my hands against them, they were heavier than expected and more difficult to move than Dominic made it look.

The doors led us to another section of the house that seemed as if it didn’t belong. Dull beige walls, unimpressive flooring, and no evocative art, beautiful décor, or beautiful libraries. This area was functional. Dominic stopped at a heavy door that I assumed led to the prison. To my surprise, there wasn’t a lock or any other barrier to entry.

“You sure magic released them and they just didn’t walk out?” I mumbled.

He turned to face me, studying me, his expression indecipherable, but the intensity of his gaze could not be ignored. When he moved closer, the heat of his body wrapped around me, his fiery gaze held mine, and pulling away didn’t feel like an option. He studied me with interest, while I just gawked at him like a person oblivious to the social contract of not staring.

“You are quite the peculiar human, aren’t you?”

In my book, peculiar was right up there with exotic. Definitely on the wrong side of normal but not interesting enough to be considered quirky and not unique or winsome enough to be weird.

He whispered something; the door illuminated and opened. I followed him down the spiral stairs, holding close to the rough stone walls of the stairwell faintly lit by warm yellow sconce lights that ran along the walls.

A dungeon. Significant parts of the footage were dedicated to the supernatural prison. My expectations were squalid conditions and minimal amenities. A stone-walled antechamber with harsh unforgiving lights and what looked to be poorly cleaned bloodstains on cement floors led to a large room, divided into two rows of twenty-by-twenty smaller rooms, each with a full-size bed and a small door that I assumed led to a bathroom. The front of each room had frosted glass instead of bars.

It was far better than any prison I’d seen on TV, but for occupants who spent their days causing chaos, killing, and pillaging, a mundane existence in a small room must’ve been torture.

“This is where you keep the worst of the worst?” I asked, still surprised by the decent conditions.

“The only sentence in the Perils is life.”

“Once they’re sentenced, they die here?” I frowned. “Aren’t vampires immortal? And shifters and witches can live to be close to two hundred. This is where they stay for whatever infraction landed them here until they die of old age? What happens to vampires?”

He seemed surprised by my breadth of knowledge.

“The Discovery of Magic,” I reminded him.

Nodding, he frowned. “I obtained a copy. That book is grossly inaccurate and I urge you to be very wary of the information within it. The only thing that was correct was the information about the existence of vampires, shifters, and witches. Vampires can only be killed with a stake through the heart. It failed to mention that if they feed before they meet true death, they live. Best way to kill a vampire is to subdue them with a stake to the heart and take off the head.”

I took a shuddering breath. As detailed and explicit as the book was, I wasn’t disappointed with that being left out. I’m sure if it were included, pages would have been dedicated to ways of murdering a vampire. “Shifters?”

“In that book, magic is underestimated and everything about shifters is wholly incorrect. They don’t require the moon to change—as you witnessed during your encounter with the wolf. They heal extremely fast. Silver weakens them, but to kill them, other than beheading them, silver must puncture the heart and remain there until it stops beating. Their dominant magic is their ability to shift into animals and advanced healing, which makes them particularly dangerous. They are immune to magic but have the ability to sense it, even through cloaks. The immunity to magic also prevents them having it. Or so we thought. One anomaly exists. Vadim—the wolf shifter you released—”

“I didn’t release him,” I interjected, refusing to be assigned culpability to an offense in which I was made an unwilling participant.

He continued. “Vadim has proven to be immune to silver and to possess magic. When one possesses such power, they don’t believe they must adhere to any rules. He didn’t. I tracked him for decades. He escaped twice until we found a way to contain him.” His eyes flicked to me. “Until he was released.” There wasn’t any accusation in his voice but it was potent in his eyes: whether or not it was intentional, he held me at the same level of guilt as the person truly responsible for the spell.

Despite needing to figure out how much disinformation was in The Discovery of Magic, I was in desperate need of a small break. I moved toward one of the enclosures to get a better view of the markings on the wall. Up close, they looked exactly like the ones on my finger. There were no grounds for denial. This was proof of my link to the magic that released the prisoners.

“What happened the day they were released?” I asked.

“I felt the magic. It was hard to miss, but by the time I got down here, they were gone and in their place were the sigils from this casted spell. It broke all seven spells we had on each cell to keep them restrained.”

“Seven?”

“Yes. That one spell broke a myriad of magical spells that took decades to perfect. When you are dealing with the most powerful and ruthless of the supernaturals, it’s prudent to be cautious.”

“I don’t have magic. I didn’t cast the spell.”

“You were used as a conduit. This magic resembles the work of a Dark Caster. One who is smart about going undiscovered, which is why they used you.”

“I’m still confused as to how I can help.” Magicless and used as a conduit, what exactly could I do?

“You are the common link.” His eyes dropped to my marked finger. “The magic needs to be removed from you. Once it is, I will be able to trace the location of the Caster without it being skewed by you.”

