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It’s that book. It’s thatdamnbook that, I swear to God, was following me from the library and back for a few days until I finally gave up and shoved it under my bed. Figuring it was out of sight, out of mind, I purposely tried to forget about it… and actually managed to for a bit.
My heart jumps when I see it. One thing for sure, I know I didn’t drop to my knees, crawl under my bed, grab the book and bring it downstairs. I definitely didn’t crack it open to one particular page toward the back of the book, either.
But someone did.
My first instinct is to grab the book, slam it closed, and maybe toss it in the trash this time. I’d like to see it find its way back to my house after being buried under tons of garbage in the local landfill. Only… the second I reach for it, I can’t help but glance down at the page.
Then, because it was inevitable, I read the top of it.
I already knew that the entire book was written in a foreign language. I finally tried to run a couple of portions of the early pages through my translation app, but it came back as legit gobbledy-gook. I didn’t bother again after that.
This page, though? It looks like someone might have cracked part of the code.
At the top, there are two words in bold:Verus amor.But that’s not all.
True love…
That’s what’s written beneath the printed letters. As though someone had translated the foreign language above it, they make it clear what this page is supposed to be: a ‘true love’ spell.
And the demon from my dreams told me that I’m his wife.
No—hismate.
Does that mean I’m supposed to be his true love, too?
Because the gods gave you to me. You were fated to be mine…
Holy shit. Holyshit.
I wish you were real…
Iam…
The book belongs to the monster in my dreams. Sammael. He admitted to that, just like he admitted that he’s the one who’s basically been haunting me. I mean, he told me he was a ghost. He told me he has spent four months watching me, waiting for me to call him. To… tosummonhim.
My trembling fingers trail down the page before tapping the word ‘manifest’ scrawled in the margin. The first passage is starred, with ‘manifest’ handwritten next to it; the second page is marked by the word ‘promise’. I have no idea what that means, but it’s obviously some kind of message.
I choke, one-part sob, one-part hysterical laugh bursting free from me. If this is a message, it’s gotta be from the demon who went down on me—and what the hell am I supposed to do about that?
I don’t know. I… I just don’t freaking know.
But I’m a younger sister. My whole life, whenever there was something I didn’t know, I had one reaction: get Johanna.
My phone is in the back pocket of my jeans. Leaving the book where it is, I yank it out and hurriedly select my sister’s contact name on my list of recent calls.
Please pick up, please pick up…
“Hello?”
I exhale, gripping my phone tightly. “Jo. It’s me.”
As if the picture of me didn’t pop up on the screen when her phone rang. I’m too frazzled to think clearly, though, and—for once—my older sister doesn’t tease me about it. She doesn’t remind me that she’s probably in the middle of teaching, either.
She must hear something in my voice because hers drops. “What’s wrong, Hope?”
How do I explain?
In truemefashion, I blurt it out: “I thought I was going crazy, but now I think I have. Because, Jo… I’m beinghaunted.”
