The smell of his vanilla scented tobacco lingers in the air. Sitting down, Sophia shakes her head. “That was stupid,” she says under her breath. She plucks the open tin can off the top of the desk. How’d she forget to close it earlier? She signs because the tobacco leaves look dried out.
She eases the top onto the box, but it won’t close. Gently, she shakes the tin to distribute the contents evenly. Something shiny catches her eye; it glints under a fine layer of tobacco.
Sophia brushes the fragrant leaves to the sides of the tin. Her eyes widen, and her heart hammers in her chest. It’s a key. There’s a key in the metal tin—but why? With a shaky hand, she extracts the small object.
Holding the key up in front of her face, Sophia examines it. It’s not familiar. She’s never seen it before, so what does it unlock? Her eyes scan the room. Looking down at the phone, she notices the cradle base is sitting on top of a wooden platform anchored to the desk. It’s the same old, worn color of varnish that the rest of the desk has, but it is new. She’s never seen the addition before.
Leaning forward, Sophia moves the podium the phone is sitting on. She lightly skims her fingers over the foreign appendage. The tips of her fingers brush over a lip that extends out from the square piece of wood. She encounters an uneven section, and she stills her movement. Just under the lip, there’s a small section that has a slight spring action to it.
Sophia pushes in the spring loaded section. The side of the square structure comes loose. She pulls the section from the platform, which reveals a small keyhole. Her hand shakes, but she manages to slide the key into the slotted opening, and the box slides open.
Her heart races because there’s a small ledger book inside the four by eight compartment. Slowly, she eases the book out. Flipping through the pages, she realizes it’s a diary—another one of her uncle’s diaries. So, how many did he have? She flips through the contents until she comes to the last few entries.
Leaning back in the chair, her eyes brim with tears. In her hands, she holds the last words and thoughts of her uncle. Her heart weeps because he was afraid. Not for himself, but for her.
The pages of Hugo’s ledger chronicles the daily cliental and the different restoration projects he had scheduled for his clients. And the information goes back more than five years. But there’s one page that stands out. It has the name of a client with a single star drawn next to it—a job he had more than a year ago.
Wednesday, March 3rd
The day started out like any other, slow, quiet. I did some work for Simon Gentry down the road. His wife’s mother is turning eighty-six on Saturday, so they wanted to surprise her with a restored copy of Gone with the Wind, her favorite go-to novel. I must remember to send her a card.
—Simon Gentry – Gone with the Wind (full restoration – half-price)
—Adam Shaffer – 1816 Family Bible (Partial Restoration -Binding reinforcement – Full price)
—Gregorio Alessandrini – De Civitate Dei by Augustine Saint, Bishop of Hippo (full restoration – binding, cleaning, page repair, cord replacement, and reattachment of spine /binding/covers – full price)
—Abigail Martinez – 1899 The Wonderful Wizard of OZ signed by L. Frank Baum, 1st Ed (check, cleaning, and reseal – full price)
Friday, March 5th
This morning, while performing work on the Alessandrini project, I uncovered several hidden documents in the binding of the Augustine antique. At first, I didn’t think much of the content, people hide letters and documents all the time, so it’s not all that uncommon; however, when translating the content, I soon found it was a list of names. And when I researched a few contained in the first list, just to see who they were, I found the men and women listed were dead—all of them. Their deaths, the earliest, span from 1712 to present day.
A chill runs up Sophia’s spine, and she shivers. It’s a hit list. And if she understands the content written on the folded pages and the written word of her uncle, then the names after the surnames, are all tied to castes—gargoyle clans and Wiccan covens. Sophia scans the written content, searching for more information on the lists.
Saturday, September 26.
Examining the opening, I discovered a small external thumb drive. Curiosity overcame me, so I plugged it into the laptop Sophia gave me for Christmas last year. The thumb drive, it had several videos on it. So I decided to play one of the files, but viewing one lead to another, and before I knew it, I had watched more than five. They were graphic, disturbing even. They turned my stomach. And if you’re reading this now, Soph...then God help us...help you...because I’m afraid. I fear I’ve opened a door that can’t be shut.
