Chapter 20
Twenty
ANSEL
The relief I feel when I see Izzy is almost palpable.
I’ve spent the last few hours worried out of my mind, wondering if something happened to her. The Maiden—a woman named Soraya—assured me she was fine, but I don’t trust any of these damn witches.
What I saw Izzy do in that hallway was not fine.
Not at all.
Even now, I can sense the power she wielded, like an electrical current that still buzzes beneath my skin. I scratch absently at my arms, but that does very little to alleviate the strange sensation.
What the hell was that?
I didn’t know true terror until I saw Izzy fall to her knees, an anguished cry ripped from her throat. I wasn’t afraid of her, of course, but for her. I didn’t know if she was in pain or if the witches and warlocks would retaliate against her.
I tried to move towards her, tried to help in any way I could, but it was like a blast of air was pushing me back. I was wading through knee-deep tar, and nothing I did would bring me to her.
Then Soraya came, whispered a few words, and Izzy passed out, effectively stopping the strange magic that seemed to be emanating from her. Before I could get my feet to work, Soraya hoisted Izzy up—displaying surprising strength that belied her petite appearance—and carried her away.
Now I’m in what appears to be a grandiose cafeteria, sitting between a scowling Dyson and an anxious Celeste. Michelle was carted off shortly after the fight, no doubt to be patched up. She sustained the most injuries out of everyone there, which could explain Dyson’s sour mood.
My own mood plummets every second I sit here, waiting.
Where is she?
Why isn’t she here?
Fuck, I should go look for her. I need to find her.
And then I see her, a radiant vision that siphons the air from my lungs. Heat prickles my body, the majority of it rushing south to my cock, which hardens.
I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful—as sexy—as Isabella in a black dress. When she moves, a slit up her thigh reveals a hint of golden skin that I yearn to kiss, lick, touch.
Fire engulfs my cheeks at my intrusive thoughts, though I can’t deny the truth of them.
A part of me is tired of hiding my feelings for Izzy.
I care about her.
A lot.
More than I’ve ever cared about anyone before.
Her gaze scans the crowd until it lands on me, and a beatific smile unfurls on her lips.
She parts from the witch she entered with and makes a beeline towards me.
As she weaves her way through the gawking witches and warlocks, I notice she still has her backpack on, and it bounces against her with every step.
I stand from the table and move to meet her, placing my hands on her arms and checking her over for injury. I know Soraya assured me she was okay, but I need to see with my own two eyes that she’s alive and breathing.
I realize she’s studying me just as intently, and I swallow, feeling a surge of emotion I can’t quite articulate.
“Hi,” I say lamely, internally chastising myself for being an awkward idiot.
Hi? Really? That’s the best I can do?
Izzy’s lips quirk. “Hi.”
“I’m so happy to see that you’re okay,” I whisper, my throat clogging with the enormity of my emotions for her.
A shudder reverberates through her, and she squeezes her eyelids shut. “I should be saying that to you. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“Hurt me?” I shake my head adamantly and then begin to guide her towards one of the long wooden tables. “No. Not at all. I’ve just been worried sick about you. After Soraya took you away, I didn’t know if—”
I clamp my lips together, not wanting to voice my deepest fears out loud. Doing so might make them come true.
Izzy finally reopens her eyes and places her hand in mine, giving it a squeeze.
“Is this supposed to be the cafeteria?” Izzy asks, expertly changing the subject, which I’m grateful for.
We were venturing into dangerous territory where I may have said words I’m not ready to say. Some confessions are meant to be internalized only.
“Apparently.” I allow my gaze to travel around the spacious room for the first time.
I was too consumed with worry for Izzy to pay attention before, but now I can’t help but marvel.
The walls are made of ancient stone, etched with glowing runes that shimmer faintly in the dim, flickering light of enchanted lanterns hanging from the vaulted ceiling.
These lanterns float just above head height, casting an ethereal glow that dances across the room, making the entire space feel alive with energy.
The wooden tables seem to stretch endlessly, covered in mismatched but beautifully crafted dinnerware.
Some plates float gently in midair, levitated by spells, while others appear to grow from the wood itself, sprouting like flowers in bloom.
The air hums with the scent of herbs, spices, and freshly baked bread.
Above the tables and lanterns, the ceiling is a dark expanse of enchanted glass, showing a constantly shifting sky that doesn’t feel right.
Sometimes, like right now, it’s a deep twilight with sparkling stars.
Other times, the swirling colors of an aurora borealis fill the expanse, or the sun will glare down.
Witches and warlocks of all ages sit scattered across the room, talking in hushed tones or laughing.
As I watch, transfixed, a steaming pot of stew manifests on a table in front of an older witch, the smell of simmering meat and vegetables swirling through the air.
The warlock across from her flicks his wrist, and a pastry flutters down from the ceiling and lands perfectly in his outstretched hand.
“If we have to do that to eat, then I’m going to starve,” Izzy whispers to me, evidently following my line of sight.
I snort but silently agree.
I have yet to do any magic. The most I’ve done is a few healing spells over the years. There’s no fucking way I can conjure food from nowhere.
I claim my seat on the bench at the long table, and Izzy sits beside me with Celeste on her other side.
Almost immediately, a plate, cup, and silverware materialize in front of her.
“What do you want to eat?” Celeste asks Izzy, swiveling to face her. She brushes a strand of curly orange hair behind her ear. “Spaghetti? Steak? Chicken? Salad? Soup?”
