Chapter 42 #2
“What about the other stuff, though?” I asked, not wanting to dwell on the new things I was feeling or how my body reacted to just the thought of him touching me.
“Phips’s missing piece of they Key. Helena and her ravings about Belial.
” I paused, my gaze meeting his before I added. “Your claim about me being your mate.”
“Claim?” he hissed, dark eyes flashing in the candlelight. “I claim nothing that isn’t true. And you, witch, have claimed me as well. Or do you think this is my own handprint burning on my skin.”
Snatching the candle off the desk, Archer stood before me, the light between us clearly highlighting what had been hidden in the darkness until this moment.
There on his chest, right above a small block of tattooed text—right where my palm had rested while he had been inside me—was a silvery handprint, far too small to be anything but mine.
“I—I didn’t…”
“You did, my witch.” His tone was intense, strong and sure, and as I stared at the shimmering evidence before me, I found myself nearly bursting with pride.
If what Archer said was true, if we were mates, then that handprint on his flesh was my mark on him just as his bite was his on me.
A strong sense of contentment filled me, overflowing, and I could see the moment Archer picked up on it, our strange connection letting him know exactly how I felt about owning a piece of him.
“You see?” he asked, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. Turning his body one way and then the other, Archer gave me a dirty smile as the handprint I’d left on him shimmered in the candle flame. “I may reside in the darkness, but the truth cannot hide from the light.”
I froze, something about his words tickling in the back of my mind.
The truth cannot hide from the light.
“Archer,” I gasped, when the realization struck me. “The letter! Where is Phips’s letter?”
He opened his mouth as if to question me, but something—probably the excited urgency he could feel through our bond—had him setting the candle back on the desk and striding from the room. He returned a moment later holding the thick piece of parchment out to me.
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before,” I said, returning Pandora to her spot on the chair and moving to the desk.
I slid my grimoire out of the way, unfolding the letter and attempting to smooth out the wrinkles.
The message was still there, just as it was the first time I’d seen it, but something in me knew there was more than met the eye.
“It’s something Heidi used to do for important commutations,” I said, smiling gently. “The ink is bespelled, the real message written in a way that only someone who knows it’s there would be able to find it.”
“So how do you know it’s there?”
“Because Father Phips told me it was, right in the letter.” Leaning over the table, I ran my finger over the passage in question.
“‘If you follow the light, my words will reveal the truth.’ Heidi always taught me that the flame represents light. A guide through the darkness that reveals the truth around us.” I trailed off, shaking my head in disbelief.
“She knew. All along, she was preparing me for this possibility. That I would be alone and have to make my own way.”
“You’re not alone, Delilah,” Archer said quietly, his words resonating deep within me. “Never again.”
For a moment, I could only stare at him, his features still so otherworldly in the flickering light of the single candle.
There was still a lot we had to talk about—still so much I just didn’t know—but the truth of his words settled something inside me, filling me with a calm reassurance that I hadn’t known I’d been missing.
Grasping the parchment tightly in both hands, I stood straight, stretching it over the flame, close enough that the paper glowed, but not close enough to scorch.
“What are you doing?” Archer grasped my wrist, preventing me from getting it too close. “That’s our only clue as to the whereabouts of the second piece of the key.”
“I know, but the clue is hidden. I need to reveal it.”
“You’re certain?” he asked, hesitant, and I scowled.
“Of course, I’m certain. I wouldn’t risk this.” I gestured to the letter. “It’s too important.” I stared at him, doing my best to show the confidence I felt about what I was doing, both on my face and through the strange connection between us.
Archer paused a second longer, then released my wrist, gesturing me to go ahead. I shot him a teasingly dirty look, letting him know his permission hadn’t been requested, but he only smirked at me, tucking his hands behind his back as he leaned over my shoulder to watch.
Holding the letter over the flame once more, I moved the paper from side to side, slowly lowering it closer to the candle with each pass.
Sure enough, as soon as the flame got close enough to the paper, the letters began to rearrange themselves, some changing shape and size, others disappearing all together, melting into the parchment as if they were never there.
After a few moments, a new phrase appeared, this one only two words long.
“Sweet Baptiste?” I asked, confused. “What’s that?”
“Not what,” Archer grumbled, clearly unhappy with the revelation. “Who.”
“Sweet Baptiste is a person?” I asked, excited. “And you know him?”
“Yeah.” Archer stood straight, running a hand through his hair. “Or I knew of him anyway.” Looking at me, he sighed, sounding dejected. “He’s dead.”