Monday, September 28th
I received a call today from Gregorio Alessandrini before the store opened. He was desperate to pick the book up. I told him I wasn’t finished yet, but he instead. So I carefully refolded the papers and slide then back into the slit between the binding and the front cover, along with the flat thumb drive, just as I had found them. Using a bit of wax, instead of glue because of the smell, I sealed the gap closed.
Sophia turns the next page. Her breath hitches in the back of her throat. A small rectangular thumb drive is embedded inside of the cut out pages of the diary.
“Uncle Hugo.” Her heart hammers in her chest. “What have you done?”
Sophia eases the drive out of the pages of the book. Opening her uncle’s laptop, she powers it up. The motor whirls and comes to life. She keys in her uncle’s last password, her name, Sophia, which is spelled backward with a three for the ‘E’ and a zero for the ‘O’.
With an unsteady hand, she slips the thumb drive into the USB slot. When the device page pulls up, it has twenty video files listed. She clicks on the first one.
When the video player window pops up on the screen, the image zooms in on a man sitting in a heavy wooden chair. He’s in the middle of a large open space. The camera zooms in. The man’s ankles, they’re shackled to the legs of the chair, and his hands are bound behind him.
The camera zooms in further, and an image of the man’s face fills the screen. There’s bruising around his eyes, and his nose looks misshapen, broken. And he has busted lower lip, and the lobe of his left ear is missing.
The silhouette of a man steps into the frame. He’s holding something, a can. “Where is it?” His voice is thick, and he speaks with a heavy Italian accent. “Where is the book?” He approaches then pours a clear liquid over the restrained man’s body. “This will be the last time I ask. Where is the Book of Light & Shadows?”
“You will get nothing from my kin, my coven, or from me, Meurjôn.” He closes his eyes then bows his head.
The man, Meurjôn, backs up. He extracts a matchbook from his front pocket. Slowly, he strikes a single match, ignites the book on fire, and then he tosses it at the feet of the tied up man.
Fire engulfs the imprisoned man.
Sophia holds her breath. She crosses her arms over her chest, hugging herself. The man wails then his screams of anguish fill the interior walls of the office. His shrieks of pain and torment chill her to the bone.
She slips her cell out of her back pocket then texts Tara. Within seconds, both she and Travis enter uncle’s office. They review the diary and watch the first couple of videos.
Thumbing through her contacts, she calls Detective Wodiak. And within the hour, the detective shows up with two other men, who comb the premises.
The files and paperwork in Sophia’s uncle’s office have been rummaged through, and many of the documents have been boxed up and carted off by the detectives for further research.
Over the next five hours, the detectives pull her uncle’s bank records, building surveillance tapes, and take her statement. By the time they leave, exhaustion kicks in.
Sophia climbs the stairs with steps, enters her uncle’s room, and then she climbs into his bed. Right now, she needs the comfort of her of her uncle’s presence. Plus, she can’t bring herself to sleep in the room that she and A
den occupied only hours before. The memory is too painful.
Thor whines at the side of the bed. Sophia scoots to the middle then pats the mattress. “Come on boy.”
Thor jumps up and stretches out. Each time she moves away from his paws or head, he purposely inches his muscular frame a little closer to her body.
When sleep finally finds her, she’s thrust into a tense slumber. In her dreams, she’s running, but she can’t see who or what she’s running from. Images of the park, the restoration room and basement of the bookstore, as well as the man burning play over and over again in her mind.
Sophia wakes and sits up in bed. She twisted in her bedsheets. A thin layer of cool perspiration covers her body. Thor whines then lays his head on her lap. Tears well in her eyes and she silently cries.
I feel alone.
Images of Aden flash through her thoughts. The harder she tries to purge him from her thoughts, the clear his image becomes. Finally, Sophia gives into the phantasm world of her dreams.
