Page 1 of Bitten & Burned
Prologue
TELL ME HOW TO HELP YOU
Caer Voss, Sol, Verdune
27 Earix, Year 809
The Arcanum was hushedin that way buildings get after hours, when only the diehards linger. Lamps burned low behind frosted glass, and the wards stitched into the stone walls hummed like bees. It resonated beneath my ribs like an answering chord, my own magic communing with the wards.
I’d meant to stop by earlier, but Vael kept me longer than I had planned. Distracted by his kisses and his relentless commentary on my terrible time management, my errands seemed to multiply the moment I actually started tackling them.
And now, suddenly, it was nearly midnight and I’d only just arrived at the Arcanum for my meeting with my mentor, Dr. Drummond.
His office door stood ajar, spilling a sliver of lamplight across the corridor floor. The name etched into it was barely visible, but I’d seen it often enough to know what it said: Dr. Silas Drummond, Professor of Cursework and Ancient Artifacts. I tapped gently on the wood panel before pushing in.
“Rowena,” he said without looking up, as if I weren’t late at all and had arrived precisely when he’d expected me.
Dr. Drummond crouched on the threadbare rug, a fineglass pinched to one eye as he studied a chunk of rough, unpolished red stone.
The office was its usual chaos: scrolls stacked in precarious towers, books left open as if abandoned mid-sentence, and odd relics claimed every flat surface. Silas himself looked like he’d been living on cold tea, stale toast, and sheer stubbornness. His salt-and-pepper hair was in disarray, and the fine skin beneath his eyes had shadowed with exhaustion.
I let my hand trail on the table by the door, all the dust sweeping from the surface at my touch. Papers began to organize themselves into neat stacks. Scrolls rerolled themselves, and I glanced around the room at a few of the lamps that had gone out. Within seconds, they began glowing again under my gaze.
“Evening,” I said, glancing down at the stone in front of him. “Working with bloodstone, I see.” Its red glimmer tugged at something instinctive—I’d seen Vael use it before in ritual work tied to Camarae, the Lady of Life, Death, and Thresholds, but I knew it could also be used for curse breaking. I wondered absently what curse he’d happened upon that required bloodstone, and hoped it didn’t have anything to do with the book I’d dropped off a few nights before.
He glanced up, looking around the room as if surprised by the sudden cleanliness that had overtaken his chaos. “Mm. Good eye.” He turned it in his hand; dull red winked in the lamplight. “Cleansing properties. I’m testing binding ratios.”
“Unpolished? It looks like it played chicken with a carriage…and lost—then got dropped from a great height for good measure. Shouldn’t you polish it first?”
“Yes, well… that’s the problem with rocks,” he murmured, setting it aside. “Needy without proper care and a major time sink if you happen to try.” He pushed to his feet with a small wince, glancing at his pocket watch. “You’re late.”
“You know how I love a dramatic entrance,” I said, stepping around a toppling stack of parchment. I waved my hand over it and righted it as well. “Do you have my book, or did I walk all the way here to admire your rock collection?”
Dr. Drummond's mouth tipped. “Always with the charm.” He reached for a leather-bound volume on his desk but didn’t hand it off immediately. “You know you don’t have to clean up after me,” he chastised. He paused, studying me. My face. My expression as I raised my eyebrows incredulously. Then, he inhaled as if awakening from a trance. “Apologies, it’s been a long…” he paused as if looking for the appropriate word. “Weekend. But I had a look. No hexes. No curses. But some very intriguing pre–Stone War alchemy, nonetheless.”
“Yeah, well, that’s how the last ‘harmless’ ancient tome looked before it tried to possess me.” I held out my hands, summoning the book to me. It floated into my hands. “I could have sworn you’d find something in this one, Dr. Drummond.”
“Rowena, please… we’ve been over this. Silas now. I’m not your professor any longer.”
I knew that. He never let me forget that we were peers now. But it still felt odd to call him anything but Dr. Drummond.
“Old habits,” I mumbled in way of explanation. “Silas.”
I ran my hand over the book in my hands.
Arcan Alkemy—a phonetic title stamped into cool leather, the script inside handwritten neatly. It was old. Old enough that my senses prickled anyway, the book heavy with that watchful silence I’d begun to trust more than any reassurances from others. Phonetic spelling generally meant it was very old. And very old, but in this condition? It would seem to be cursed, but I suppose even my educated hunches could be wrong once in a while.
“I promise I did search the old thing front to back, saw nothing to validate your misgivings. You know, you’ve been spending an awful lot of time with your vampire,” he said mildly. “It’s making you paranoid. Suspicion is healthy in our line of work, but it’s not the same as evidence.”
“Vael would agree,” I said. “He loves evidence. He also loves lecturing me about bringing whatever I have suspicions about to himbeforeI lick it.”
“Please don’t lick the book,” Silas said, a little too quickly, and I laughed.
“Not my plan.” I slanted him a look. “You alright? You look… wrung out.”
“Tired,” he admitted, rubbing at his temple. “Nothing a long sleep won’t fix.” He gestured at the volume. “If you’re interested, black gold and black diamonds are mentioned on pages eighty-eight and eighty-nine. Curious cross-references. If there's anything I missed, it’d be there.”
“Specific,” I said. “Trying to make me fall in love with you over your thoughtful indexing?” I opened the book and flipped straight to the pages immediately, scanning them silently.
