Today's Reading

Still, if their enemy was searching this estate, the traitor clearly remained unaware of the transfer, of its destination in England. He hung his hope upon this thinnest of threads.

They must never know where I sent it.

It must vanish into history again.

A commotion drew his attention to the mahogany doors leading into his study. A tall figure strode into the room, flanked by two others, all three enrobed and hooded in crimson, their faces hidden behind folds of black cloth.

Jakob scowled at the trio, at their artifice and pompous garb. He focused on the man in the center, clearly their leader, whose eyes were as black as his scarf. His complexion, what little that could be seen of it, was a pallid shade.

“You will never find the alchemist’s book,” Jakob assured the man, spitting a gobbet of bloody mucus at his toes. “It is already beyond your reach.”

“Nothing is beyond the reach of the Confrérie,” the man said.

The leader waved to the two men who flanked him. The pair dragged Elli’s body off. Watching her limp form be manhandled so callously, her arm scribing a bloody trail, inflamed Jakob’s fury. Anger tightened his chest and strangled his breath.

Once the way was clear, the tall man sidestepped around the pool of blood to approach the chair.

“Professor Haugen, I apologize. This savagery should never have happened. If I had reached your estate sooner, I would have prevented it. Our methods need not be so crude.”

Jakob had a hard time reading this one’s sincerity. The other’s eyes remained cold, his voice matter-of-fact. Jakob heard a slight French accent, but he could not even be certain of that.

The leader nodded to one of his companions, who carried a steel briefcase. The man crossed to a neighboring lamp table and snapped open the case. Jakob had expected to see a splay of sharp instruments of torture. Instead, a set of three syringes rested in velvet, along with a row of vials.

“Truth serums have been notoriously unreliable,” the leader intoned as his two companions prepped the drugs. “At least in the past. Today’s intelligence agencies have refined their methods, which are kept tightly guarded. Yes, analogs of thiopental and scopolamine continue to be useful, but the concurrent addition of oxytocin and MDMA encourages complete cooperation.”

Once the syringes were filled, the two companions closed upon Jakob. He fought and writhed, but strong hands pinned an arm. Needles stabbed: one, then another, but he never felt the third. By then, the room had darkened, and his chin fell to his chest.

Words trailed him into oblivion. “In twilight, no secrets can be kept.”

By the time Jakob woke again—which felt like no more than a long breath—he found himself alone. The forest outside had gone dark, but the room inside blazed with flames. Shelves and books burned all around. Smoke choked high. The heat seared with each breath. Panic cleared the haze from his head. He fought his restraints, but it was not the fire that set his heart to pounding. Death had already been coming for him.

Instead, it was the unknown that horrified him.

What did I tell them?

He had no memory of any interrogation.

He craned at the spreading flames and feared this manner of death was the leader’s cruel way of letting Jakob know that the truth had been stolen from him.

Weeks ago, Jacob had been amused upon learning of the book’s next hiding place, a location that he had deemed sardonically appropriate, particularly considering the book’s contents. He had even shared an adage with Elli from a revered writer: Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.

As the fire and smoke closed upon him, he knew these flames were meant as a final message to him—especially knowing where he had sent the alchemist’s diary.

For in the past, they burned witches.



This excerpt is from the hardcover edition.

Monday July 6, we begin the book A Bad, Bad Place by Frances Crawford. 

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