Memories of his touch ignite a fire deep within the pit of her belly. Her tense body begins to relax. Images of Aden swim through her mind, and thoughts of him fill the remainder of her night.
Chapter Six
Aden Clarkson
SOPHIA REACHES OUT TO HIM. Her voice tugs at the strings of his consciousness. Lying in bed, he breathes in the lingering scent of her body on the sheets.
He allows his thoughts to wander, to walk through the world of waking dreams. Before his mind’s eye, an image of Sophia’s uncle’s bedroom comes into view. He taps into the residual magic flowing through his body and enters the dream world. A dream that Sophia’s subconscious mind has initiated.
Nude, her skin, it glistens in the moonlight. Sophia opens her arms, welcoming him into her bed. Without hesitation, he slides on the mattress and draws her body against his.
Her lips, warm and inviting, yield and part for him upon contact. He plunges his tongue into her mouth, tasting her. His hunger, his need to possess her body drives him forward. But he takes his time because he wants to savor every quiver her body makes under his skillful caress.
Aden slides down her body then eases her legs apart. His mouth waters at the thought of licking her, tasting her. Bowing his head, he strokes her clit with the tip of his tongue. Her back arches and she lifts her hips off the mattress, pressing her body closer to his mouth.
He can sense her need to connect. And truth be told, he’s glad she initiated their first contact. But then a thought crosses his mind. What if she doesn’t realize they’re in a shared dream? Should he tell her, or should he let the events of the evening unfold naturally?
Unable to hold back any longer, Aden ushers a deep, throaty growl. He slides up her body and claims her lips. Taking hold of her left knee, he draws it upward then thrusts his hips forward, plunging his erect cock deep inside her hot, tight body.
She moans into his mouth then wraps her arms around his neck. He can feel her thigh quake against his arm. She’s close; he can sense it. Driving his body forward, he continues to thrust hard and fast. Her body trembles in his arms, and her muscles clench around his shaft. She caught in the thralls of an orgasm.
He quickens his pace. The head of his cock swells and throbs with an intense need to possess her, to claim her, to make her his. Aden’s body tenses and he shudders above her in sexual release.
Rolling onto his side, he draws her into his lean frame, cradling her to his chest. He listens to the sound of her steady breaths as she drifts off to sleep.
Traces of light flicker before his eyes and the dream begins to fade. A shadow moves in the corner of the bedroom.
Aden’s body tenses and shoots upright in bed. The shared dream connection has been severed, but by who? His heart hammers in his chest because he knows, Sophia’s not alone.
Chapter Seven
Sophia Mahoney
A DEEP-SEATED COLD settles in her bones. She shivers. Reaching out, Sophia feels for the comforter in the dark. Her mind still lingers between the dream world and reality. And if given the choice, she’d gladly choose to stay in the moment, the shared moment, she was having with Aden.
Her eyes pop open. A dream. She was dreaming. Her body still buzzes with sexual energy.
“Fuck.” She shakes her head. Sitting up in bed, she rubs her eyes. “What the hell was I thinking?” Was it just a dream or did she summon Aden?
“I can smell your arousal.” A masculine growl cuts through the silence of the room. “I can see why he’s drawn to you.”
Sophia searches the dark room. Her heart, it picks up speed, beating a steady cadence in her chest. She slides off the bed.
“Don’t even think about it.” A figure steps out of the shadows. “Because I’d catch you before you even reached the door.”
“Thor.” Sophia glances over her shoulder, but the bed is empty. Her four-legged friend is nowhere to be found. “What have you done with him?” She struggles to keep control of her composure.
“He’s only sleeping in the other room, as are your friends, who will continue to sleep until I lift the spell.”
“Who are you?” She swallows hard. “And why are you here?”
“Who I am doesn’t matter.” He closes the gap between them. “And you know why I’m here.”
Sophia takes several steps back, countering his oncoming approach. “What do you want?”
“I want many things from this world and the next.” He licks his lips. “But right now, I’d settle for the book.” He wraps a hand around her arm. “Where is it?”
