I stood and took in the rest of the room. A closet in the corner of the room was half opened. A few black robes hung inside, but the door wasn’t open enough for me to see anything else.
The walls were stuffed with books. Lots and lots of books. I watched where I placed my feet as I went around the circle. As I stepped on a half-rotten floorboard, a loud creak sounded.
I paused, waiting to see if I could hear anything, but the house was still silent.
I wiped my palms along my jeans and stepped closer to the bookshelves along the back wall. Some of the books looked like the ones at my cousins’. Others were in a language I’d never seen before. I’d been careful not to touch anything so far. I’d been even more careful not to have a vision here. From the state of things, I had a feeling this room held more than I ever wanted to see. But holding back was a chickenshit move, especially when I’d come here to gather proof.
What should I touch?
I glanced back at the altar. The dead chicken’s head lolled, revealing the deep slit along its throat. With the picture next to it…I couldn’t think of many things more horrible.
I swallowed and turned back to the walls. I closed my eyes, held out my hand, and let my gut instincts take charge. Blindly, I reached for whatever I could.
Flashes of dark and light. Smells of death. Decay. Burning things. Rotting.
It was too dark to see anything. Too quiet.
And then there was a voice. It sang and my heart sped.
I didn’t have to know Latin to know this was bad. The tune, the cadence, told me everything I needed to know. I made out the word ‘Satani’ and chills ran along my skin.
The scent of sulfur filled my senses. It was suddenly hot. Scorching. It felt like I was baking alive. Burning.
I screamed and threw what I was holding.
A knife. It spun into the closet as I ran for the door.
I wasn’t thinking as I fled the house, leaving the door to Luciana’s craft room wide open. I didn’t care about getting caught anymore. I just needed to be gone.
The feeling that I would never be clean after touching that knife filled me.
That smell. Sulfur. The scent of hell.
Were demons real? Could Luciana call one to her?