Chapter 24
WHAT YOU DID HASN'T BEEN DONE IN CENTURIES.
I'd just sat on the edge of my bed, hands wrapped around the grimoire, trying to make sense of Ro's warning when something rang.
This was either very good or very, very bad.
I pressed accept. Zandia's face appeared on the screen, her silver hair pulled back in that severe style that made her look carved from marble.
But something was different. Her eyes, usually cold with calculation, held a new expression.
Not warmth exactly, but something adjacent to it. Curiosity, maybe. Or respect.
"Parker." My name in her mouth sounded different. Not a possession or a threat. Just recognition. "I apologize for the early call."
The words hung between us, shocking in their civility. Zandia never apologized. Never explained. She commanded, and the world rearranged itself to comply.
"What's going on?" I asked, unable to keep the wariness from my voice.
She studied me for a long moment, her gaze missing nothing… an expression on my face, the tension in my shoulders, the grimoire clutched in my white-knuckled grip.
"You've been having trouble sleeping," she said. Not a question. An observation.
I shrugged, unwilling to give her more than that. "Been busy."
"Indeed." Her mouth curved in what might have been the ghost of a smile.
"You've been busy making history. A demon expelled without killing its host. A balance struck between chaos and intention.
" She leaned closer to the camera, her eyes never leaving mine.
"Do you know how rare that is, Parker? What you've accomplished? "
My throat tightened. "I'm guessing not very."
"You'd be wrong." She sat back, hands folded precisely in her lap. "What you did hasn't been done in centuries. Not successfully. Not without..." She paused, choosing her words with obvious care. "Casualties."
The word landed between us with the weight of a physical thing.
I thought of the possessed operative, black smoke pouring from her eyes and mouth, her body convulsing as the demon fought to maintain its grip.
If I'd gotten it wrong—if the balance had tipped even slightly toward chaos instead of intention. ..
"I've been tracking you for years," Zandia continued, her voice cutting through the memory. "Long before you joined the Division. Before you even knew what you were."
Cold dread slithered down my spine. "Why?"
"Because I recognized what you are." She said it simply, like it should have been obvious.
"The convergence. Demon and witch bloodlines meeting in a single vessel.
It happens once in many generations. But those vessels.
.." She shook her head. "They usually destroy themselves.
Or are destroyed by those who fear what they represent. "
My fingers tightened around the grimoire. "And you thought I'd be different?"
"I hoped." For a moment, just a fraction of a second, her perfect composure slipped, revealing something raw beneath. "Your mother thought so too. That's why she hid the grimoire in plain sight. Why she made sure you'd find it when the time was right."
The mention of my mother hit like a physical blow. Eloise. The woman who'd raised me, loved me even though she acted as if she hated me my entire life, died protecting me, and apparently kept more secrets than I'd ever imagined.
"What are you talking about?" My voice cracked. "I'd known she was obsessed with the supernatural and recently some kind of witch, but she couldn't have been powerful."
"She was a dangerous witch," Zandia interrupted, her tone gentle despite the correction. "One of the last of her line. She knew exactly what you were. What you'd become. The grimoire was her legacy to you. Her way of guiding you when she couldn't."
The room seemed to tilt around me
"She couldn't tell you," Zandia said, as if reading my thoughts. "Not with your father's enemies watching. Not with the Division already tracking supernatural manifestations. She did what she could to keep you safe. To give you time to grow into your power before it woke completely."
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. "And the dagger?"
"Not just weapons." Zandia's expression shifted, something like satisfaction flickering across her features. "Key. Bloodright. The dagger specifically responds to Eloise's line. Your line."
My hand moved to the nightstand without conscious thought, fingers closing around the dagger's hilt. It cooled at my touch, the metal seeming to pulse in time with my heartbeat.
"The runes," Zandia continued, watching my face closely. "They're written in your witch language. You can read them now, if you try."
I looked down at the blade, at the intricate symbols etched along its length. They'd seemed like decoration before… pretty but meaningless. Now, as I focused on them, something shifted. The symbols seemed to... resolve, like an image coming into focus after being blurred.
"Some of them," I murmured, tracing a finger along the edge of the blade. "Not all."
"That's to be expected." Zandia nodded, satisfaction deepening. "Your internal acceptance of that bloodline is still forming. The language will come as you embrace it."
I turned the dagger over, studying the runes from different angles. Some remained stubbornly opaque, symbols I should have recognized but couldn't quite grasp. Others leapt into clarity with each passing second, meanings unfolding in my mind like flowers blooming in fast motion.
