32. Destiny, count your days #2
“Nope, you haven’t agreed yet.” He closes the book in haste, and I gasp. Holy shit, I can read it.
“Deal, you have a deal.” Excitement begs me to pry his fingers from this leathery goodness.
“Excellent, as of now, you have access. Tomorrow may be different, but remember, you can’t look until then.”
It takes everything to sway me from interjecting, but a deal’s a deal.
Besides, reading what little he allowed has raised my elation along with more questions.
I find myself swaying side to side, thinking about sitting in my bed and diving into a world written by him.
Secrets, rumors, truths, more juicy information about those masking their intentions. All at my fingertips.
Who all has the privilege of viewing these? Does Caspian or Alex? Someone else?
Paige’s laughter carries from afar, and my head snaps to where she and Russ are seated. Her hand is on his shoulder as she retains a shit-eating grin. It’s all a show. Russ’s jokes are not that damn funny.
The overhead song fades on its last chord, and the woman’s voice seated beside Alex races after it. “Because you deemed it fit to have me in handcuffs. An action you regretted.” She bursts into a booming laugh along with him and his buddies.
My jaw slackens at the show. Sure, I’ve heard him chuckle, witnessed perfection when he smiled, but laughing? I didn’t think it was possible. And I’ve told him some of my best jokes. Maybe you’re not funny. But most of all, handcuffs?
Blaise clears his voice in a very non-subtle way. “You’re doing it again,” he announces, and I deflect.
“You asked for privacy so you and I can speak, I’m assuming there’s a reason?”
“Snappy, are we? I suppose it can’t be helped, but yes, I did. However, it’s not time yet.”
“What do you mean?” Pinching my brows, I watch as he pulls out another book.
“Trust me, you’ll know.” The tones of his eyes darken and swirl into themselves as Blaise blinks. It’s subtle, but had I not been focusing on their mesmeric shades like always, I would’ve missed it.
“Trust isn’t something–”
“Isn’t something requested, it’s earned, not gifted. Trust me , I know,” the pompous asshole mimes, and I titter.
“You get on–”
“I’m getting on your nerves. I know that too.
” Before I can find a catchy rebuttal, he fills up the tip of his fountain pen whilst scooting over and facing me in full.
“In two minutes, an event will happen and shake every fay who understands it to their core. You have a choice, leave or stay. One will result in–” Blaise pauses, glancing away then returning. “In questions without answers.”
“And the other?”
“You’ll be elsewhere dealing with it.” He shrugs.
“Uh huh. A soul shaking event and you want me dealing with it on my own? Let’s go with option one for two-hundred please.”
“Two-hundred what?”
Giggling, I say, “Nothing. It’s a mortal thing.”
He pulls out his phone, peering at the time and smirks. “Your two minutes are up.”
My lips part but instead of speaking, a wave of energy washes over me unlike anything I’ve felt since being in their realm.
This isn’t an aura or magic shrouding me.
There is a larger scheme, and its power is unearthly potent, hitching my lungs to a full marathon degree of wheezing.
Digging its way through the small pores of my skin, it nestles in.
“Prick your skin and write your name. The bond is yours, for you to claim.” Swiveling around in search of who is talking, I see no one other than Blaise sitting beside me. His curious gleam searches mine, telling me I alone can hear it.
The voice repeats, and my movements are held captive, frozen as though Angie’s magic is in place, yet the rise and fall of my chest continues at an alarming rate.
Chilled wind eases down my spine like melting ice, layering bumps along its path.
What–is–this? I watch a fountain pen manifest out of pure energy.
Blaise moves closer, tilting forward as liquid builds over my lashes. “Remain calm,” he states. Yeah, easier said than done.
Swallowing a ball of air, I feel the hold tighten as though every bone in my body is being squeezed.
I fight for a breath, but am denied its pleasure.
Then all at once, a rush of vitality ruptures from my core, releasing me once our table brightens with a blinding glow and vanishes. A book now sits in front of me.
