24. Silas #2
“What is she?” I ask. “What’s a horseman?”
Noah looks at me, his expression grim. “She’s an Omega shadow witch.”
The words hit me with the force of a physical blow. A shadow witch. They are the stuff of legends, boogeymen whispered about in the darkest corners of the magical world. They work with hidden, taboo magic. Magic of death, of spirits, of things that should not be disturbed.
They are feared, but they are also said to be immensely powerful. And they are, without exception, Alphas. The raw, dark energy required for that kind of magic is not compatible with an Omega’s life-giving nature. It is a fundamental rule of magical biology.
“That’s not possible,” I say, my mind reeling. “Shadow witches are Alphas. Always.”
“Dahlia’s an exception,” Noah says, his eyes on the girl. “No one knows why. She just is.”
Damon is checking Dahlia over now, his hands moving, looking for injuries. She has a few shallow scratches on her hands and cheeks, probably from a fall, but otherwise, she seems to be physically unharmed. She’s just out of it. Her gaze is distant, her body trembling.
“I’m taking her to the station,” Damon says to Noah. He looks at me. “You can head out. We’ve got this.”
I should go. I’m exhausted and hungry. My involvement with this town’s strangeness should end with the wards.
But I don’t move. I’m too curious. An Omega shadow witch.
This changes everything. It’s a secret of monumental proportions, a secret the Council would kill to know.
I make a mental note. This town is a nest of secrets, each one more convoluted than the last.
“Noah, you call Maggie,” Damon continues, his tone all business again. “Let her know we have Dahlia, and we’re bringing her in. Have her notify the mother.”
“On it,” Noah says, already pulling out his phone.
Damon doesn’t wait. He carefully scoops Dahlia into his arms. She’s tall, but she seems weightless, her head lolling against his shoulder. He carries her toward his parked cruiser with an easy strength. I find myself following, my feet moving of their own accord.
My car is at the station anyway. This is just practical.
I watch as Damon gently sets her down in the back seat of his cruiser, buckling her in like a child. He speaks to her in a low, soothing murmur I can’t quite make out. She just stares blankly ahead.
Noah jogs over. “Maggie’s calling her mother. I have an idea. How about instead of making that poor woman drive all the way to the station, I take her? It will save either of you a trip.”
Damon pauses. “You do have a point. The fire station is closer to the Cross residence.”
“Exactly. It’ll save you the trip back out.”
“Sounds good,” Damon says, shutting the back door.
We wait as Noah helps Dahlia out of the cruiser. He turns to me. “You need a ride?”
“My car is at the station,” I confirm.
“Get in,” Damon tells me.
I slide into the passenger seat. Damon starts the engine, the lights cutting a path through the rainy darkness. Noah follows in his own vehicle as we pull away from the curb.
The drive is silent. The only sounds are the swish of the windshield wipers. I can feel Damon’s tension, a coiled energy in the confines of the car. He’s not just a sheriff dealing with a missing person.
After a few minutes, he speaks, his eyes fixed on the road. “Just ask.”
I turn my head to look at him. His profile is illuminated by the dash lights. “Ask what?”
“Whatever it is you’re thinking,” he says, a dry edge to his words. “I can practically hear the gears turning in your head from over here. You’re a Council man. You want to know why you’ve never heard of an Omega shadow witch in Willowbrook. So, ask.”
I consider my words carefully. This is a delicate situation. I’m an outsider, a representative of an authority he clearly doesn’t trust. But he is giving me an opening. I decide to take it.
“Why was this kept from the Council?” I ask, trying to keep my tone neutral. “An anomaly of this magnitude… it should have been reported.”
He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “And what would the Council have done? Sent a team of researchers to poke and prod her? To run tests? To lock her away in some sterile facility in the name of magical ‘progress’?” He glances at me, his gaze hard.
“Dahlia is a person. She’s not a specimen.
She gets nightmares. Sometimes she sees things before they happen.
Bad things. It scares her. It scares her mother.
But she doesn’t harm anyone. She never has.
” He looks back at the road, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.
“There was no reason to report it. It’s our problem to handle. ”
I study his face. The strong line of his jaw. The way his eyes stay focused on the road ahead. I see the conviction there. The fierce, protective loyalty. This isn’t a man who blindly follows orders. This is a man who follows his own code.
“Are you going to tell them?” he asks. The question hangs in the air between us.
He’s afraid. I can see it now. It’s not a fear of me, not personally. It’s a fear of what I represent—the cold, impersonal machine of authority that could descend on his town and tear apart everything he’s trying to protect. He’s asking me if I’m his enemy.
I look out the window, at the dark, rain-slicked streets of Willowbrook. I think of Helena’s contempt, my father’s disappointment. I think of the flawed theory, the impossible mission. I’m already failing in their eyes. What’s one more secret?
Besides, this is far more interesting.
I turn back to him. I don’t answer his question with words. I just give a small, almost imperceptible shake of my head.
A moment of silence passes. Then I see the tension in his shoulders ease, just a fraction. He doesn’t say thank you. He doesn’t have to.
I’m in deeper now, an accomplice to his secrets. And as we drive through the storm-battered town, I realize, with a startling lack of remorse, that I don’t mind at all.