A dark delight flitted across his face. Although this was problematic for him, he held the look of a man who found exhilaration in the chase and the mystery. Or maybe it was the promise of reprisal. I was pretty sure the Dark Caster’s punishment wouldn’t be a stay in the Perils. Dominic’s earlier comments about their old ways of torture and murder haunted me.

This made me think of Peter’s constant affirmation of Winston Churchill’s adage “History is written by the victors.” Were the prisoners as bad as Dominic and the others wanted me to believe they were, or was I getting my information from the victors? I was willing to concede that among the supernaturals, there were their own degrees of awfulness, present company included.

I couldn’t afford to delve into this philosophical minefield, I thought as I touched the wall with the sigil.

“Undo,” I whispered. Then I said, “Stop it. Bring them back.” It devolved to me just tossing out any words that I thought might reverse the spell. How could it hurt? The spell that I invoked was just a mishmash of senseless words, so my hypothesis wasn’t necessarily ridiculous. Or at least I didn’t think so until I turned to find Dominic with a look of bemused incredulity.

“You are an odd one, aren’t you?” He frowned and turned toward the stairs. “Come,” he ordered.

It was said with such indomitable coolness that my instinct was to follow. Until I decided that this was a perfect time to set boundaries for a man who seemed to expect full compliance without challenge. He needed me just as much as I needed him. We were partners in this. And even if we weren’t, Learn some damn manners.

I didn’t move. He’d walked several feet before realizing I wasn’t with him.

He looked over his shoulder. “Luna, come,” he demanded.

I’m not your toy poodle.

“It’s ‘Luna, please follow me’ or ‘Will you follow me?’. Things between us will be a lot more pleasant if you learn the words will, please, and thank you.”

The smile had returned, with a dark, dangerous undercurrent. He approached me with the measured grace of a predator. Glints of amber and gold glowed intensely in his eyes.

He looked at my arms crossed over my chest.

It took several moments before he spoke. “Luna.” There was a coarse edge placed on my name. “Thank you for that advice. Will you please understand that if I kill you now, the spell will be broken and the prisoners returned?”

I swallowed hard and shored up resolve that was hard earned. If things were that simple, he would have done it. With that knowledge I stood my ground.

“Possibly, but I’m almost positive it will happen again. The next time the Dark Caster may be cleverer and you won’t even find the person they used. It’s them that you really want.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. As his eyes continued to bore into me, it was clear he was a man who was never defied or challenged.

“Killing me might be the easy way out, but as you said, it’s only a short-term solution. You want the Caster and to find out their motive.” I shrugged. “The way I see it, the Conventicle seemed really upset and scared that the prisoners are at large, and with the possible exception of two or three people in that group, they’re awful and have a questionable moral compass. I’m going to include you in the questionable moral compass.”

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.”

Dominic frowned. “This spell is strong, like a scorched earth scenario. The spells we had that neutralized their magic, strength, and ability to teleport were all destroyed. The binding spell that kept them tethered to the room is broken. And there’s no scent to detect. Tenebras Obducit—Dark Caster—magic is immense, their spells nearly insurmountable. And this particular spell was so meticulously engineered, it will be difficult to find them.”

Despite what he’d just admitted, he didn’t seem hopeless, which I couldn’t claim. Despair was slowly engulfing me. Optimism about getting out of this situation was slowly dwindling.

“Then how will they be found?”

“You. Once we are able to unravel the spell, its owner’s signature will be revealed. I can use that to track them as long as it is unlinked from you. One thing that your little book, I’m sure accidentally, got right is that each of us comes from the same source. Depending on how you view it, we bear the mark of a curse or gift. Each and every descendant bears the mark. If I find a new vampire, within his signature, I’ll know his creator. The same with shifters. No one can hide from me, because I can find their signature.”

“Not everyone’s. You’re having a hard time finding this Tenebras person. They’ve managed to elude you.” I immediately regretted pointing that out. A wave of heat sweltered the room. The glow of his fiery eyes blasted me.

Sorry. Got it. Don’t point out Dominic’s shortcomings.

“True. They’ve never performed magic around me to be traced. Once the magic is pulled from you, I can track the source.” He took in a slow breath, the room cooled and returned to normal, and his eyes held his normal look of dying fire.

“Continue,” he urged with a faint look. “Please.” He was trying, but he wore the effort on his face along with the remnants of his ire.

I continued with the story. By the time I finished, his smile had been replaced by a rigid frown.

“I performed magic.” It was the first time I’d said it aloud. It had been in my thoughts, but I was too busy trying to distance myself from it.

“No, you were used in order for the ring to perform magic. It’s bound to you and your life energy is what’s fueling the spell. You’re blocking me from finding the owner.”

A look passed over his face that I wanted to ignore, but it was too telling. One sweeping act of violence would break the spell and return the prisoners. Swallowing my fear, I tried to inconspicuously put more distance between us while I furtively looked around for a weapon. My phone was still in my back pocket, but it wasn’t much help without the benefit of surprise. And my punches had very little effect on him.

“So, I’m a magic signal jammer?”

