Chapter Twenty-Five
Freya
A s the light receded to its normal, bright glow, Walker and I hesitated. After a moment of quiet stillness, we exchanged a weary look but approached the silver bowl.
I prepared myself to see anything swirling in the bowl’s depths—blood, darkness, dangerous magic—but it was clean and empty.
“Huh,” Walker remarked.
I searched the bowl and the dais for some sort of sign as to what to do with it. The Goddess had led us here. I was sure of it, yet I had no idea what the ancient hieroglyphs and swirling carvings meant. I turned my attention back to the walls, desperate for a clue.
Every second that passed brought us closer to the High Witch’s arrival. I had to get back to them—Cady, Arion, Ryder, and Elle. I had to warn them that Cordelia was coming. Maybe, together, we could figure out a loophole around the Blood Oath.
I had to warn my coven to run—to do anything to save themselves—because I couldn’t just hand Elle over to the High Witch. I barely knew her, but the truth had already become painfully obvious.
If either of us deserved to die, it wasn’t Elle.
If I gave Elle to the High Witch, maybe I could wrangle her back upon the completion of my Blood Oath. It would leave my coven in the same precarious position they had been in, but at least it would keep the Blood Oath’s magic from killing us instantly.
You have to get out of this cave first, I reminded myself. Focus.
On the walls, light danced and crafted images of men with power sparking from their fingertips and witches emanating potent magic. The pictures swirled in different directions. I must’ve missed the images among the barrage of glyphs and lights.
“Are those men with magic?” Walker asked.
“Impossible,” I whispered.
Walker shot me and incredulous look, and I shook my head.
“It was supposed to be impossible,” I said. “It’s what we’ve always been taught. Women are creators and harborers of magic—men are not. I thought you were the only exception because of your witch blood, but…”
“Maybe I’m not the first of my kind,” Walker finished.
I studied the swirling symbols around the images and gasped. They were turned sideways and upside down and in different handwriting than I was used to, but I knew the newly formed symbols.
My heart sang.
“The ancient language,” I whispered in wonder. “The one my mother insisted I learn, even though it’s been dead for ages. It’s there.”
I shook my head. “Those were definitely not there a moment ago. I would’ve recognized them immediately. It’s like the cave is altering itself to help us understand.”
“So, it’s sentient?” Walker said and studied the walls. “If that’s the case, why wouldn’t it just write its messages in English?”
“Maybe it doesn’t know that language,” I said.
Walker sighed. “I’ve seen crazier things than a bilingual cave. Can you read it?”
I turned my head sideways and gave it a shot. The light was disorienting, but it had been formed from my magic. Well, Walker’s and mine. It was ours to control.
“Help me dim the light,” I said, “just a little. Help me focus it so I can read.”
With our hands clasped, we willed the light to focus and calm, until I could make out the exact shapes of the swirling symbols.
“Bonded by magic,” I read. My heart raced. “Chosen by heart. Um…” I turned my head in the direction the line of text curved. “Destined for greatness but perish, no, doomed from the start.”
“Sounds promising,” Walker quipped.
I craned my neck farther, but the message swirled upside down. I didn't know it well enough to read it that way.
“Grab my legs,” I instructed Walker and dropped into a handstand. As I read aloud, he gripped my ankles. “Dangerous truths, dangerous stories. Buried forever, but magic immortal.”
I surveyed the other carvings, but many of them were words I did not recognize. There were other ominous platitudes but nothing concrete. I sighed, and Walker released me. When I righted myself, the sudden rush of blood to my head made me dizzy. As I stared at the dais, the carvings shifted and swirled.
“What the hell?” Walker asked and studied the dais. “It really is bilingual.”
“Wait,” I said. “I didn’t imagine that?”
He shook his head. “Can you read it now?”
I approached the dais. “Ancient magic and ancient hunger. A truth for truth, the richest plunder.”
“Are we supposed to make some kind of trade?” Walker asked and studied the empty bowl. He gestured toward it. “Maybe it’s symbolic.”
“It’s worth a shot,” I said with a shrug, though I felt anything but casual. The thought of spilling truth reminded me of my heavy secret. I couldn’t let Walker know what I had done.
Not yet.
“You go first,” I insisted.
Walker sighed and ran a hand through his curls. “Um, one time in high school, Brody and I got so drunk, I pissed myself.”
I snorted. “ That’s what you decided to offer to an ancient magical cave?”
His gaze homed in behind me, and he smirked.
“Worked, didn’t it?” he said.
To my surprise, there was a drop of glowing magic now in the bowl.
“Your turn,” Walker said.
“Okay,” I said and fought the urge to fidget. “I am still not the most confident in my fire magic.”
Nothing happened.
“I think you might have to offer a little more than that,” Walker suggested.
I frowned. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any stories about pissing myself.”
Walker tucked a stray curl behind my ear.
“Maybe,” he agreed, “but you have plenty of secrets.”
More than you know.
“Fine,” I huffed. Refusing to be a coward, I met his gaze. I opened my mouth to tell him what I had done, but there was such affection in his eyes. Walker had always looked at me like he couldn’t help himself. He looked at me like I captivated him.
