The next day, while Fate was still sleeping off his ordeal, Dante, on his way to the shower, saw the book lying on the floor where he had dropped it. He remembered how it had seemed, for no reason, to fly out of his hands, and even resisted his touch. He knew something had changed, and he was almost afraid to find out what.
Dante looked down at the book, realizing it was more than just a book, and knowing that caused a certain chill inside him. His first inclination was to pick it up and put it away, but for some reason he hesitated. As he gazed down at it, the fists of both hands splayed, and then fisted when he thought of touching it because he knew that one day—at least according to Fate—it would no longer feel like imitation leather in his hand, but it would feel like fire.
Had that
