he turned to look at Aiden, standing behind the stone slab in the center of the room, the previously impenetrable Book of Lost Souls inexplicably opened before him.
His face was bathed in its magical silver light—a light that emanated from the very pages themselves, pulsing like a living thing.
Dorian could feel its eerie heartbeat in his own veins.
“Aiden,” Dorian whispered. “How did you…?”
“I picked up the blade for a closer look,” he said, “then set down on top of the book, not giving it a second thought. The moment it touched the cover, the book opened of its own accord.”
“Can you read it?” Dorian asked.
“I don’t speak demon, mate. But I’m getting a definite One Ring to Rule Them All vibe here, so I think I’ll just…” He glanced once more at the book, then took a few steps backward, shaking his head. “Right then. Who’s ready for breakfast? Better yet—drinks? Shall we head back upstairs? Far away from the portal to Mordor and into the nice, cozy study instead? Excellent! I’ll run ahead and start the fire.”
He headed off in the direction of the elevator, but no one else made a move to follow.
Colin leaned in to inspect the demonic tome, his skin nearly blue in the strange silvery light. “I can’t make it out either. It’s… quite complex.” He traced his fingers over a page, but drew back as if the words themselves burned to the touch. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t want to be read. Not by me, at least.”
“Perhaps Isabelle might have some insight,” Dorian said, heading toward the elevator with the others. “She’ll be along later with an update on Armitage Holdings—I can ask her then. In the meantime, I think we should all… We should… I…”
Dorian’s thoughts slid away, and a deep chill slithered through his blood, casting his skin in gooseflesh.
He felt a whisper against he back of his neck, then spun on his heel, only to be met with empty space.
“Someone walkin' on your grave?” Cole clapped him on the shoulder. “You look a little freaked, Red.”
“No, I… I thought I sensed something. Someone. I...” He glanced around the area again, but there were no others. “I could’ve sworn someone else was down here.”
Just the ghosts of the past, he thought, hoping like hell Augustus’ spirit wasn’t lingering. His father had offered little to them in life; Dorian had nothing left for the man in death.
Besides, Augustus’ soul—what was left of it, anyway—was in hell. It was likely the only thing about their father that wasn’t a mystery.
Shaking off the odd chill, Dorian pressed his finger to the blood scanner and opened the elevator, ushering Charlotte, Cole, and Aiden inside.
He turned back once more to look for Colin, hoping he’d join them for a meal, but his brother was already immersed in the next great puzzle, his eyes shining like twin lamps over the demon book, his mind percolating with possibilities Dorian could only imagine.
“Don’t forget to eat, brother,” he said softly, but he knew the words had fallen on deaf ears.
Chapter Fifteen
“Is that scotch?” Gabriel asked. “Thank you, brother. Just what the doctor ordered.”
Dressed in dark jeans and a black leather jacket that still held the late morning chill, Gabriel marched into the study and reached for the glass Dorian had just poured.
Despite the smirk and the healthy pink glow in his cheeks, Gabriel’s mouth was drawn tight, his eyes red with exhaustion.
“Impeccable timing, brother.” Dorian relinquished the glass, then poured himself another. “Have you found something on Rudy?”
The group had just finished brunch, and now they gathered before the fire to review the last of the Estas files and day-drink themselves into a mild oblivion. At Dorian’s question, all eyes were on the youngest Redthorne.
Gabriel took the chair next to Charlotte, downing a few healthy gulps of liquor. The booze and the fire seemed to relax him, and after a long moment, he finally said, “He opened a bank account in Brazil recently. Bought some property there as well—all in cash.”
Dorian nodded. “That corresponds with what we’ve found in the Estas files.”
“Beyond that, nothing more than what we already know. I’ve been trailing him the better part of four days, but he’s been extremely careful. Aside from his residence on the West side and a few restaurants in the area, he hasn’t ventured far. He seems a bit paranoid too. Constantly looking over his shoulder, jumping at every backfiring car. Something definitely has him on edge.”
“Did you check the restaurants?”