TWENTY-EIGHT #2
“No,” she said firmly. “You used me for years. I’ll never let you or anyone do that to me. Ever. Again.” Her voice was firm, yet it shook with the underlying emotions, with the taste of fear on her tongue.
Her mother tutted softly, and Amelia swung her head to look at her. “Don’t be so selfish, Amelia. This could save countless lives.”
Amelia breathed out with disbelief. “I will never be manipulated again, mother. If you need intelligence beyond your own comprehension—Rune. Your. Damn. Self.” She enunciated each word, almost spitting the last at her mother.
Her mother rolled her eyes. “You were always overly dramatic,” she sighed at Amelia. “You never strictly applied yourself to the sciences. The runes enhanced your true nature. We helped you.”
“You used me!” Amelia cried, unable to keep the hurt from leaking into the words.
Her mother ignored that. “We have not even thought of runing us or others,” she said, glancing at her fingernails as though this were an average conversation one might have over a tea and a scone. “The magic is far too unstable these days. All the more reason why we need to fix it.”
“You selfish bi—”
Before she could get the words out, a sudden surge of emotion broke through the siphon's dampening effect and a strange gust of wind blew through the sitting room.
Amelia gasped at the sudden tugging sensation, and before she could even think on what was happening, magic swirled in the spaces around them, and there he was, standing next to her, panting, and looking around at them all with furious, blue eyes.
Silas.
Silas sighed, closing yet another book.
Nothing was proving helpful in this sinister position they had found themselves ensconced in. The more tangled the knots became, the more he was certain it would never unravel.
He sat back against the wall, his head thunking painfully on the edge of the windowsill. The sun had sunk beyond the horizon, the small, cluttered library in Brinkley’s cottage now illuminated by a few candles he had lit hastily to read by.
He lifted his hand, rubbing at the centre of his chest. He had been feeling an odd sensation there, almost since entering the library. He could picture Amelia in the common room, or in her bedroom, frustrated and upset. Just as he was.
His hand dropped back to his lap, determined to ignore the sensation, the bond. There was work to do.
Silas stood, moving for the shelves. He tilted his head to read the spines of the upturned and sideways books that Brinkley had clearly shoved away without thought for any form of organisation.
He reached for one just as it slammed into him with a force that knocked the breath from his lungs, his hand flinching mid-air.
Fear.
Unadulterated, primal fear.
Mixed with anger so potent he could taste it.
Amelia.
Silas gasped in a choked breath, wanting to keel over and cry out. He stumbled from the library.
“Amelia?” he gritted out, finding the sitting room empty, the spaces dark and barren of life. He moved unsteadily down the hallway, gripping the doorframe of her bedroom and finding it just as dark and cold. His eyes moved to the dresser, mind begging to find the pendant sitting there untouched.
It was gone.
“Amelia!” he shouted, fear mixing with the emotions she shared with him. He swore as he fell to a knee, unable to reconcile which were his, and which were hers. It was a maelstrom of feeling that buckled him.
The tether, the one that bound them, he could feel it, taut and trembling between them.
Silas clenched his eyes, trying to recall what Amelia had told him about using the bond to follow him south.
He reached out through the bond, reaching for her.
She was there, at the end of it.
His desire made it easy.
Body jerking forwards, wind swirled around him before he was somewhere else entirely.
Silas stood in the middle of a handsome and lavishly decorated sitting room, bathed in the soft glow of arcane lamps.
The first person he saw was Amelia’s mother, the cold and stern expression smoothed out by shock at the appearance of him.
He turned his head, and there she was beside him, looking equally startled.
And to the side of the room, was her father, holding a book in front of him like a shield.
His angry gaze went to Amelia.
“Did they hurt you?”
She opened her mouth, but it wasn’t Amelia who spoke.
“Hurt her?” came the sound of her mother’s voice, crisp and sharp. “She is our daughter, we would never—”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” Silas snarled, not even bothering to look at the hateful woman. He grasped Amelia’s arm, feeling her relief surging into him. “Are you okay?”
