Secrets and Silence
842 Words
*Dominic’s POV*
The study was a chaos of paper, cracked bindings, and sleepless sighs.
Dominic stood near the tall arched windows of the Walton library, arms crossed as Annabelle muttered to herself in a corner, flipping pages faster than her eyes could follow. Hayden and Emma sat on the floor surrounded by an ocean of open tomes, scribbled notes, and empty coffee cups. Luke was halfway up a ladder, scanning a shelf like the answer might jump into his hands.
None of it made sense.
Not a single thing they’d found explained Sarena’s transformation, her vacant eyes, her soulless smile. None of it explained the power that had twisted her presence into something unrecognizable.
“Nothing,” Luke muttered, hopping down. “Unless she’s possessed by an ancient squirrel spirit, these books are useless.”
Annabelle sighed, pushing her curls back with ink-smudged fingers. “Some of these grimoires were written before structured language. Half of them are encoded in symbols only the authors understood.”
Dominic didn’t respond. He was staring at the dying fire, jaw locked.
Hayden spoke next, voice low. “We’ll find something. Just not tonight.”
Emma closed a thick volume with a frustrated thud. “Agreed. Let’s rest before our brains leak out of our ears.”
They started to clear the mess, and Dominic helped in silence. When everyone finally drifted off toward their rooms, he remained behind, unmoving.
Sleep was out of the question.
He tried, briefly, to lie on the couch. But the stillness pressed too heavily on his chest. The library felt like a tomb. And Sarena—whatever was left of her—was somewhere in the dark, alone.
That thought alone was enough to drive him out of the estate without a word.
---
The manor loomed like a specter at the edge of the city. Centuries of charm and corruption wrapped in ivy and old magic.
Dominic stood at the tall, iron doors, the silence around him tense as the butler led him inside without a word.
The halls still smelled like rose oil and secrets.
He hadn’t been here in decades.
The butler gestured to the great drawing room, then left him alone in front of a pair of polished blackwood doors. He hesitated only a second before pushing them open.
Inside, it was like time had folded in on itself.
There, lounging like royalty on a velvet chaise, her legs draped in silk and her fingers dancing over a thick, faded grimoire, was **Bel**—Dominic’s mother. His maker. His oldest wound.
“Hi, Mother,” he said dryly.
Bel didn’t look up immediately. When she did, her violet eyes sparkled with interest, not warmth. “Well, well,” she purred. “If it isn’t my wayward son. What brings you to your dear old ma? Run out of corpses to interrogate?”
Dominic leaned against the doorframe, arms folded. “Just thought I’d pay a visit.”
She laughed once, sharp and clean. “In five centuries, not once have you visited ‘just because.’ Even last time I came to you went you needed help, What is this really about, Dominic?”
Her voice was light, amused, but he could already feel her digging—mentally, magically, emotionally. She was always fishing.
He sighed. “Something’s wrong with Sarena.”
That caught her attention.
He told her everything. The attack. The emptiness in Sarena’s gaze. The unnatural power that radiated from her now. The way nothing they’d found had helped.
Bel closed her book slowly and rested her chin in her hand. “Sounds less like corruption and more like… absence.”
Dominic’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve heard whispers,” she said, voice softer now. “Back in the old days. A theory. That sometimes souls aren’t destroyed—they’re locked away. Stolen. Replaced.”
Dominic’s breath hitched. “You think Sarena’s soul is gone?”
“I don’t know,” Bel replied smoothly. “But you’re wasting time in books if you’re only reading the ones that obey logic. Try older magic. Try blood magic.”
He shook his head. “She was an orphan. No blood relatives. That won’t work.”
Bel watched him carefully. He was lying. She could feel it. But she said nothing.
“If that’s what you believe,” she said finally, “then at least let me help. I’ll dig through the deeper records, send out my spies.”
Dominic hesitated. Accepting help from Bel was like drinking poison because it came in a golden cup. But he had no choice.
“Thank you,” he said stiffly.
She smiled. “Worry suits you. But you wear it poorly.”
He turned to leave, not bothering with a reply.
Just as he reached the threshold, she called after him. “Your brothers are home. You won’t say hello?”
Dominic paused, hand on the door. “Maybe another time.”
Then he stepped into the hallway, and the shadows swallowed him.
--
- Writer
