Chapter 6 #2
“Precisely like a piano,” Dayn says. “When Esther intercepted you in the trial, retuning you was part of what she must have done. She had to take the natural frequency of your soul—the unique vibration that makes you Esme—and forcibly align it with her own, in order to block you: the deepest parts of your soul… your heart. That’s why you’re currently unable to access your deepest emotions.
Why your most cherished memories feel like 'facts' instead of experiences. You’re vibrating on a ghost’s frequency. ”
A cold, hollow feeling settles in my gut. Great. It makes a sickening kind of sense. I remember she told me herself: “An Ide is not summoned by strength alone. It is summoned by sacrifice. By the willingness to burn away the parts of you that are weak.”
And it seems she tried to make my hollowed state of being permanent, or at least keep it under her control. Why though, when my job is basically done now, where the Ides are concerned? Wasn’t unleashing Dominic Merlin into our world enough?
“So how exactly do I fix it?” I ask, my voice sounding small in the vastness of the library. “How do I tune myself back?”
Dayn looks up from the book, his gold eyes dark with a gravity that makes me hold my breath.
“We don't tune you back, Esme. Not yet. Esther’s interference is too deep; the original frequency has been buried under layers of hers. If we try to snap you back all at once, the dissonance could shatter your mind.”
“Then what?”
“As I said, we have to retune you to a new frequency first,” he says. “One that can withstand hers. One that is strong enough to act as a bridge back to your true self.”
I suck in a breath. “To yours.”
“To mine,” he confirms. “Our blood-bond is already a tether. I suspect it’s the only reason you survived this intact at all…
If we align your soul’s resonance with my own, we create a ‘harmonic shield.’ Her influence won’t be able to maintain control of a vessel that resonates fully with draconic fire.
Once her interference is neutralized, we can find your original frequency again. ”
I look at the book, then back at him. “And let me guess. This isn't just a simple spell.”
“No,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “This is a process. To retune a soul, you need specific catalysts. Also known as ‘pillars of resonance.’”
He stands and slowly starts to pace, his shadow moving across the rows of ancient tomes.
“First, we need a Personal Anchor. Something tied to you from before Esther began her interference.
An object that carries a 'scent' of your original soul, preferably from as early in your life as possible. And it has to be something you had a deep emotional connection to.”
I think of my room at Darkbirch, of the childhood trinkets I’ve long since boxed away.
I surely have something there, like the little serpent locket my father gave me.
But that would mean going back to the coven.
I don’t feel like facing everyone there again until I’ve recovered.
Plus, as soon as I returned, I’d surely get tangled up in something or other.
Another thought occurs to me. “Our summer house.”
Dayn raises an eyebrow.
“Our summer house,” I repeat, the words reminding me of old dust and sun-warmed pine. “It’s not in Darkbirch. It’s far away, at the edge of a lake bordering a mountain village called Sarkusen.”
Dayn’s pacing stops and he turns. “Sarkusen? That’s remote. Even for a Salem hideaway.”
“That was the point,” I say, the memory struggling to the surface.
“When I was very young—a toddler, really—my parents used to take me there. And then Jax too, when he was born. My mother told me about it later, when I was old enough to ask why we never left the coven grounds. She said for three successive years, we spent a few weeks every summer at that house. Just the few of us. No missions, no drills. Just the lake.”
I can almost picture it—the way the light would hit that water, the smell of damp earth and woodsmoke.
“They stopped going because it became too dangerous.
Salems are prime targets as you know; our magical signatures are like beacons for clearbloods.
We couldn't risk staying away from the coven's spiritual defenses for that long. But as far as I know, my family still owns it. It’s been sitting empty for nearly twenty years.”
I look at Dayn, my pulse quickening. “If there’s anything left of the girl I was, originally, before my coven turned me into a weapon… it’s there. A toy, a blanket, something I touched before I learned how to kill.”
“An untainted anchor,” Dayn muses, his eyes narrowing as if calculating something.
“That would work perfectly. The resonance would be pure, unburdened.” He crosses his arms and leans against the desk.
“But Sarkusen is a significant distance. Flying would take time, and I’d rather not stay on anyone’s radar longer than we have to. ”
“Then what?”