She twists free and inches toward the foot of the bed. He looks familiar, and his accent, she’s heard it before. “I don’t know.” Sophia trembles. He’s the man from the video. It’s Meurjôn. “And I wouldn’t tell you or the rest of the Doccioner clan if I did.”
“Make no mistake, I will have it with or without your help.” Meurjôn grabs a fistful of hair and yanks Sophia’s head back. “Already, the Hound is sniffing it out with blood magic.” He drags her from the bedroom and into the hall at the top of the stairs.
Sophia asks, “The Hound, who or what is that?”
The screeching of nails scraping the brick wall of the stairwell sends an icy chill up Sophia’s spine. A coldness sweeps through the chamber making her shiver.
“What the hell was that?” She looks up at Meurjôn with wide eyes.
The thin, willowy frame of a man comes into view. His pale chest is exposed. A detailed dragon tattoo covers his body. It starts at the base of his left pec and snakes around his torso. The head ends right above his navel. The serpent-like head is encased by a pentagram. Leather straps cover the colorless skin of the man’s arms. His long fingertips are exposed and his nails short. Cradled in his left hand is a book.
Sophia’s heart sinks. It’s the leather-bound book from the restoration room—the one she had been working on.
The man’s footsteps, they’re silent. It’s as if he’s floating above the ground. He snakes up to where she’s being held and holds out his free hand. A grin washes across his face.
“Open your hand.” Meurjôn forces the palm of Sophia’s right hand open.
Taking hold of Sophia’s wrist, the pale-skinned stranger, the Hound, repositions her hand palm side up. “Hold her steady.”
He has an odd accent—one she can’t place.
The Hound slides a four-inch blade out of a sheath connected to his black leather pants. Holding Sophia’s gaze, his amber-colored eyes cut through her.
The tip of the blade slides across Sophia’s palm, leaving a shallow cut. He rotates the tip of the knife against her flesh, breaking the skin then slides the razor-sharp blade across her hand, once again.
Sophia presses her lips together. Crimson blood pools at the wake of each cut. Her breath quickens, and a small sob escapes her lips.
“Open the book, white witch.” The words flow from the pale man’s forked tongue.
“What are you?” Sophia’s words are little more t
han a whisper.
“I am the Hound as you heard.” His amber glowing eyes rake up and down the length of her body. “And I am from the Barachiel clan.” Raising his nose, he sniffs the air. A slight smirk dances across the edges of his bloodless lips. “Do as I say and open the book.”
Sophia shakes her head. “I don’t know how.” She clenches her jaws to quiet the chatter of her teeth.
“Then you leave me no choice.” The pale-skinned man slices the palm of his hand then ascended upon her. He presses his hand to hers.
A flash of hot, searing heat shoots through Sophia’s body, and she screams.
“Do not fight the blood magic.” His words are spoken in warning. “You aren’t strong enough, not yet, anyway.”
Images of her uncle’s face flash through her thoughts. They’re moving faster than she can focus on them. Struggling, Sophia fights to maintain her composure. Glimpses of her childhood unfold before her eyes. The ghostly apparitions of her mother and father surface. She hasn’t thought of them since early childhood.
Warm tears fill her eyes. “No.” A distant darkness touches the edges of Sophia’s mind.
Memories shoot through her mind, making her head throb. Somehow, the Hound can access them, but how? Focusing on the dark matter infiltrating her mind, Sophia imagines a wall around her deepest, most protected thoughts. She struggles to purge the invader from her mind.
Gasping, he takes a few steps back then narrows his eyes. “You dare to cast me out, fledgling witch?”
Energy crackles on his skin. The rustic-colored sparks dance about his fingertips. He wraps his long, boney fingers around her head, digging them into her temples and forehead. A searing heat rips through her body, and her surroundings turn black.
“I need her alive, Hound,” says Meurjôn. “And able to function.”
Beyond The Veil: A Paranormal & Magical Romance Boxed Set Page 219