Losing that might kill me.
“I wasn’t jealous because the chimera showed interest in you or because she’s beautiful,” I said in a rush. Embarrassingly, tears pricked my eyes. “She…she is soft-hearted and delicate and…”
I thought it was an act, but I was wrong, and we need to go back to warn the others.
“And the exact opposite of you,” Walker finished, “which is why she doesn’t really do it for me.”
The compliment didn’t warm me like it should’ve, but magic dripped from the stalactite hanging over the bowl and filled the bowl with several drops.
“The more secretive the truth,” I observed, “the greater the magic.”
“I guess we should fill the bowl and see what happens,” Walker said.
The faster I spilled my secrets, the faster we could learn what we needed to and get out of here.
Or we’re stuck here indefinitely regardless of what we do.
I chose to believe the first option.
Walker swallowed, and I took his hand in mine.
“Whatever it is,” I promised, “you can tell me. We’re friends, remember?”
Though the word only encapsulated a fraction of what Walker and I were, it wasn’t exactly untrue. The tiniest drop of magic dripped into the bowl.
“Cady has been happier than I’ve ever seen her,” Walker said quietly. Shame colored his face. “She thrives as a witch, and she thrives with your coven. These past months, it seems like all I do is hold her back, but when I really think about it, I wonder if I’ve been holding her back for longer than that. If I had figured out what she is sooner, she could’ve grown up among her own kind, instead of being raised by her shithead brother.”
Magic poured into the bowl, but I shook my head. “Just because it’s your truth doesn’t make it the truth.”
Walker swallowed, and I continued.
“I love my coven.” Magic dripped from the stalactite. “And I love being a witch, but…I do not think it’s bad that Cadence’s early years were defined by you. By humanity. Her magic is incredible, but her heart is far more impressive. That’s thanks to you, cowboy.”
More magic dripped into the bowl, and I smiled.
“See?” I said.
Sadness still clouded his eyes, but he offered the barest hint of a smile.
My turn.
I hadn’t felt a whiff of foreign magic before we had entered the cave. Since this was probably the last time I could consider Walker my friend—my confidante, my Walker— I wanted to feel the warmth of his acceptance one last time.
One more innocuous truth, then I’ll allow him to hate me.
“I barely sleep,” I whispered. Lightning and worry brimmed in Walker’s eyes, but I pushed forward. “When I do, I dream about my mother and-and Josephine.”
“You don’t need to feel guilty, sweetheart,” Walker interjected.
I cringed. “That’s not it. I mean, not all of it.” Tears pricked my eyes, and I stared at the light of our power to chase them away.
“The worst dreams,” I said, “are the ones where we’re all together again. Where my family is back, and nothing ever separated us. Those are the ones that wake me up because I always remember—even in my goddessdamned subconscious—that it isn’t real. My family is gone.”
“And then the guilt hits,” I finished. “Because I miss Josephine almost as desperately as I miss my mother.”
As strong arms engulfed me in an embrace, I was dimly aware of magic pouring into the bowl. I tried frantically to choke down my tears.
“You’re allowed to miss people,” Walker said into my hair. “Even the ones who hurt you. I miss my dad, well, the glimpse of the one I met during the battle. I miss the guy I knew as a kid too.”
I wanted to tell him I understood and that I wished we had talked about this earlier because it was such a weight off my chest, but light burst out of the bowl. I gasped and buried my face in Walker’s chest to avoid being blinded by the brilliant, magical rays. When the backs of my eyelids no longer burned, I hesitantly looked up.
“Cowboy,” I whispered. “Look.”
The light had transformed into a semi-transparent screen. In shades of blue, a witch bloomed flowers in her palm. A male witch sauntered onto the screen and with a snap, rain poured down on the flower. It flourished under the care of their combined magic.
Thunder boomed and shook the cavern. I squinted on the speck of light filtering through high above us to try to check on the others, but Walker grabbed my elbow.
“Look,” he said.
Magic crackled between the witch and her male counterpart, and they flew to opposite sides of the screen. Relief blossomed—it had been part of the show.
Only the female witch rose.
The screen cleared, and a lone symbol appeared.
“That’s a W in our alphabet,” I said. The symbol disappeared and another replaced it. “A…R…”
Witches and Wars.
“L,” I translated in surprise. “O…C…K.”
“War-lock,” Walker whispered.
A chimera blazed on the screen, and the symbols surrounding us burned brighter. Thunder boomed again, and the floor shook.
“Witches and wars,” I realized, “witches and warlocks.”
“I’m a warlock?” Walker asked.
The magical screen had spelled out the truth for us in a way that was impossible to ignore. Despite everything I had been taught, Walker was a warlock—a male being capable of wielding magic—and he was not the first of his kind.
The cave descended into utter darkness.
As the cave’s power faded, I sensed the magic roaring above us. It was thick and cloying and sickly sweet as death. It shook the very walls of the cave, and rock groaned under its might. Fear, worse than any I had ever faced, bloomed in my heart.
“The High Witch,” I whispered. “She came.”