Page 114 of Florescentia

“Florescentia,” a young man’s voice said, muted.

As I approached the light in the water, the images became clearer, like I was watching through a window.

A man knelt before a water trough attached to a dilapidated chapel, high on a hill, with rolling patches of farmland spanning as far as the horizon. There were no windows or doors; all wood had been reused, as had some of the stone structure. Sunlight beat down on his wet temples, his hair thick and black, his skin dark like oiled oak. In the depths of his brown eyes, a spark of hope.

Before him was a leather-bound journal.

From within the dark corners of the chapel, a darkness unfolding, filling the space.

“I can’t live on without her,” the man said. “I want to be with her. A life with her.”

A chorus of whispers came through the water. “And what is it you would trade for such a request?”

“Anything.” He looked over his shoulder, shots fired behind him coming from the town nestled between the hills.

“Anything . . .” The shadow pondered the word.

A darkness grew from within the trough. The shadow looked as if its edges were evaporating from the sun beating down on its limbs. Before long, the water might be mist too.

The day was dying, the sun setting on the scene.

“Since your union will be bound by your world, as well as mine,” the shadow said, “your firstborn will bear your debt.”

The man’s face fell, a cracking of his heart almost audible. Even with the hesitation, he nodded. “You can promise we’ll be together, alive and well, until death?”

The shadow leaned down, touching the portrait on the journal. As he lifted the bound pages, the inscription on the spine revealed itself.

Collesano.

“Papà?” I leaned closer to the water, hoping my eyes were betraying me.

A bright flare came from the shadow, a deal struck from beyond the stars to kiss the earth itself. Before the scene became completely washed out, three eyes stared back from the darkness of the pond.

I stumbled back, and a hand burst from the water, grabbing my arm.

Altair rose from the water, as dark and monstrous as when I’d seen him for the first time. “It was nice being so close without a single quip from you.” The voice rattled like it had echoed around his chest before being set free.

“This was your plan!” I screamed. “You tricked him. You tricked me.”

“I only did as he asked.” He leaned close. “I know it must be hard for you to believe.”

“You know nothing,” I nearly spat, my lip quivering.

He yanked me closer, our faces a breath away.

A thought came to mind, something unthinkable. Deep down, I knew there was merit to the bite in the back of my throat. Another part of me thought I shouldn’t flatter myself.

“You were never going to let me live, were you?” I breathed. “All that nonsense about why you wanted to pass into my world—”

“I was honest with you.”

“You were just hungry.”

His head cocked to the side, a slightly hotter burn to the light in his eyes, nearly blinding.

I turned my face from him. I couldn’t breathe, my vision blurry with tears.

He grabbed my face, a claw piercing each cheek as he squeezed. With my face forced to him, I could practically feel his form vibrate, absolutely radiate, like pure heat from a fire.