36. Chapter 36
Chapter thirty-six
Micah insists on knowledge before battle. “A warrior’s skills come from their mind first and their body second.”
In other words, he refuses my well-thought-out and dogmatic argument to head straight to the forest to start my intensive training. I’m therefore sanctioned to the library to read for the afternoon.
With utter frustration, I retrieve the books from my room and reclaim my reading nook in the library.
Once I’m settled into a cozy chair with a steaming cup of coffee next to me, I begin my research.
About an hour into my work, Micah appears in the seat in front of me, and I yelp with shock, my heart racing.
“You need an alarm, Micah. You scared the crap out of me.”
He laughs deep in his chest, one of those rumbly, sexy eruptions of his that play a number on my nerve endings—and not some gentle symphony, either.
I’m not the type to get all wrapped up in a man, but my body screams “rock star” every time he’s near, and my lips tingle at the very idea of him kissing me again.
He motions to the book I’m holding. “What have you learned?”
“It’s hard to get through. I find the need to reread and analyze every paragraph. Some of it feels as if it could have two meanings. Like the two rulers of Nephilim who collide as one. What does that even mean?”
“There are references in other books to Saint Michael, and that’s not a positive thing. Michael’s the Archangel of War.”
“Does that connect to me?”
“Yes. The rulers of Nephilim will collide when the Aza comes of age.” A book appears in his hand. “Page two hundred.” He sets it on the small table in front of me next to my coffee. “There are other references to the queen as well, but as you know, she’s no longer with us.”
“Maybe the king remarries?”
“It feels like that would have already happened for the text to reference her.”
Because I’m now twenty-seven, he means. He thinks whatever is going to happen will be rapid fire.
“And all of this guesswork is exactly why I couldn’t tell you what’s in the books,” he adds. “I’ve spent hundreds of years reading the same passages on repeat, and I’m still not certain what is right or wrong.”
Yes, but some information is better than none, I think, but he’s a stubborn man set in his reasoning. “Can I walk around the library?”
“This is your home now, Ember. You can do anything you like.”
There’s a pinch in my chest that threatens to become a cut bleeding out. How do I even know what is real anymore? “This is not my home.”
“I hope you’ll change your mind about that.” There’s a hint of something I can only call disappointment in his voice that I don’t understand. Why does he want me to accept this place? Because here I can do no harm?
This idea bubbles up inside, acid in my belly, but before I can express that feeling in words, Micah says, “Call me if you need me. You know the path.”
He stands, and before I can stop him, he disappears.
I—I don’t understand what just happened.
You know the path, I repeat in my mind, where I’ll find him if I choose to reach for him.
It’s a connection I’ve never shared with anyone else.
I don’t even know if it’s possible for me to communicate in such a way with anyone else.
And maybe that’s his point. I need to know.
I shake off the encounter, or try to, and open the book again, and this time I do read it once again to absorb what is inside.
Hours later, I’ve taken in an insane amount of information, and I decide knowledge really is power. Micah wasn’t wrong on that point, but the more I learn, the more I see trouble, and I’m that trouble. Only that feels too obvious and in our faces. What if this isn’t really about me at all?
I’m the catalyst, but for what?
A war between good and evil seems too obvious as well.
I set the books I’m reading aside, craving a sampling of a different flavor, a new direction to find answers.
I stand and rift toward the bottom level of the library, and when rows of books are before me, I do not know how to choose, so I request aid.
“House,” I say softly. “Please choose the book I need to see most urgently.” I hold out my hand, and a book appears.
Anxious to see what it might be showing me, I settle into a chair and start reading.
The book is not what I expected but rather a spellbook.
Apparently, the house is in conflict with Micah, and it believes me working on my magic is more important than me gaining knowledge, though one could argue the two things align, I suppose.
I open the book and scan several paragraphs of the introduction and pause on a line: Inherently, magic can be jumpstarted and fully realized with a spellcasting. I quickly search the book for more details, which include discovery spells considered to be awakening spells as well.