Izzy seems taken aback. “Oh…um…whatever you’re having.”
Celeste nods once, her lips pinching, and then waves her hand in the air. Almost immediately, two bowls of beef stew appear before them, still simmering and steaming.
Izzy gawks.
Celeste giggles and grabs her spoon. “You’ll be able to do this yourself with magic. Every witch and warlock can conjure stuff—as long as what they’re conjuring isn’t alive.”
“Conjuring…” I murmur, deep in thought. “So you’re not creating this food out of thin air?”
Celeste flicks her gaze to me, blushes, and focuses on her stew.
“Err, no. Only the most powerful witches and warlocks can create something out of nothing. We conjure this food from our kitchen. We order the food the night before, and the cooks make it for us. All we do is materialize it in front of us. The Trinity no doubt told the cooks about your arrival, so they made a little extra of everything to give you choices.”
“Huh.” Izzy’s brows furrow, but she doesn’t comment further.
A second later, a basket of bread floats in the air in front of us, and both Izzy and I take a small roll.
“You going to conjure food for me?” I ask, turning towards Dyson.
His plate is full of steak, potatoes, and vegetables.
The warlock grins, his mouth full of food. “Nah. If you want to eat, learn to conjure yourself.”
“Asshole,” Izzy mutters with a roll of her eyes.
Then, without another word, she slides her bowl of stew closer to me so it’s directly between us.
I give her a grateful smile.
The stew isn’t the greatest meal in the world, but it’s better than nothing, considering I skipped breakfast and lunch. I would happily eat my own arm if I could.
Almost immediately, the whispers and giggles from the assembled witches and warlocks cut off, replaced by an unnatural silence. Izzy and I exchange a look before focusing our attention towards the front of the room, where three women stand behind a table on a raised dais.
The Maiden, Mother, and Crone.
Soraya seems to be staring directly at Izzy and me, her expression inscrutable, while the Mother purposely looks anywhere else. The Crone is scowling, her bony arms crossed over her chest.
I notice, somewhat belatedly, that the Mother has a bandage wrapped around her hand. What the fuck happened there?
“Thank you all for coming.” The Mother’s clear, elegant voice rings out through the room. “I’ll let you all get back to eating in a second, but first, we have a few very important things to discuss.”
“Travan has returned,” the Crone interrupts, her scratchy voice a startling contrast to the Mother’s lyrical one.
Agitated murmurs and whispers ripple through the crowd.
“He has, of course, returned to the shifters,” the Mother continues, her gaze dipping to her bandaged hand. “We don’t believe he’ll be a problem, not when we have what he wants, but his reappearance is cause for alarm.”
They have what he wants?
And who the hell even is this Travan? Why do I keep hearing his name?
“Unfortunately, we need Travan, though I doubt we’ll receive his compliance anytime soon.” The Mother’s lips firm, stretching into a taut line. “But that’s not all.” She waits until everyone is staring directly at her before continuing. “Hunters attacked the shifters.”
This time, no one reacts audibly, though a heavy tension saturates the air. Izzy’s face has turned stony, and I desperately want to reach for her, hold her to me, tell her that everything will be okay. It takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to grab her right that instant.
“We have reason to believe that we may be their next target.”
The silence detonates as hundreds of witches and warlocks process that announcement simultaneously. A few people gasp, a couple witches cry out, and someone else screams their denial.
The Mother holds her hands in the air, waiting for silence.
“The Hunters have been searching for the covenstead for centuries. Right now, only our wards keep our location a secret, but they’ve been growing weaker with every passing day. We must act quickly if we are to protect our people.”
A murmur spreads through the room, and a shiver creeps down my spine.
Dyson shifts beside me, folding his arms over his chest. I can tell he wants to say something, but for some reason, he bites his tongue.
Why?
What does he know that he’s not saying?
“Why do you think the wards are failing?” Izzy whispers to me, keeping her voice low so she won’t be overheard. Even still, both Dyson and Celeste listen in, though they try to appear nonchalant. “They’ve apparently held for centuries, but they’re just now starting to fail?”
“Something feels off,” I agree.
But what that something is eludes me.
The Mother’s chilling gaze sweeps over the crowd, momentarily stopping on Izzy. I wish I were better at reading people because the expression on her face is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. It…unnerves me.
“Starting tomorrow, the witches and warlocks who already graduated will undergo additional training in preparation,” she says. “I don’t know when they’ll attack, but I have no doubt they will.”
Izzy’s brows draw together. “They’re acting like we’re about to go to war.”
“Aren’t we?” Dyson cocks an eyebrow at her, his expression oozing arrogance. “The Hunters attacked the shifters. The shifters attacked the witches. The witches attacked the shifters right back. Who knows what the fuck the vampires have been doing during this entire thing.”
He shrugs a single shoulder, though tension radiates through him, evident in the pulsating vein near his temple.
Izzy bites down on her nail as she contemplates his words.
“Remember,” the Mother continues, “that we’re fighting for not only ourselves, but our coven. For the future of all witches. We will not fall. Not to the Hunters, not to the shifters, not to the vampires. We’ll fight back, and we. Will. Win.”
The room is heavy with the weight of her words before it erupts into hopeful murmurs, the tension lifting for a brief moment. But in my chest, it remains.
The weight of what’s to come, of the danger we all must face, presses down on me.
I glance at Izzy again, and she meets my gaze, fear flickering in her eyes.
War is brewing, and I’m beginning to think I’m going to be made a soldier in it…
Whether I want to be or not.