Page 13 of Mage Massacres

The vampire was confused. Novak’s mind was closed, but his defeated attitude made me wonder what he knew that he wasn’t being honest about. The fact that he had mostly removed himself from the conversation around him was enough to let me know something was going on.

I felt as suspicious as Briggs. I tried to dismiss it momentarily, but the longer I watched them, the harder it became to ignore the feeling.

The demon studied the living area, strolling around the furniture to look at the artwork and displayed objects. He picked up a book from the end table beside an armchair and was aimlessly flipping through it before he spoke.

“This is—Holy shit.”

“What’s wrong, Stone?”

He waved the small, brown leather book in front of my face. I couldn’t tell if he was bothered or excited, but both were good guesses judging by his wide, navy eyes.

“This book.”

“It’s like a visitor’s guide,” Murphy informed him, raising his brows when the demon nodded.

“I don’t give a fuck what it’s about, Murph. It’s the handwriting.”

“Yeah,” Millie agreed, rolling her silver eyes. “It’s real fancy stuff.”

Stone gnawed at his lip as he glared at the ceiling. “No, damnit. Palmer? There’s a journal on the nightstand in my room. Can you call it to you?”

“I’d rather not test the distance with paper when I can spell a doorway, and you can get it yourself.”

Briggs cut his gaze to me, and I flattened my lips. I’d seen the mage pull books to himself before, too. Well, I’d seen the books disappear from the house we lived in, knowing that he was across the Atlantic Ocean.

The distance wasn’t the issue.

Palmer motioned for the demon to follow him and Murphy. Vaughn and Novak talked with Millie about her alchemy shop, and she gushed over all the new magic she’d been creating and selling.

The guys were back within minutes, though Stone didn’t glance up from his own larger version of the book he’d found. The one he brought back from our trip to Hell.

With the brown journal held in his open hand, he reached for the smaller one he’d picked up from the side table. He scanned a page in one book, then the other, before shoving them both in front of my face.

“This bigger journal is the one I found in my parent’s house while we were in the Underworld,” he told the room. “The handwriting is the same. Sloane said it looked familiar to her, but she didn’t know why. Amelia wrote this.”

“But what is it?” I asked him, clueless to its contents.

“It’s about the moths,” he muttered, snapping the little book closed so that he could turn the pages of the larger one.

He set the book down on the chair cushion and pulled his shirt over his head.

“What are you doing?” Millie inquired.

“I’m going to release them.” Stone shook his head at her. “Mills, you’ve been trying to help me find answers for years, and now we have them.”

“Alright, yes.” She patted at the air with her left hand. “But slow down, yeah? Let’s read all the instructions before we fuck up a new toy.”

“No thanks,” Murphy sang, walking toward the doorway. “Death moths aren’t my thing. I like my life exactly where it is, inside this blood sack of a storage container.”

I snorted at him. “Eloquent.”

“And still alive,” he shot back, darting away.

“I’m gonna get him to help me spell the rest of the doors,” Palmer acknowledged as he followed. “Shout if you need anything.”

Briggs furrowed his brow as he studied Palmer’s hasty retreat.

“What did Amelia write about them? Let me see,” Miller said, wiggling her fingers in a give me motion.