Page 38

The deeper I go, the louder the paper feels. The sound isn't audio anymore—it's a physical sensation, like thousands of ants marching across my skin, spider legs trailing over my neck. It makes my stomach turn. Yet I can't shake the pull drawing me toward the back wall. It's the exact compulsion I feel right before landing on a major thesis statement. I am on the verge of uncovering something buried.

A single shelf holds a solitary book. Above it, a brass fixture shaped like a mouse holds an Edison bulb, its metal face melted into a grotesque sneer. The bulb casts a sickly yellow glow over a black book stamped in tarnished silver.

As I stare, the stamped letters on the spine begin to scramble, twisting across the leather like crawling beetles.

I'm yours, you're mine, a voice rasps inside my skull.

I step closer, mesmerized. The whispering grows louder, demanding that I touch it, claiming I am the only one who can carry it.

I reach out and wrap my fingers around the spine. The leather is shockingly warm—not like heated material, but like living flesh. It has a pulse. A heavy heart thumps against my palm from inside the cover.

Before I can draw a breath, thick shadows bleed out of the binding. They slither up my wrists like cold, wet fingers, soaking straight through my skin like liquid ink. Tattoos of writhing script bloom across my veins, sinking deep into me before disappearing entirely.

My lungs lock up. The magic doesn't feel clean. It feels like rot. It feels like swallowing ash.

"You shouldn't have done that," a voice snarls behind me.

I whip around, slamming my back against the shelf. The dark-haired man from earlier is standing at the mouth of the aisle, his face transformed. Long, needle-sharp fangs protrude from beneath his upper lip, glistening with saliva. His eyes burn a dull, bloodthirsty red.

"That was a deadly mistake," he whispers, stalking forward. "You were already marked for execution, but now everyone will hunt you."

Pure horror replaces my panic. This isn't a threat—it's a murder about to happen. He is going to kill me right here between the history stacks, and nobody will hear me scream.

"Stop," I choke out, backing away until the wood of the bookcase digs into my spine.

He laughs—a wet, rattling sound—and lunges, slamming his hands onto the shelves on either side of my head, trapping me against his chest. I can smell him now—cold copper, stale dirt, and ancient decay.

"Get your fucking hands off her!" Lachlan's roar echoes from the front of the shop, but he's too far away.

I don't think. I don't calculate. Instinct takes over.

I bring my open palm up and slap the vampire across the cheek with everything I have.

The moment my bare skin touches his face, a sound like a hot iron dropping into water explodes between us.

His flesh instantly boils. Massive, fluid-filled bladders burst across his cheekbone, his skin liquefying into a steaming sludge. The vampire shrieks—a sound that tears at my eardrums. His jaw dissolves first, hanging by strips of yellow fat before melting into a puddle on the floorboards.

I can't move. I can't breathe.

I stand frozen as his eyes melt out of his sockets, dripping like hot wax down his chest. His entire body collapses inward, the bones turning to soft slush, sizzling as they hit the floor. Within seconds, the shrieking stops, leaving only a bubbling pile of black slime that rapidly hardens, flakes, and turns into a mound of gray ash.

The stench hits me a second later—scorched hair and sulfur.

I clap both hands over my mouth, my chest heaving as my knees give out. I stare at the pile of burnt remains near my shoes, my vision swimming.

"It's impossible," I whisper, my voice cracking into a sob. I look down at my right palm. The skin looks normal, but it feels blistered, infected by whatever just poured out of me. "Is this... is this the nullification magic?"

Lachlan rounds the corner, his broadsword half-drawn, but he skids to a halt. His eyes sweep from the pile of human ash on the floor to my face, then down to my right hand.

I have never seen a look like that on a man's face.

It is relief, there’s no doubt about that, but it’s quickly replaced with a knowing look.

Like he knows exactly what I did, and it scares him.

His nostrils flare as he catches the scent of burnt flesh, his chest rising and falling in harsh ragged gasps.

I’m an abomination.