Page 53 of Florescentia

My nails traced over the surname etched into the worn leather.

Just one peek.

I lifted the cover, and the comfort of my father’s blocky writing put me at just as much ease as a first language.

But I’d made a mistake.

This was not a journal.

Heed me, reader. Whether this be my future self or an unfortunate stranger—hear my warning, you will never outrun death twice. Take all that I know and run with what you understand.

With a newly straightened posture, I turned the cover over again to check if I had mistakenly opened another book. No, it was his. The same leather-bound book as before.

The deceiver lies alone, cursed with knowing all, and possessing none. Do not let him through.

I flipped to the next page, a sort of index. There were scribbles of sigils, quick notes beside them. Half were different types of protections; others were quick symbols for categories, footnotes, and the like. One that caught my attention was an eye: well, two versions. An oval eye with an arrow drawn through it.

Arrowhead outward for banishing, inward for trapping. Chalk or carving. Will only apply to the whole object.

Then the next page.

Florescentia to open, Obscuria to close. It is important that you close.

“He can do it too,” I whispered out loud. Though there was no mention of the Peculiars. How was he doing it? Just after the incantations, some descriptions.

Water is a door. Any body of water, but be wary of the size. The size of the door will fit the visitor you summon, make sure you have the strength to close it.

Water is a door.

Water is a door.

I sprang from my seat like a ravenous flea, my legs moving faster than my body, complete with a stumble around the corner. Absinthe and Tonic zipped by my feet, disturbed by the sudden movement. Up to the third floor, past portrait walls and the bedroom door, then finally, the bathroom.

I ran the sink, watching the water putter until it had a steady stream. With a washcloth, I plugged the sink.

“Florescentia,” I whispered.

“I didn’t know your little legs could move that fast.” Altair’s voice sounded distant in the room.

“Just an experiment,” I said, not taking my eyes off the sink.

The shadow peeked over my shoulder, staring at me through the reflection. “Are you experimenting with a new hand soap?”

“No.” I turned quickly, walking directly through the shadow’s chest. A small jolt of energy zapped throughout my body, a flash of coldness as I passed a dark cloud.

The tub faucet was stiff again; the handles needed cleaning. When the turn finally gave way, hot water splashed into the basin.

The shadow was loose in form but vaguely human shaped. I supposed he’d gotten tired of all the effort of a tangible form. It slunk over to the tub, sitting behind it as it watched me.

I glanced down at the book.

There were no instructions, nothing specific. Just the incantations and a couple of paragraphs about the water. I supposed it worked like my Peculiars, but less sentient.

With my eyes closed, I let the breath leave my lungs completely. My heartbeat pumped in my ears, slower and slower. The muscles in my face relaxed, my shoulders releasing.

“Florescentia,” I said again.

“What are you doing?” Altair’s voice cut through.