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His eyes crinkle at the corners, and he chuckles, rough and deep, a drum beneath the rubble where I suffocate, calling me to the surface where I wait for rescue. But I don’t want to need rescuing. I don’t want to run from the beast. I want to own my world the way I did the courtroom. “Maybe I do,” he says. “And to that point, I have an idea, but you’ll have to dare to step inside for me to give it a try. I promise there are no beasts inside.”

I’m not laughing at all. “Don’t fool me like that again. I don’t like traps.”

“Those who mean you harm will fool you every chance they get. If I don’t, right here where it’s safe, where I can protect you, then you won’t survive when you leave.”

There is a little too much logic in his direct response. It’s a biting warning of what my future holds, driving home my need to own my future. My instincts served me well in my human life, in the courtroom, at least until Jeremy was involved. And for now, I decide to dare to trust what they’re telling me. Micah will only kill me if he has to kill me, if I allow the serpent to turn me into another Jeremy. And I will not.

“All right then, Overseer. Show me what you’ve got.” I step forward, intending to enter his domain, but he captures my arm, warmth sliding up and over my chest, warming me in all the places I didn’t even realize I was cold.

Hyperaware of his hand on my arm, I glance up at him and meet his stare, and he says, “Micah, Ember. To you, it’s Micah.” There’s a rough quality to his voice—sandpaper that is rough and somehow as smooth as the silk of the sand outside.

“Micah,” I say softly, a vibration in my voice I barely recognize as my own.

For just a moment longer, he holds on to me before his hand falls away, and I enter his home.

The Sacred Book of Nephilim

Human horror stories, vampires and werewolves, originate from unforgivable leaks between our kind, but there is some knowledge that would result in a destruction so great, there is no coming back. Not even the underworld wants to face the judgement for such an exposure.

Chapter twenty-eight

Istep past the entryway and into Micah’s humble castle of sorts, and I know instantly that the house is alive with magic.

I can feel it, taste it, and almost swim for my life inside it like a raging river, and yet, incredibly, at the same time, it’s a gentle song floating in a calm sea. It’s the first time I understand that magic can be many things, and the magic in this house is all of those things.

As for the view, steepled ceilings tower above me, and the space is cozy and picturesque, larger than it seemed it could be from outside, the living room filled with overstuffed furniture in browns and blues. A wide hearth frames the room, consuming the right wall, the bricks are as welcoming as the blue and orange flames licking at the encasing. The kitchen is directly behind the sitting area, the island is wide and long and created of glistening marble.

Micah shuts the door behind me and appears by my side. “It’s alive,” I whisper, pulling my gaze from the room to look at him.

“Everything in this world is, but when you enclose it in walls, even spellcasted walls, the magic becomes even more heavily concentrated and powerful.”

“Is it safe?”

“The magic in this house protects those inside it. In fact, there is no other place from this point forward in your life where you can fully allow your guard to come down.”

My home outside of Elysium will never be safe again. Maybe it never was in the first place. “In this house? Or in this world?”

“Treat outside as a human would a forest filled with wild animals and a sea swimming with sharks, and you’ll be just fine.”

When he puts it that way, the world I’ve grown up in sounds dangerous, and maybe that’s the point. It is, and perhaps that’s why I gravitated toward criminal law. I felt a deep-seated need to do something proactive, to fight who I thought to be bad actors that were human, not demons. Now, I wonder just how often I ran into a demon I didn’t see, as I wasn’t of age.

My gaze lifts to the winding staircase to the left and closer to the kitchen than the door to our rear, to the two towering wooden doors at the top, and it’s clear magic is in this place. There is no way those doors fit in the house I observed from outside, and yet, here they are.

“What’s that up there?” I ask, glancing over at Micah.

“You said I need something to offer you other than food. That place is my offering.” He disappears, and my gaze swings to the top of the stairs, where I know I’ll find him, and I do. “Come join me,” he says, his eyes positively wicked with a mix of amusement and challenge. He wants me to just wish myself there, or at least, I think that’s how it works, and the truth is, I loved the feeling of traveling with him. It was an adrenaline rush, much like I imagine skydiving must be, but without the sensation of falling. I crave the ability to recreate that on my own, but I don’t seem to understand the process well enough to actually make it happen.

In the back of my mind, I am reminded of Micah preaching about me believing in my own magic to own it, which is impossible to do when I’m still half certain I’m trapped inside a never-ending nightmare. So, do I believe? No. No, I do not believe in my own magic. I barely believe in his.

So, like a normal magicless human, I walk in his direction, and I don’t stop until I’m attempting to head up the stairs only to hit an invisible wall, bouncing rather roughly off of it. “What the heck was that?” I demand, moving to stand directly underneath him and glaring up at him.

“The house protects what’s up here with me,” he states. “But I spellcast a tunnel for you.”

“It wouldn’t let me pass.”

“Use your magic.”

I don’t even entertain that idea. “So, I can’t come up?”