She swallowed with a shaky nod.
Silas felt his jaw shifting, teeth clamped tight together. He didn’t know he was capable of such rage, but to think of her parents, her parents , maiming her, manipulating her, taking her autonomy…it made his blood boil.
“Right,” he said in semblance of control, though his voice shook with latent fury, “we’re leaving, before I do something I may or may not regret.”
Amelia’s eyes widened slightly at the insinuation. He slid his hand down to her wrist and began tugging her towards the door.
“Wait,” she said, and the fragile strength he could hear gave him pause. She looked up into his eyes imploringly. “I need to do this,” Amelia said softly.
Silas wanted nothing more than to protect her, to shield her from feeling the intense pain he had felt from her. But this wasn’t his choice. He nodded stiffly, forcing his fingers to release her from his tight grasp.
She let out a shaky breath and turned back to her parents, who had been watching the exchange with a simple curiosity.
“Mother,” Amelia said, “father…I want you to understand that for most of my life, I’ve been afraid of you. So deeply terrified of what you proved capable of.”
Her mother just sighed and folded her arms across her chest, like this was boring to her. Not worth her precious time. Silas forced his feet to stay where they were, sending her his most venomous glare.
“Please, child,” her father said wearily, “you were always our greatest creation, from the moment you were born. We were only helping you achieve your most excellent potential.”
Amelia clenched her hands into fists. “You don’t understand,” she said softly, “what it’s like.
To come out of it, to come back to yourself after being numb to everything, after being forced to be something and someone that I’m not.
” Amelia paused as her voice wobbled. She cleared her throat and kept going.
“You don’t know what it’s like to both want your parents and be so deeply terrified of them all at once.
I wanted help, support, love. But all you gave me were expectations and pain. ”
“Amelia—”
“No, father,” she ground out, her hand rising suddenly, a window shattering behind them, a lamp nearby faltering. Her parents both flinched in shock, her mother emitting a small squeal. “I’m speaking now. I’m finally speaking my mind and taking control, and you will fucking listen to me!”
They remained silent, eyes wide.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” Amelia said again, anger and agony curling in her words, “to want to peel your skin off because you want so desperately to be someone else, to be anywhere else. To be in the presence of your parents, just waiting for the pain to come, to lose yourself, and then afterwards…to have every bit of you cringe away and not want to think about it so that maybe, just maybe , you might be able to sleep that night without nightmares or eat the next day without being sick.”
Silas reached for her. He couldn’t help himself. He took her hand, curling his fingers steadily around hers. She grasped him back tightly.
Her next breath shuddered. “And I’m so done being afraid of you and caring what you think of me.”
“Amelia, you are the key to solving it, child, if we could just—” her father began, and Silas lost his temper.
His magic pulsed from his body, and the older man flew backwards, like an invisible string pulled him from behind with an almighty force. He struck a shelf against the wall and flopped to the ground, eyes falling shut as a few knick-knacks rained down around him.
“Preston!” her mother shouted, moving for her husband.
Amelia stepped forwards, raising her own hand. Her mother wasn’t flung, not like Silas had done to her father, but rather her eyes rolled into the back of her head and her body just…collapsed.
They both walked slowly towards the unmoving bodies.
Amelia sighed as she stood over her mother. “You will never see me again,” she whispered, before turning to Silas. “Take his ring, that’s the key to the archives.”
He moved to her father, slumped against the shelf, and knelt. He slid the gaudy-looking golden ring, a red stone inlaid atop, from his finger and slipped it into his pocket. Silas stood.
“Got it,” he said, and reached for her as she pulled out a Waystone chip. He spied the glowing rune, one that would take them to Ivory City. He looked at her. “We could be in danger there…if the Sanctum finds us again.”
Amelia took his hand. “I know, but we’re running out of time, and we need that journal if we have a hope in stopping all of this.”
Her warm hand was in his and they watched each other as she pressed the chip, activating the magic. It vibrated intently, feeling different than it ever had before, and he knew the moment they were pulled away, that something was wrong.