Brothers of Brimstone Book 1: Slater

MALLORY

Dreamwalking was how I’d discovered that my high-school best friend was hooking up with my boyfriend behind my back.

It was also how I’d learned the truth about my father.

My mother had claimed he was called away on a mission for his coven, never to return. The truth was, he had simply abandoned us and started a new family in the next town.

I had shown no exceptional gifts as a dreamwalker, and my traumatic experiences with dreamwalking had been why I had never bothered to develop the skill. Still, I had unintentionally managed to do so and usually had complete control over my dreams.

This time, however, was different. As I spiraled into a sleep state, I was no longer in control. I had no choice but to proceed as a reluctant passenger as my brain nagged at me to continue.

I felt myself spinning into a void, erupting a few minutes later in a region I recognized: the Page estate.

It made sense that my first thoughts would fall to Randall, as he had just departed when I had crawled up the stairs. Nevertheless, I was hesitant as I moved forward, afraid of prying.

As I approached the estate, a horse and buggy pulled up to the front door, and a servant popped outside to accept a delivery.

I was slightly relieved, realizing that I was dreaming of the past and not the present, where I might inadvertently spy on Randall. Moving forward with more confidence, I followed the servant into the house.

I had never set foot into the Page’s grand estate, which featured architecture from the Victorian era. As I entered the foyer, I marveled at the grand staircase with its elaborate detailing on the rails.

The stairs and the floors were covered in a gaudy floral carpet, only leaving a tiny fraction of the beautiful hardwood underneath visible.

In the modern era, we couldn’t imagine committing such a decor atrocity, but the estate had been built shortly after the industrial revolution. Most of the aristocracy had insisted on carpeting, believing it would prevent them from getting sick by trapping outdoor debris.

I was attempting to decipher the complicated patterns on the wallpaper that covered the foyer from floor to ceiling when a butler in full uniform brushed past me.

On their own accord, my feet followed the elegantly dressed servant as he approached a pair of double doors and let himself inside the adjoining room.

An army of servants lingered around a long table. Though there were enough staff in attendance to cater to a large party, only two people were seated at the massive table.

A handsome silver-haired warlock was at the head of the table. He featured the same bright hazel eyes and square chin as Randall.

Witches are drawn to each other like magnets, so even if the man had not resembled Randall, I would have had an easy time identifying him as a warlock.

However, it wasn’t Randall’s ancestor that caught my attention, but the woman seated next to him. She didn’t have the same draw as the warlock, which was strange in itself.

As I drew closer to the couple, I picked up her underlying musky scent. I was surprised to discover she was human—not that there was anything wrong with humans or their scents.

Since most witching bloodlines had been diminished by the witch hunts that popped up every few centuries, it was uncommon for witches to pursue relationships outside of the magic community.

Most witches feared that if they did so, their bloodline would be lost, and their offspring wouldn’t inherit their magic.

I found it particularly odd that a Page, one of the oldest witching families, would risk their heritage for a human.

As the man reached over and grasped the woman’s hand, it was apparent that they were intimate.

“I hate these garments,” the woman complained, snatching her hand from the man so she could fuss with her dress.

I assessed her clothing and had to agree. The dress was beautiful, of course, but the high collar looked as if it might be stuffy, and her tiny waistline could only have been achieved by a tightly laced corset.

If I had been so overdressed, I imagined I would be grumpy as well.

The man leaned over, and in a low voice he whispered, “The clothing is necessary; you need to blend in.”

“Why does it have to be so constricting?” the woman complained.

“Forget about the clothing, dear,” the man suggested. “Why don’t we work on your table manners?”

The woman stopped yanking at her dress, picked up the fork next to her plate, and examined it.

“Why is this necessary?” she asked. “My hands work perfectly fine. Besides, whose idea was it to make these things out of metal? Wood is much softer.”

I was engrossed. The woman acted as if she were an alien that had just landed on the planet.

Just as I was about to learn more, a fleeting shadow caught my attention from the corner of my eye.

When I turned my head to look, I was faced with a terrifying creature.

Before I had a chance to process what I was seeing, the monster opened its mouth, revealing rows of sharp teeth.