Even now I’m afraid to move, let alone talk, so I whisper, “Blaise?” Sweat beads along my brow .
“It’s the Book of Bond s,” he responds in a soft tone.
“Are you shitting me? It came now?” I try to focus on everything but the sensation I was forced to endure.
It appears my life is being tested by their Gods, or at least it feels as such.
The entire building had grown silent as they fixated on the transpired spectacle.
Some drew closer while others were reluctant with their movements.
Shit! I notice Rebirth’s House Leaders are all standing, including my enemy, who is nothing more than irritating.
“Are you opening it or leaving everyone in suspense?” Blaise asks, his attention switching between me, the book, and the onlookers.
“I can give two shits about everyone else.” My brows crease, lips curl, and head snaps towards him. Caspian divulged this would be more of a private matter. That students would have the privilege of signing under the comfort of solitude, but here I am putting on a fucking show.
To think, Death has her name written on my list for an abundance of unspeakable crimes, and now Destiny throws her–his–no, her hat in the ring. Whatever agreement she and Blaise has must have been a solo one because this shit is all kinds of fucked up.
“You need to sign it, Kyra.”
He opens his brown leather book, waiting to write with fresh ink until he spots the fear swirling around my irises, the rapid movements of my chest, and how the nails on my index fingers dig into the skin around my thumbs.
I’m terrified beyond doubt.
“Thank you for not writing this down,” I whisper. I do an awkward half smile–half lip twitch then huff.
“I’m out of ink.” He grins, and relief comes in the form of laughter. Out of ink my ass, it’s leaking all over the table, but I’m picking up what he is putting down, and I’m thankful, nonetheless.
Thrill meets panic in one splendiferous concoction, poured over ice cubes made of terror.
I need to take this shot like a big girl.
Recalling Caspian’s wisdom, Not everyone finds their eternal bond, I place a palm on its cover, and unfiltered, raw energy surges into me, tugging and wrestling my aura.
Letters, all red with purple and white accents, are embroidered over its jet-black cover. Gazing over the crowd and back down, I use trembling fingers to carefully lift open its cover to a blank page. “Prick your skin and write your name. The bond is yours, for you to claim.”
Clairvoyant beings have never been a thing worth studying or exploring, but if I was told in my near future that spirits, the undead, or ghosts would speak with me, nine times out of ten the conversation would end in me telling them to fuck off.
But there is no misunderstanding the voices I often hear from things which are not present.
Unless I’m being haunted by a spirit I’ve wronged in the past. I remember Rosie and the gloom who used her likeness.
Retrieving the pen, Blaise simulates a pricking motion, and I’m left contemplating my life choices. The instructions are clear, so why he felt a demonstration is in order, hell if I know, but it’s funny watching his agitation as I pretend not to understand.
Without stalling any longer, I take a deep breath, grab the pen, prick my finger, then watch as blood is sucked into the pen’s compartment.
“Good, now write,” I’m ordered. Why not, I’ve come this far. Pen meets paper, and a blob builds. “Wriiiite,” her eerie, yet stifling tone demands, and I sign my name. Sensing a stir rippling through my aura, I gasp as the page flips to another blank one, and her voice returns. “Wriiiite.”
A bit confused, I spread the blood into a signature again–and again–and four more times until the book closes on its own and vanishes.
All traces of it, gone from existence. Peering over the masses watching, I find a figure standing in the far back as my aura shoots to every limb and ligament in one rhapsodic flood of power, and I inhale, riding out this internal wave.
Seconds pass as I stare at the darkened figure when the feeling subsides.
“Kyra?” Blaise speaks for only our ears.
“Uh huh?”
“Are you okay?”
“What just happened?” I swallow, evening out my breath. “Why did I sign my name seven times? Is that normal?” I rotate my head to him.
“No.” He frowns, opening his own book and hesitating. “Not normal.”
Nodding, my gaze returns to the back, but like the book, the figure too had vanished. Definitely not normal.