Chapter 2 #3
“But not you,” he observed, cocking an eyebrow. “Never you, sweetness.”
A part of me was tempted to argue, to tell him about how it tried to convince me I knew who he was, that I recognized the magical signature behind the Priest. I’d never managed to confess that, though, for a lot of reasons.
I didn’t do it now, either.
“I can tell what it’s doing,” I offered, which I’d told him before. “I can feel it trying to pull on me. But no, it’s not affecting me like it does you. Not yet, anyway.”
Alaric let out a low scoff.
I’d considered telling him about my strange sun primal, the one only Caelum Bones could see, but Bones had convinced me it would be a very bad idea to share that information with anyone, too, even my closest friends.
A part of me wondered why I was still listening to him or his dire warnings of my imminent peril, but I couldn’t bring myself to go against him, either, not until I knew for sure.
But yes, I’d considered making an exception for Alaric.
Why I hadn’t, given we’d been doing this together for most of the summer, was something I couldn’t entirely explain, even to myself.
I kept thinking I should tell him. Alaric was smart, logical, well-read, and came from one of the oldest families in Magical Europe.
He could probably tell me a lot about my strange primal, what it meant, and why only Bones could see it.
But whenever I thought about telling him, I got a strong warning ping in my magic.
Something always whispered “No.”
I couldn’t explain that, either. Or maybe I just didn’t want to.
“Children of Magique,” the Priest whispered. “Your time approaches. We await it eagerly, but everything must be in place before we make the final push. Blessings will be bestowed, for your masters see you, and the black flame rises…”
I winced, remembering the black flame around the crystal primal over Bones’s head.
Why did so much of it have to remind me of him?
“I don’t know what any of that means,” Alaric said under his breath. “It’s always the same, every time. Have you got what you need?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “Do you still want me to try? A real attempt, I mean?”
He winced, and I saw him struggle with my question for a few seconds.
“Yes. I do want you to.” He hesitated. “Be careful. Gods, please, be careful, Leda… but yes, one of us should try. The more you can resonate with the frequency in real time, the more likely you are to succeed. The voice is like a thread to him. The magic, even distorted, is a thread, too. It’s much more direct than a recording.
I would do it myself, but I can’t get past that damned––”
“It’s fine.” I waved him off. “It’s totally fine. And we agreed.”
I knew he felt guilty, but if I was going to do this, I couldn’t spend time reassuring him now. That would have to wait until after.
I focused on the Priest.
I counted my breaths down, slowing them each time.
Once I felt my mind anchor into stillness, I mouthed another silent spell, and a thin shield glossed over my aura.
I reached out only then, carefully, with a subtle frequency of magic I’d been experimenting with for the past week.
I threaded it into the cloud whispering out from behind the masked face.
“Don’t go too far in,’ Alaric said, his voice nervous. “If he feels you––”
“Alaric,” I warned. “I need to concentrate. Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
He fell silent, and after a slight pause, I brought my vibration down to the lowest, stillest frequency I could manage. When everything about me felt totally still, I slid more of myself into those dense strands of magic.
"The instructions are coming now,” Alaric muttered.
I barely heard him.
I barely heard the Priest himself now.
“Giantess four-forty-four,” the masked figure intoned.
“Fractal seven-seven-eighteen, the green door awaits. Cormorant four-twelve-twenty-twenty. Chimaera eight, one, seven, four. Viper mantis eight one. Lord clear the way with your mighty horn, for the crow flies late into the night. We need your eyes…”
I continued to follow his magic, holding my breath.
I kept my magical aura utterly silent. I kept my mind empty, wordless.
At some point, I fell.
I continued to fall.
The magic around me grew warm, then hot, then suffocatingly hot and dense as I fell deeper into its source.
Power vibrated there. Terrifying, fascinating, out-of-control power, like an electrical storm held inside the thinnest of glass balls.
One wrong vibration and it would smash outward, rippling fire in all directions, like a dragon breathing flames.
Like before, images swam behind my eyes, but these were different, darker somehow, like ghosts trapped behind a mirror.
A long hallway stretched upwards, filled with rose-colored light. I knelt on a cushion on black and white marble floors, gazing at a black altar. On either side, windows streamed with sunset hues, clouds massing above a high, glass ceiling. Firelight shone all around me.
Everything about it felt so incredibly, crushingly, mind-numbingly sad.
I knelt inside a burnt, blackened circle, in a house filled with blood and ghosts.
More fragments of life flashed through my awareness, just as silent, just as devastated with grief and slow madness.
A towering library filled with books. A ritual circle in place of the burnt ring, painted in blood and bone and chalk.
Tapestries and swords. Rows of bottles filling tall wooden shelves.
The walls continued to stretch upwards, so many stories I got dizzy trying to follow them, unable to find my feet.
Fireflies danced over a dark lawn, sparks of magic leaving hands as two hooded figures dueled with magic and swords, exploding chunks out of trees and stone statues, circling one another in a fascinating, deadly, eerily-graceful dance.
A dungeon appeared around me, freezing cold and dripping water, rusted chains hanging from the walls.
Blood splattered across a cracked floor.
I felt him there. Stronger that time. Unmistakeable.
A choked gasp left my throat.
The grief in that underground tomb grew so intense I wanted to scream, to claw at the wet stone with my fingers.
I felt him reaching for me, trying to get out, screaming for me, and I choked on my own breath.
My heart went from feeling constricted in my chest to slamming painfully into my ribs, trying to snuff itself out.
Gods, I had to get to him.
I had to get to him, before––