Excitement rises inside me. After my first attempt at spellcasting, I suspect Micah isn’t eager to empower me in that manner, but here I am, talking to the house, and the house is answering me through a book.
Abilities the text claims I might inherently possess include everything from turning water into fire to extracting my familiar and using her as a weapon, and everything in between.
Apparently, to wield fire, one must first learn to create it from water.
My grandfather would have said there was a snowball’s chance in hell that would happen, considering water extinguishes fire, and the premise of wielding fire sounds like an accident waiting to happen.
How do you stop yourself from burning down buildings?
And while I can see the value of using my familiar as a living, breathing killing machine, I’ve only just met her, and I’d prefer to keep her tucked safely inside me.
My lips curve as I think “her.” I know my wolf is female, and I think she needs a name.
Sara, I think. I love the name Sara and even had an imaginary friend named Sara growing up.
Only she wasn’t imaginary at all, I realize now.
I’d seen her as a princess, but she’d been my wolf.
Maybe that’s how Sara was trying to wake me up.
I close my eyes and reach for my familiar, stunned when I feel her shift inside me, feel her joy.
She is pleased I remember my friend of the past. Now, I’m smiling as I whisper in my mind, Sara, and somehow, someway, I know this pleases her.
It tells her I now know she was always with me.
My eyes pop open, and I try to remember when I stopped feeling her with me as a child.
When the serpent found its way inside me, I think bitterly.
It all makes sense now. Jeremy needed to control me, ensure I never grew strong enough to fulfill the prophecy by killing him instead of joining him.
And he started young. There must have been a reason he couldn’t kill me or fully possess me before my coming of age.
I’m about to ask the house for a book on demon-human servants when I determine I shouldn’t need the house for such a thing.
If I can order myself food and rift, I can spellcast a book choice.
I wish for what I want, and it appears in my hand.
Pleased with myself, I decide food is a good idea as well, and I spellcast a slice of banana bread and a Starbucks non-fat white mocha in a mug, the perfect treat for a lazy day of reading.
After a good bit of reading up on the history of the Eagles, I return to the spellcast book, and the pages flip for me, a rapid turn until they open the spell to create fire once again.
Is the house telling me I can wield fire?
Several books fall off the shelves, as if to answer my question.
Okay. I think that’s a yes. “Yes?” I call out to the house.
The books return to their locations on the shelf, as if my understanding has made things right again in the world—this world, at least—or at least a few bookshelves.
I sigh. Seems I’m going to try to create fire.
And if I’m really going to do this, I think I should protect the house so kindly helping me figure things out, and Micah with it, which lends to another question.
Can Nephilim die in fire? A book appears on the table next to me and opens to a page.
I snatch it up and read a moment. The answer is maybe.
We heal from most things, but if burned too severely, we might die.
The list of ways to kill us includes decapitation, destruction of the heart, and loss of eighty percent of our blood—all of which work equally well on demons.
I shut the book. Jeremy could easily do any of those nasty things to me in my present state of almost human.
I need to flush his serpent out of me and burn the damn thing to ash.
I decide turning water to fire seems like a good skill to possess, and the smart place to spellcast would be beside the water itself.
I snatch up the spellcasting book, produce a notecard and pen, and write down the spell to turn water to fire.
Once I’m done, I send the books to my room and deliver myself to the edge of the ocean, blue sand imprinting around my feet, the sun dipping low in the horizon, the sky streaked the most incredible rose red, almost inky in its solidarity.
I’ve rifted again. I think. I’ll never know until I no longer have the house as a crutch but either way, I’m here now and for long moments, I stand there, expecting oranges and yellows, but there is only red.
I wonder if it’s me that erased all but that one shade.
The color of roses or blood?
I shake off the idea and remind myself: I’ve accepted my human life was a facade of the security that only my own abilities can now offer me. And the house showed me my path to fire for a reason. Demons die. Fire kills. The only blood I will accept is that of Jeremy and his kind.