Chapter 15
Evie
Anger was an unpleasant thing. It radiated beneath the skin, enflaming the body as well as the mind. But for the past few hours, Evie had reveled in her anger, sitting alone in her bedchamber with nothing but gray mist and her dagger for company.
The magic stirred above her, taking the shape of a storm cloud.
“Hilarious,” she murmured, rolling onto her side.
The room was empty, the only light coming from the fire one of the interns had come in to start for her, but still, the shadowed mist twisted around until it was in front of her face.
“Leave me alone!” she growled, turning to the other side, relenting in frustration when it appeared in front of her again.
Her scar pulsed against her shoulder, pulling painfully from whatever hopelessly numb feeling was festering inside, glowing an iridescent light strong enough for her to see.
“What on earth?” She sat up, startled when the mist surrounded the wound, the colors meeting, overwhelming her with relief she didn’t understand. It was warm. Safe.
The dagger on the nightstand began to glow, too, shaking like it was trying to find where the other bit of magic within it lived. After Otto Warsen had terminated her position by attacking her with a magically imbued dagger, Evie had never thought to ask what sort of magic it was.
Perhaps she should have.
Because the moment the dark, mist-like magic touched the glowing array of color on her back, it became…sentient.
No. No. This is wishful thinking. Like the time you thought the shriveled grapes in the bunch would be offended if you didn’t eat them along with the others.
But the notion became significantly harder to deny when the magic twirled about her hair, pushing it up and out in ridiculous directions. “Knock it off!”
The mist shook in…laughter? Or her hallucination was growing more tangible. Both were entirely possible. She willed it back to her, begging it to bury itself within her skin once again, but it resisted, and she felt the tug like a painful jerk against her heart.
“Stop. Please!”
On her gasp, the mist swarmed back to her, disappearing beneath her skin in an abrupt collision that sent her reeling into the headboard with a hard smack to her skull.
“Deadlands!” she yelped, tumbling from the bed to her knees. “What in the—”
She was cut off by the light shining brighter, so pure that everything halted. Time moved slower; her heart relaxed to a dreamlike pace. Her skin felt alive, and all the pain was gone. It did not hurt to breathe any longer, to remember all she had lost.
The light whispered her name gently. It tossed her hair about and tugged on her wrists, pulling her to standing, leading her to a world where no one hurt her, where there was only love about.
And this time, some of it was for her.
Cool stone pressed against the soles of her feet, drops of water sliding down her face, sensations of wind in her hair. Her troubles were leaving.
Past the stairs, past a painting, past a door, until the walls around her disappeared.
Her family’s home. The one before Massacre Manor.
And her family sat at the table, eating, laughing.
Her father, Griffin, was standing at the head of the table, kissing her mother’s cheek before grabbing another roll and tossing it to Gideon, who tore it in half and handed the other to Lyssa. They were happy.
Tears burned in Evie’s eyes. They were happy.
And there was an empty chair for her.
“Come, hasibsi.” Her mother waved her over with a warm twinkle in her kohl-lined eyes. “Your food will be cold.”
Evie approached cautiously, hope swelling in her chest. Had it all been a bad dream? Her life before this. What was that again?
“Evie dear,” her father said. “Might you do me a favor and go upstairs to grab the spinning wheel? I wanted to fix it for your mother after we eat. Darn thing isn’t working again.”
That was it? That was the only price she need pay for this reality?
Approaching the stairs she’d climbed up every night to retire, then down to start her day, she paused, mesmerized by the candles lining the banister.
She could feel herself float above the first step, prepared to take another.
Her foot raised for it, hovering closer and closer.
How lovely it would be to—
Don’t do this, Evie. That quiet voice that had been within her for the whole of her life was commanding her now. The only consistency she could rely on.
Griffin Sage stood, his face still warm, as kind as he’d always been, nodding toward the stairs. “Go ahead, darling.”
Evie felt something pulling at her mind, but she could not find it, not when everything was floating about in confusing ways.
Don’t fall for it a second time, Evie.
She staggered, feeling an odd drop in her stomach when she teetered forward, blinking until a rush of thoughts stacked one on top of the other.
Don’t doubt yourself, Evie.
Don’t let them win, Evie.
“Evie? The spinning wheel?” Griffin Sage smiled jovially at her, coming up beside her to help her ascend the next step.
