Page 2 of Florescentia

I leaned back on my heels to pull. It was like trying to retrieve something buried in clay. Slow and steady, my arm was resurfacing, and around my wrist a thick tendril of ink tightened, reddening the skin as it gripped.

Other forms began to bubble and rise from the pool, climbing over to my legs. A dark substance quivered upon reaching my knees, ascending from the depths I’d summoned it from.

This Peculiar was a strong one. I could feel it by the way the air grew cold and the liquid became warmer, but also by the grip.

The liquid formed a semi-stiff appendage as it wrapped around my leg. The tapered tip lingered between my thighs, feathering its touch before it ventured into all the sensitive places.

A second, longer appendage wrapped around my waist and up my back, curling and caressing the nape of my neck.

The warmth was enough to melt me, my legs relaxing and widening to allow the dark creature access. To touch me, tease me, savor me.

The darkness slipped deeper between my legs, the other appendage by my neck hooking into my mouth as a thousand other touches from the shadows erupted over my skin, a rush of elation, arousal, every good feeling you could imagine catalyzing the ritual.

The energy was at its peak, and eventually, I would be too.

Lust for luck.

The easiest bargain in history.

Chapter Two

The Nova

There were many hours in a day, but never enough.

I rose as early as the birds, yet my husband beat me every time, just a dip in the mattress as proof of his slumber.

The mid-June heat radiated from my skin, the sheets sticking as I peeled them off. Not even the silken pillow slip could stop my hair from becoming undone during my rest, thick curls sticking to me as I coaxed them back with a ribbon.

The ceiling windows cast light across the room, creeping slowly toward the bed as the beams straightened. The curtains waving from gusts of hot air failed to make the room any more tolerable.

The Laxamentum months were hard in the townhome. The air would rise and become stale until it reached the ceiling. Opening windows would only stir the air, not relieve the staleness. The heat from outside came from the surrounding buildings, unable to escape through the wind tunnels pushing it around the city grid.

There was no use throwing on a robe. I was already sweating in my nightgown.

As my feet touched the ground, my toes searched for my house slippers before I shoved them on. Then I gathered my empty water glass, tipping it to my lips as if some miracle of a drop would still be there.

The moment I stepped into the hallway, a breeze from the wind outside passed through the front window and out the back. While a temporary pleasure, it was still hot air.

Getting down two flights of stairs to the first floor was enough to make me short of breath. In the next home, I might settle for a single-floor cottage. By the time I’d climbed down to the ground floor, the noises from the street were clearer, specters and flashes of light playing like a performance of puppets in a shadow theater behind the curtains. The smell of fresh-ground coffee beans and oats collected in the air, a phonograph mumbling from the parlor.

I was lucky to have the sort of life where, no matter the excitement of my conquests, some things never changed, never failed.

Waking up with a roof over my head was one; a plate of pomegranate seeds beside a pressed coffee every morning was another. Then the partner responsible was always reading the paper, like clockwork.

Dorian didn’t look up from his papers, but I caught the twitch of his brow as I appeared in his periphery.

“You didn’t wake me.” I stood in front of the window, casting a shadow over him.

Dorian peeked over the top of his paper, a curled piece of black hair dangling in front of a pair of ocean-blue irises.

“I knew better than to wake the beast.” His eyes were stern, and so were his words, until he abandoned his paper facade to reveal a witty grin. “I would say I wanted you to save all your energy for the upcoming patent appointment, but I know you could do it in your sleep.”

“If only I could attend to things in my sleep, I could have so much more time to do what I please.” I plucked a pomegranate seed from the crystal bowl, meeting him at eye level. “Maybe a cloning machine will be my next invention. Any ideas?”

He folded the newspaper across his lap, neatly pressing the seams back into place, as if they were never undone in the first place. “Not in the slightest.”

“I thought engineers could make anything,” I teased, circling the table between us before plopping down beside him on the love seat, chewing the fruit meat around the seed as I spoke.