My Book Fell Into His Hands

The firelight dimmed in my study. Tendrils of shadows swirled, smelling crisp as starlight. The century old boards creaked around my wing-backed chair.

"Show yourself?"

The shadows coalesced into the Night Prince. That he could pass my wards was not surprising, that he chose to was.

"I seek a counter to a containment spell." He 'spoke sharply.

I wasn't in the practice of giving up my art upon demand and said so. "Try the Vodou priestesses.

He scowled. "I did."

I cackled. "They threw you out."

"They offered to introduce me to my ancestors for an education."

I laughed as he examined the leather-bound tomes in my library. "Is this person worthy of release?"

"He's been trapped for a decade."

"Not an answer."

"He's a good friend."

"Still not an answer."

He shrugged, and my book fell into his hands. As he flipped through the grimoire, a thread of anger ran down my arms. My fingers tingled, and I snapped, releasing the energy.

"You'd steal from me?"

He closed it, bowed, and handed the grimoire to me, along with an orb of smoke. "To shroud yourself in shadow even in the brightest light."

"A sliver of Night? This friend must be important." I mused. "Ahh! You seek the daemon trapped above Bourbon Street." A sly smile crept across my face. "Too late, prince. He's found another to free him."

The Prince of Night's eyes glittered ominously, sending a chill through me. "Enjoy your night," he said, dissipating into the shadows.

Photo by Blake Cheek