Accidental Surrogate

Cora

About three hours later I am…over books. As a genre, in their entirety.

My hands are dusty, and I’m sick of the smell of musty old pages, and they’re just so boring –

Page after page of history regarding shifter worship practices – who genuflected to this god, and how, and where, and for how long, and the minute changes in the practices…

I groan, pushing my twentieth book away from me and looking dourly at the stack of about fifty still left in my pile.

“Come on, Cora,” Roger says, sitting comfortably across from me, smirking at me over the edge of a neat little green text. “You’re supposed to be the smart one in the family. I thought you’d have more staying power than this.”

“Ella’s smart,” I reply, immediately defensive. He nods, conceding the point. “But you gave me all the dusty books,” I sigh, frowning and pulling the next one off the top of the pile and towards me. I cough when it raises a puff of dust into the air on its way.

“I gave you all the ones with more pictures,” Roger murmurs, closing his book and reaching for his next as well. “Wanted to make it easy on you.”

My mouth drops open in a little outrage at his implication there but then I see the upturned corner of his lip. “Liar,” I say, smiling down at my book as I open the cover. The title page reads A Complete History of the Cults of the Dark God, 1862. “You just didn’t want to get your hands and clothes dusty touching all these old ones.” Passively, I gesture to my clothes – which are indeed covered in a light layer of grey library dust.

“You’ve got a little on your ass,” Roger murmurs indifferently. “Come here, I’ll help you brush it off.”

is indeed heavily illustrated, with many pictures of occult ceremonies and practices that I find fascinating, if not a little disturbing. I’m letting my eyes drift

I stop, frozen.

him, right in front of

not him – not precisely, the face is not the same – but

and his attention is instantly on

he could be, leaning over–the book next to me. I point at the image, which takes up three quarters of a page and shows a monk with a partially shaved head striding through a forest in a dark robe, tied at the waist with a rope from which charms dangle. In his hand is a stick – or a staff, I don’t know

I remembered in the moment. I’m sorry about that – but the charms, and the rod and and

comfortingly, the tips of his fingers suddenly light on my lower back, not brushing against me

and then we both lean forward, reading,

lord, the God of Darkness, who they understand

but am shocked and disappointed to find that that’s the end. “That’s

he asks me, turning the page back and pointing to the picture. “Are you sure that this is precisely what you saw in your hypnosis and when you

steadily. “When I saw it – it was like déjà vu. Just an immediate return to those memories. If I had seen that image, even without the hypnosis, it

hug and then releasing me. “Look through the rest of the book if anything else rings a bell. I’m going to go call Sinclair, get his team working

to the book and quickly looking through the pages, my mind whirling. What the hell was this cult? And what on earth

worship the god who works in opposition his

again on the phrase “blood sacrifice” and my heart drops to

my shoulder and I jump, spinning