“We’ll portal.”
I recoil instinctively, a scoff escaping my lips.
“Portal? Dayn, portaling across that kind of distance is an absolute pain. It’d take a massive amount of mojo—we’d arrive in Sarkusen half-dead and magically depleted.
If there’s a clearblood patrol in the area, we’d be sitting ducks. ” Or at least I’d be.
“Normally, yes,” he concedes, stepping toward me. The air shifts with him, carrying that familiar draconic warmth that always seems to find my skin. “But I want to try something. A theory I’ve been developing since our blood first bonded.”
“I don't like the sound of your theories,” I mutter, though I don't move away.
“It's about the dissonance, Esme. The reason portaling is so draining is that the mortal form isn't meant to slip through the seams of reality.
It resists. It fights the transit. But our bond.
.. it might have the ability to create a bridge of sorts.
With our conflicting essences combined, we might be able to form a localized field.
A 'shroud' that protects our strength during the transit. My fire provides the engine, your shadow provides the anchor.”
I look at his outstretched hand. It’s a gamble. Everything with him is a gamble. But Esther’s interference—the way she, my own kin, reached inside me without my consent and changed things as if she had the right to rewrite me—feels worse than this risk right now.
“And if it doesn't work?” I say. “If we end up splattered across the ley lines?”
“Then at least we’ll be splattered together,” he says, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “But it will work. I’m confident.”
I look into his amber eyes, and feel not just his presence, but the vast, subterranean ocean of his power, waiting to flood through me, hot and restless. I know what it’s like when we combine our magics. I remember.
It feels atomic. A fusion of tides and force, rushing through me in a way I never thought possible, lighting up every nerve, every breath, every heartbeat.
And I’ve seen what my magic does to him, too—the way it twists his own, amplifies it, turns it volatile. He’s lost control as well, his draconic fire flaring too hot, too fast, until even one of his own people was reduced to ash by accident.
Together, we are… explosive, to say the least.
“Fine,” I whisper. “Try your theory.”
Dayn doesn't waste time. He closes the distance, his hands claiming my waist, pulling me into the furnace-heat of his personal space.
“Close your eyes,” he orders softly. “Focus on Sarkusen. Everything you know and can remember about it. I'll do the rest.”
I do as he says, trying to picture the old wooden structure at the water’s edge, the scent of damp stone, the creak of the docks beneath my feet.
And then I feel it—his magic rising. Not a flicker or a spark, but a tide.
It swells around me, a surging, golden force that pours through the space between our bodies, hot and alive. But instead of burning, it feels protective, like being wrapped in sunlight and fire all at once.
Dayn shifts, one hand sliding from my waist. I hear him murmur something low and ancient and then his palm ignites with molten light.
“Stay with me,” he breathes.
Instinctively, I reach out with my own power, the cold, fluid darkness of the Salems. Usually our magics collide like enemies—ice and flame, refusal and demand—but now, under the weight of his spell, they begin to change. They lean toward each other.
His glowing hand presses to mine, skin to skin, and the effect is immediate. The gold and the black spiral together, slow and deliberate, weaving into something new. Power coils around us, thick and electric, until even the quiet hum of the library falls away.
The floor trembles.
The air tears.
A shimmering cocoon forms around us, and at its center a doorway of light blooms open.
All I can feel is him.
And the world folds.
Usually, portaling feels like being shoved through a keyhole while being flayed alive.
It’s a nauseating, violent transit that leaves your head spinning and your stomach in your throat.
But this... this is different. The 'shroud' Dayn promised is real. I feel the immense pressure of the void pressing against us, but it hits the golden-shadow barrier and slides off. I feel his heart beating against mine, a steady, draconic rhythm that keeps me anchored. We’re gliding through the transit rather than fighting it.
It lasts only ten heartbeats.
The air shifts. The dry, parchment-scented stillness of the library is replaced by the sharp, wet bite of mountain air and the scent of rotting leaves. My boots hit soft earth instead of stone.
I stumble, my knees buckling, but Dayn catches me, his arms a solid, immovable cage. I gasp, my lungs burning as I take in a breath of the cold, thin air.
“We’re... we're here,” I breathe, looking around in disbelief.