Chapter 13 #2
"Tell him I remember everything." The woman's voice follows me as the magic pulls me up, away. "Tell him the drowned never forget."
The vision shatters. I'm pulled back through layers of dark magic, through the chains binding the dead, through water that shouldn't exist. The transition tears at my consciousness.
Then I'm drowning in the scrying bowl.
Not metaphorically. Water fills my lungs. Covers my face. The bowl should only hold inches of liquid, but the corrupted magic has expanded it. Made it infinite.
Hands grab my shoulders. Pull me back. Rafe's voice cuts through the roaring in my ears, but the words don't register.
The world tilts. The bowl crashes to the floor, salt water spreading across hardwood. My body follows.
Blood streams from my nose. Copper fills my mouth. The poisoned magic clings to my skin like oil, burning everywhere it touches.
Rafe's face appears above me, mouth moving in words I can't hear. His hands check for injuries. Find too many.
I try to speak. Blood bubbles from my lips instead of words.
Everything goes distant. The protective wards flare in response to my distress, but they're too late.
The last thing I register is Rafe lifting me. Carrying me somewhere. His voice raw with emotion I can't name.
Then nothing.
Awareness returns in pieces.
Soft sheets. Rafe's bed. The room where we made love. Footsteps pace nearby. Restless energy contained in measured movement.
My throat burns. Lungs ache. Every breath tastes like copper and salt water.
"Rafe?" The word comes out as a croak.
The pacing stops. Then he's beside me, gentle hands on my face. "Don't move. You're hurt."
"I'm fine." I swallow past the burning. "The vision—"
"Nearly killed you. You stopped breathing. There was blood everywhere." His voice shakes. "Don't ever do that again."
"Had to." Swallow past the burning. "Needed to see."
"See what? What was worth almost dying for?"
The memories crash back. The woman in the depths. The bound spirits. Elspeth in chains. And the message.
"She said to tell you she remembers everything." My eyes find his. "That the drowned never forget. That when she completes the ritual, you'll know what you tried to steal from her." Watch his reaction carefully. "Who is she, Rafe?"
He goes absolutely still. Color drains from his face.
"The woman in the vision. She knew you. Knew me. Used your full name—Rafael." Sit up despite the spinning. "She has Elspeth. Has the others bound in chains. And she's coming for people we care about specifically to hurt you."
"Describe her." His voice comes out rough. "Everything you saw."
"Salt-white hair. Skin gray-blue like drowned flesh. But she was underwater, moving, talking. Not breathing but not dead either." The vision's strangeness surfaces. "She looked..." I struggle for words. "Wrong. Like something that shouldn't exist. Something between human and sea-spirit."
His hands curl into fists. "It's not possible."
"You know who she is."
"I know who she might be. But she's supposed to be dead." He turns toward the window, every line of his body tense. "She was a shifter, but no other magic."
"Not any more." The vision's fragments surface. "She was underwater but not drowning. Her skin was wrong. Gray-blue. And her hair was white as salt. She looked..." I struggle for words. "Wrong. Like something that shouldn't exist."
His shoulders tense. "It can't be her."
"She knew you. Knew me. She said when she completes the ritual, you'll know what you tried to steal from her." Watch his reaction carefully. "What did you take from someone? Who would want revenge badly enough to become... that?"
Long silence. Then he turns back, raw pain in his eyes.
"My exile. There was a woman. She orchestrated everything that led to Diego's death.
To my banishment." His jaw tightens. "After I killed my brother defending myself, she told the clans I'd murdered him out of jealousy.
That I was paranoid. Possessive. That Diego died trying to protect her. "
The pieces click into place. The brother he killed. The woman who destroyed him.
"She got me exiled, but the scandal destroyed her family's standing. They sent her to a nunnery in Spain to atone." His voice drops. "I heard she threw herself into the sea off the cliffs. Drowned."
"But she didn't die."
"Or she died and came back as..." He gestures helplessly. "This. Something between human and drowned. And she's here for revenge. For everything she lost because her plan failed."
"She has Elspeth. Has the others bound and waiting." My hand finds his. "She's targeting people we care about. People whose deaths will hurt us the way her losses hurt her."
"Then we end her before she can complete the ritual."
"How? She wasn't breathing underwater. Her skin looked drowned but she was moving. Talking." The vision's strangeness surfaces. "Whatever she's become, she's not fully human anymore. Not alive but not dead either."
"Everything can be killed. It's just a matter of finding the right method." His thumb traces circles on my palm. "But first we find her. And we free the spirits she's bound."
"Including Elspeth."
"Including your sister. I promised you wouldn't have to fight her. That promise still stands."
"We handle it together. She's using Elspeth to hurt me. Using the bound spirits to build power." Fierce. "And I'm not letting you face whoever this is alone. She wants to destroy you. This is personal."
His expression softens. Then he leans forward, presses his forehead to mine. "You're the most stubborn person I've ever met."
"Good thing you like stubborn."
"I like you. Stubbornness included." He pulls back enough to meet my eyes. "But if this goes wrong—"
"It won't. We're smarter. Stronger. And we know what she's planning." My fingers tighten on his. "But we need to move fast. Another death tonight means she's running out of time to complete the ritual. The next victim could be targeted any moment."
His phone buzzes. He reads the message, and his expression goes carefully blank.
"What?"
"Declan says someone broke through the wards at Old Tom's cottage." His eyes meet mine. "He's missing."
Old Tom. The old harbor master who brings me fish from his morning catch. Who tells stories about Gran. Who's known me since I was a child.
Terror crashes through my defenses.
"She has him."
Rafe's already moving, grabbing his jacket. "Declan's coordinating a search. Every shifter on the island is looking."
"They won't find him in time." Stand despite the spinning. "We need to go to where she'll perform the ritual. Where she'll complete the binding."
"You just nearly died—"
"And Old Tom will actually die if we wait." Sharp. Clear. "No more preparation. We end this tonight."
He studies me. Sees the determination. The fear. The absolute certainty that delay means death.
"All right. We end it tonight." He steadies me when I sway. "But you stay behind me. You don't engage Catalina directly. And if I say run, you run."
"Understood."
Another lie. Because when we face the woman from Rafe's past, when my sister's corpse stands between us and the necromancer, running won't be an option.
I grab my grandmother's grimoire from where it lies on the dresser. The leather warm under my fingers. Salt water still stains the pages from earlier, but the spells remain legible.
Old Tom, with his booming laugh and weathered hands. Who calls me 'little Moira' no matter how old I get.
Now he's bait for me.
The grimoire weighs heavily in my hands, pages filled with protection spells and binding rituals my grandmother used to guard our shores.
But none of them account for this—a necromancer who knows Rafe's name, who speaks of theft and vengeance, who's powerful enough to raise the drowned and twist them into weapons.
I turn from the dresser. Rafe stands by the door, his back rigid, hands braced against the frame like he's holding himself in place.
"She knew who you were." I repeat. "That necromancer. She used your full name."
His shoulders tense further, but he doesn't turn around.
"Rafael." I cross toward him, grimoire tucked against my side.
Now he turns. And the look in his eyes—raw and dangerous and haunted—makes my breath catch.