Protection, one rune whispered. Boundary, insisted another. Blood-right, declared a third, larger than the rest.
"It's like..." I struggled to put the sensation into words. "Like learning a language I already half-know."
"Yes." Zandia's voice held a note of something I'd never heard from her before… pride, maybe. "That's exactly what it is. The knowledge lives in your blood. In your bones. You just need to remember it."
I set the dagger carefully on my lap, one hand still resting on its hilt. "Why are you telling me this now? After all this time?"
Her expression sobered. "Because you're ready to hear it.
Because what's coming requires you to understand exactly what you are.
" She leaned forward again, her gaze intense.
"I won't give you easy answers, Parker. I won't restructure your team or assign new personnel to babysit you through this transition.
This is your path to walk. Your power to claim. "
The weight of her words settled over me, heavy with implication. No safety net. No hand-holding. Just me and whatever was coming, armed with half-understood powers and a dagger that might be a key to something I couldn't begin to comprehend.
"What's coming?" I asked, my voice steadier than I'd expected. "Ro mentioned something watching me. Something that's been there longer than he has."
Something flashed in Zandia's eyes… too quick to name. "Ro speaks out of turn."
"But he's not wrong." It wasn't a question.
She held my gaze for a long moment, then sighed…
a sound so mundanely human, so tired, that for a second I forgot she wasn't. "No.
He's not wrong." She straightened, composure sliding back into place like a mask.
"The convergence you represent threatens certain.
.. established orders. Orders that have existed since before humans built cities.
Before they learned to write their histories. "
"And they're coming for me." The statement fell between us, flat and final.
"If they can find you." Zandia's mouth curved in a smile that held no humor. "Which is why you need to complete your bonds. All of them. The protection they offer is... significant."
My mind flashed to Ryker… distant, wounded Ryker, who couldn't bear to be in the same room with me most days.
To Kearan, with his carefully maintained distance and secret sacrifices.
To Trux and Rhiot and Seph and Grayson, all broken in their different ways, all somehow bound to me despite everything.
They would all die if Kearan and Ryker couldn't complete the Tsigo bond with me.
Time was running out, and I didn't know how much longer we had left.
"They're not complete yet," I said, the admission costing me.
"They will be." Confidence colored her voice, absolute and unshakable.
"When the time is right." She reached for something off-screen, her movements precise.
"I've taken enough of your morning. Rest. Practice with the dagger.
The runes will continue to reveal themselves as your connection to that bloodline strengthens. "
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Too many revelations. Too many questions still remained unanswered.
Zandia studied me for a moment longer, something complicated moving behind her eyes. "You're not who I thought you were," she said finally. "You're more. Don't waste it. Losing you would be a travesty."
The call ended before I could respond, her image freezing then fading from the screen. I sat in the sudden silence, Zandia's words echoing in my mind. Not who she thought I was. More.
What was it with the cryptic, powerful entities in my life suddenly acting all sweet and protective of me this morning. Both of them had tried to kill me at one point or another, but now they were both on a Protect Parker kick. What a weird fucking day and it wasn't even 5:00 am yet.
The dagger lay heavy across my palms, runes gleaming in the weak morning light.
I turned it carefully, studying the symbols that had begun to make sense.
One in particular caught my eye… larger than the others, etched deeper into the metal.
I'd looked at it twice already, seeing only shapes, not meaning.
This time, when my eyes focused on it, something clicked. The symbol resolved, meaning flowing into my mind like water finding its level. Not a single word, but a concept, complex and layered: convergence. Balance. The meeting point of opposing forces.
My breath caught. The dagger cooled beneath my fingers, responding to my understanding. Not all the runes were clear. Many remained frustratingly opaque, meanings hovering just beyond my grasp. But this one, this central, vital one, had opened to me.
I didn't know exactly what it meant yet. What the convergence would demand of me. What balance would cost.
But I would. The knowledge lived in my blood. In my bones. I just needed to remember it.
I set the dagger carefully beside the grimoire, hands steady despite the fear and wonder warring in my chest. Outside my window, the sky had lightened further, pale gray giving way to the first hints of gold. Morning was coming, whether I was ready for it or not.
I slipped from the bed, moving to the window with measured steps. The compound was beginning to stir from the soft sounds of the day beginning, carrying on the still air. Soon, my team would be looking for me. Questions would need answers. Plans would need making.