Chapter 12 #2
It’s well past midnight now and the bed calls to me, but I doubt my ability to sleep tonight.
Too much adrenaline, too much… everything.
My arms cross around my middle and I eye all the familiar objects.
Even though my heart aches with the nostalgia of a life lost, a different pang rings in my chest like a bell.
I miss my new life and my shop. I would do just about anything to curl into my own bed with Jinx stretched out on the adjacent pillow.
I sigh harshly, eyes lifting heavenward.
Jinx is going to be so disappointed when she finds out that I let myself be locked in by Valen.
Hopefully, The Arachnomicon is still trapped in the basement and not giving her any problems. I haven’t felt any vampiric draws on my magic from Jinx shifting, so I assume all is well.
At least the book will assist in keeping my vault secure while I’m gone.
I allow myself one last breath before my spine straightens.
Time to work. I stride over to the bed and tug off my boots quickly before crawling onto the overly plush bedding.
My legs fold and I settle into a seated position with my hands gently resting in my lap.
Casting the waves of exhaustion from me, I center myself.
With slow breath, my mind quiets and my magic hums to fill the void. Come to me.
My ears prick, my hearing heightened. Fwip. Fwip. Fwip.
Magic tingles in my fingertips. I extend them before me, eyes unfocused until something soft lands on the pad of my index finger. The moth studies me, fluffy antennae bobbing and furred feet circling. The little proboscis extends to graze my nail and it sips my magic offering.
I whisper to its wings, “Are you okay?”
My magic curls around the moth to form a shimmering veil of protection to keep it and my message safe against predators. It takes off, fluttering over to the heat vent in the old floors. It slides through the grates and disappears.
I practice my breathing, fingers gently interlaced in my lap. But I can’t slip into a meditative state with my long hair tickling my neck and face. If only I could afford to waste the magic to make it short again. But I can’t, not when I’m up against Valen.
Something delicate lands on my ear. Lucas’ voice whispers, “Yes. Pissed though.”
My lips twitch. He remembered the spell, even though he found it pointless at the time. It was tricky to figure out how to weave the magic with his threads, but it works.
I cup the moth in my hand, bringing it to my lips again. It takes me a moment to contemplate my message. “I’m next door. Safe.”
Lucas’ reply is prompt, like he’s sitting by the grate. “Plan? When do we esc…” But the message whispers to nothing, my conduit too small for much more.
I sigh, bringing the moth from my ear to my hand. It twines around my fingers in search of more magic. “Wait. I got this.”
Lucas’ voice takes a harsh edge. “Don’t trust him.”
I sigh. “Trust me.”
This time, the moth takes longer to return.
I risk washing my face in the adjoining bathroom to keep awake.
My reflection catches my attention. My eyes widen and I tilt my head to get a better look at my neck.
Valen’s bite. So hard and sharp that it made pleasure flood my system, but left an impressive bruise.
My fingers slide over the mark, lingering. A smile softens my lips.
Quickly drying off, I re-enter the bedroom to approach the large, ornate dresser that sits against the far wall. I yank open the elegantly carved doors. There, hanging in the tight space, are my old clothes. Emotions swell so quickly, I sway.
A screech almost tears from me when tiny bug feet land on the shell of my ear. “You’re biased. Want h…”
My heart fills in the rest of the sentence. Want him still…
The kiss comes rushing back, my eyes closing as I relive the heat, the passion. Valen’s hands. His mouth. My shirt torn. My legs around his hips. I cannot deny it, even if I instinctively try to. I do want him still.
But Valen wants something from me, and it’s not just my body.
I need to discover what it is before he seizes the upper hand.
My eyes narrow, cycling through the things I do know.
The Bauers wanted Alasdair gone and me in power.
But it cannot be that simple anymore. Maybe Valen wants to make things right, but not his father.
Vincentius is too power-hungry to be satisfied with simply righting a wrong.
I was a pawn on his chessboard until a better player to manipulate entered his arsenal.
He made that abundantly clear when he failed to support me as Heir.
I was a child, starved for a father’s love. Vincentius used that, treated me as one of his own, just so I’d follow blindly. But he underestimated me. Now he’ll face the woman I’ve become. The woman he created.
Vincentius, for all his scheming, cannot claim Archweaver himself.
It’s weaver law. Power and control must go downstream.
It cannot flow up or across. It’s why my aunt cannot claim the position.
The two of them aged out the moment the next generation was birthed—Alasdair and me.
I can still claim the title until the next birthing cycle comes.
Then a child from that generation will snatch the title from us.
My eyes flare. Like my child. Valentin the Seventh, Vincentius’ ultimate dream.
Valen and me and our one-day son. If Vincentius is hoping to corner my father by using his lineage obsession against him, then Vincentius would need to breed one of his two children to Atticus’.
Valen said that Alasdair refused Emilia, so now the only hope Vincentius has for this scheme is for Valen to seduce me again before the next birthing cycle.
A seed of a plan sprouts and I pull the drawers open to inspect my options. Lips twitching, my tongue slides along my teeth. I run my other hand through the silks within.
I take the poor, tired moth in my fingers. Like an oath that I’m swearing, I whisper to its wings, “You, me. Team. Always.”
I must get Lucas out of this house before Vincentius returns. I have no doubt that he will crush Lucas, even if I sob for him to stop. It would be his right since we broke into the estate. Vincentius wouldn’t hurt me, but he wouldn’t see a magician worthy of mercy.
I pull out the silk to set my plan in action.