“To put it simply, yes. Once unraveled from you, it can be tracked.”

“Dominic.”

His name came in a deep, throaty purr from the woman who swept into the room. Although she was a deeper olive than Dominic, there were obvious familial similarities. The same dark hair—hers pulled back into a chignon—amber eyes with flecks of gold and orange that looked like fading fire, striking sharp features, and captivating beauty.

A broad smile remained on her face as she hugged him. She was clearly the affectionate one of the two; his squeeze in return was stiff and obligatory. She pressed a kiss to his cheek before she turned to me. I studied her flowy maroon V-neck bohemian maxi dress. A long slit revealed her legs and lace-up sandals as she moved. She linked her arm through his and the other she shoved in her pocket. That was the moment I envied the stylish woman. Her dress had pockets. I was sold, I needed it.

Her eyes appraised me and snagged on my finger with the marking. “This is her? She’s the one?”

Dominic’s head barely moved into the nod.

“I don’t sense any magic. How can this be?” She moved closer, inspecting me like a peculiar creature she was attempting to name. She ran one finger from my forehead down to the tip of my nose. Then pressed it like it was some strange face button that would reveal my secrets to her.

Boundaries!I thought, taking a small step back while Dominic explained everything to her. The distance I placed between us was quickly swallowed as she continued to scrutinize me with amusement. An amiable smile settled on her lips. I eased into it, relaxing some and ignoring her blatant disregard for social norms and acceptable social distance. Suddenly, her hand cuffed my neck. It was such a gentle touch that I didn’t feel threatened.

“Do you want me to kill her?” she asked in such a gentle, melodic voice it was like she was trying to ease me into acquiescence. I jerked from her hold and moved away. The genteel smile she gave me was unacceptable.

No, psycho, I’m not okay with any part of this discussion.

“Helena, no,” Dominic said firmly.

Her eyes dropped to my finger that bore the markings. “Do you think your way is the wisest tactic?” she challenged, looking over her shoulder at him. “Perhaps alternatives should be explored.” She turned back to me, her smile and countenance far too kind, easy, and welcoming for a person discussing murder.

I hated this world. I hated it so much.

She shrugged at his stern look. “Her finger. Should we re—”

“Helena,” he snapped. “She is protected. You won’t remove her finger, nor will you kill her. You have no business in this. Are we clear?”

She frowned, her mood dampened, but I was very confident it was only because he raised his voice and not the censure that accompanied it.

“Very well, we’ll do it your way. I’m off to have an early dinner.” She turned to me again. “Would you like to join me? We’re having roasted duck with beet salad and mashed pumpkin. I think you’d enjoy it.”

Is she serious?Moments ago, she was requesting permission to kill me or sever my finger; now she wanted me as a dinner date. Nothing about this world was acceptable.

Stunned into momentary silence, I just gawked at her. All the fear, frustration, confusion, and annoyance at being pulled into this abhorrent situation erupted.

“No, you sociopathic bitch. I do not want to eat with you. What is wrong with you?”

Unaffected by my outburst, her face remained chillingly pleasant as she gave Dominic another smile and quick peck on the cheek. “If she changes her mind, you will direct her to the dining room, won’t you?”

“Of course,” he said, returning her pleasant smile.

Our long silence was fraught with tension as I stared at him. Reaching into his pocket, he removed my ring and handed it to me. “My sister has a directness to her nature,” he attempted to explain.

“The word ‘directness’ is reserved for people who are blunt and unintentionally rude, not for a person asking their brother for permission to murder or dismember someone.”

“Her enjoyment leans toward darker elements. She finds a certain pleasure in murder and torture. She’s quite good at them both,” he said mildly, as if he’d just disclosed something mundane, like her favorite color was yellow. I wondered how different these siblings were. Was he okay with these behaviors but just didn’t really enjoy them to the extent she did?

“What you call ‘darker elements’ is known to us mere humans as state’s evidence,” I tossed out before closing my eyes, inhaling the air, and letting the calm of being in a library wash over me. It was the only thing that kept me somewhat grounded.

When my eyes opened, Dominic was close and staring down at me. Too close.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.

“You just described enjoying torture as darker elements of amusement. How should I feel about that?”

He studied my lips, his face expressionless. Neither one of us spoke, just stood in the tension-filled silence. His eyes turned expectant as he waited for an answer.

“No.” That wasn’t entirely true but close enough. Even if I felt it, admitting it to him—to myself—would change the balance. For some peculiar reason, I needed that. “I’m afraid of the woman who offered me food after glibly suggesting killing me or cutting off my finger,” I admitted.

His voice was low, rough, unyielding. “She’ll never touch you as long as I wish for you to be safe,” he assured me as his eyes roved slowly over my face. “Nor will the others. The consequences would be too great.”

With that, he was moving with a relaxed stride as if he’d offered me some comfort.

He returned to the spellbook room’s door and looked back at me. I guessed I wasn’t going to get a please or will you follow me.