Page 12 of Infernal Secrets

The lights blinked when the generator kicked on, the mall filling with dim light where some worked and others didn’t. Had the circuits shorted? Was that how it worked? I didn’t understand the stuff.

The lights go out? Get candles and flashlights. That was the extent of my emergency knowledge for short-term outages.

The lights flickered again, and a loud thunderclap made me jump as the mall sank into darkness once more.

“Jesus.” And here you were, looking down on everyone else for panicking. My gaze darted around, trying to make out anything in the darkness. Did the generator fail?

I reached for my phone, ready to use its flashlight and maybe call a ride share, but an orange glow reflecting off the glossy floor caught my eye.

3

WITCHCRAFT

RAE

My gaze followed the light to a bookstore filled with flickering candles. How odd. I could’ve sworn the wall had shown an ad for a store opening this winter. The creepy bookstore made me question my memory.

Balancing my purse and cake box, I walked toward the glimmer of light.

As I entered the store, the corridor behind me flickered back to life.

May as well grab some new books while I’m here.

Even with the power restored, the bookstore’s lighting remained unchanged.

Dozens of candles decorated the store, positioned on candelabras, inside hurricane globes, and within glass enclosures along the walls. Streams of melting wax trickled onto pottery plates from pillar candles crowned with hardened peaks. Pools of wax on the wooden floor made it clear this wasn’t a new shop.

The bookstore felt frozen in time, antique furniture flanked by battered bookshelves laden with timeworn books stood to the right of the entrance.

I frowned at the faded covers and spines. Strange choice for a storefront in a mall.

Worn floors creaked beneath my feet as I stepped farther inside, careful not to brush the flames of nearby candelabras. The aroma of lavender and rosemary permeated the air, drifting from bundles hanging from wooden beams overhead.

To my left, similar bookshelves lined the walls and the open floor. They held books written in this century, unlike the ones across the store that looked ready to crumble to dust.

Something kept tugging my gaze toward the old books, tightening my chest.

I set the cake box at my feet and grabbed a book by an author Maya told me about. She loved fantasy and paranormal romance from the late nineties and early 2000s. And while I wasn’t an avid reader, I favored thrillers and contemporary or dark romance written in the last decade.

I grabbed three books to give me options and picked up the cake box, then checked the ticking grandfather clock. I still had time, but I’d need to leave for the bus soon.

Making my way through the bookshelves toward the counter, I paused. The tugging in my chest returned, distracting me. Why did the idea of not following the pull leave me feeling hollow?

I set the cake box on the counter with my paperbacks and followed the pull to the store’s corner, where the oldest books were. Scanning the shelf, I tried to make sense of the feeling.

The tug vanished, replaced by a tingle prickling along my skin like ants crawling all over me.

“Find what you’re looking for?”

I yelped and whirled toward the soft, melodic voice.

“I’m sorry if I scared you.”

A beautiful woman, who looked no older than thirty, smiled at me. Her springy brunette curls brushed her shoulders, forming a layered halo around her head. Brown skin glowed bronze under the warm candlelight.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t see anyone else here.” I laughed. “I didn’t even know there was a bookstore here.”

“I relocated here recently,” the woman said with a smile. Her peridot eyes, vivid against her deeper skin tone, sparkled with warmth as if they, too, were smiling.