Smiling back dutifully, she nodded, allowing his hand to guide her. She allowed it for all of five seconds…before turning and punching Griffin Sage in the gut with all her might, all her anger, and all her sadness. Her father stumbled, betrayal in his eyes.
The man in front of her was not her father. But since the real Griffin wasn’t readily available, she settled for another swing at this one.
And this time, the mask broke away from Griffin’s face, revealing a shining light that Evie had seen before in a different place. Apparently, she had not thrown the paperweight hard enough—
Or the destiny monster wouldn’t be before her now.
“How dare you strike me, you wicked girl!” The light split the walls of the house, the background melting away until her family home was replaced with the manor parapet—her foot dangling precariously over the edge.
The long walkway between towers had been repaired from her run-in with the bomb, save for the very end. The last connector had yet to be finished, and she was right over the edge.
Evie corrected politely, “Wicked Woman, actually.” Carefully placing her foot back down, she continued. “But I’ll forgive the blunder.” She gave the monster a jovial smile, recalling that without the containment by the Fortis Family, Evie had no idea what she was up against.
A horrid screech wrenched the air, and Evie’s arms whirled, trying to catch her balance, falling backward for a mere second. That was all it took for two large hands to close around her waist, dragging her down and into his arms.
“Might I recommend a different walking path, Sage?” Trystan murmured in her ear, and she inhaled, breathing him in.
It was okay to indulge in his touch. She’d just nearly taken a long walk over the side of a fairly short building.
Exceptions under the circumstances appeared the least of what she deserved.
“But this one has such a view,” she replied weakly, clutching his shirt for a blissful second more before letting him go and facing their foe together. “What was that? Another test of goodness?”
The destiny monster hissed, the beam of light morphing, taking the shape of a tall, beautiful woman, almost human with her lustrous hair and penetrating silver eyes. “That was just the beginning of what I have planned for you, Ms. Sage.”
Evie snorted, and Trystan put himself between the destiny monster and her, a protective strength in the flex of the arm he’d thrust in front of Evie’s chest.
Stop ogling your boss’s biceps when you’re facing a deadly enemy, Evie!
Which, in other words, would mean never at all.
As you were, Evie.
“You were granted freedom,” Trystan reasoned. “You need not waste it colluding with someone like Benedict.”
The woman chuckled darkly. “I have no desire to see Rennedawn’s storybook prophecy through as it stands.”
“You expect us to believe that?” Trystan’s voice was a low rumble.
Destiny shrugged, a haunting laugh following the motion. “I expect nothing. Nothing except the story I intended for Rennedawn to unfold. The story I planned.”
“Meaning?” Evie lifted a brow, folding her arms.
“Meaning, enjoy your time as you are now, Evie Sage, for a curse is brewing not far from where you stand. A curse that will return Rennedawn to its original course.”
Evie’s heart dropped to her feet.
Destiny grinned. “A world where Trystan Maverine never became The Villain.”
“That’s impossible!” Trystan gritted out, unleashing his sword from his side and angling it for the beast spewing threats that felt too outlandish to be real but too frightening to be faked. “Such curses cannot be done.”
The destiny monster smiled again. “Quite right. These things take time, of course. Three sunsets before Hallows’ Eve will be your final chance to ever be free. Until then, I’d recommend saying your goodbyes. But you’ll see me again. Fret not.”
“Oh, I’m full of fret, lady,” Evie deadpanned, exhaling when the destiny monster winked out of sight.
Two months from now, Evie thought. Everything will change. And it will be our greatest victory…or our greatest loss.
Trystan remained silent for a few moments before his dark eyes peered down at her with an astonished, near comical expression. “That’s an inconvenient development.”
“Which one? The pending curse,” Evie asked, “or that her hair looked fit for a shampoo advertisement?”
Trystan did the only thing they could do under such circumstances.
He laughed.
It was so lovely that she smiled, watching him with an embarrassing degree of attentiveness.
“We’ll figure out how to stop this, Sage,” Trystan assured, and the softness in it made her want to melt into him. “We always do.”
Though she kept her smile plastered to her face, inwardly, she frowned, as an overwhelmingly intrusive thought crept in.
A thought that whispered to her…that this time, they wouldn’t.