Page 103 of Florescentia

I grabbed some things of Dorian’s. A broken watch, the cat bowl. I needed something alluring, something involving other senses. His cigar holder. There were only three remaining, thinly rolled and still smelling like toasted chocolate and premium tobacco. I needed one more for good measure.

I pulled the heirloom necklace from around my neck. The gem dazzled, the light shining in a starlike pattern from the cut.

This would do.

Out behind the home, the garden was now completely barren despite the peak season. The vines were dry, a beige that blended with the red brick. Flowers that were once vibrant now a struggling mess among spindly weeds. The grass had become patchy, yellowing toward the middle. I moved the old café table and iron folding chairs to the side, sweeping the grass of any dead leaves.

I placed the items on the ground in front of me.

Something overcame me, a rush of adrenaline. It was so strong I fell to my knees before all the trinkets I’d gathered. Even Tonic came to my side, providing a calming weight in my lap.

“Are you sure about this?” Altair’s face was tense, his brow furrowed enough that it distorted the tattoo on his forehead.

“I’m sure,” I answered.

Tonic slipped from my lap and presented a void before me in the dead grass. My own tired reflection peered back at me.

Before I continued, I consulted the book. It didn’t open to me as it had before. I had to do that myself.

The pages drew up a blank.

With a deep inhale, I lingered on the words I wanted to say.

Do I ask it out loud?

“Do you want instruction?” he offered.

“Let me try by myself.” I shooed his hands away as he reached for the book.

I opened my notebook with the names, flipping until I reached the first.

“John Lahue,” I said, placing the notebook down beside the grimoire.

We waited for a moment, then two. Nothing seemed to be different or changing.

“It seems Mr. Lahue has crossed.” Altair broke the silence.

“Crossed?”

“Beyond. You can only talk to the ones who are in the Otherside, the place you’ve been able to visit by water. Remember the library?”

“What happens if they go beyond?”

He hesitated before answering. “They’re just gone. Part of the dust of the universe. The energy is recycled like all other matter.”

“I see.” I flipped the page for the next name. My palms were becoming clammy, as was my neck. “Rachel Witham.”

The wind gusted by my ear, a small startle. But other than that, the grimoire was blank and nothing was happening.

“Two people passed.” Altair clasped his hands gleefully, as if trying to put a positive spin on the inconclusive ritual.

I turned the next page hastily. “Allison Thomas,” I said—then a crackling sound, like burning wood.

“Is someone there?” A voice reached my ear, so small and delicate.

The grimoire sizzled, black lines searing into the page.

I leaned close, watching as they traveled into curves and filled in blots.