Chapter 13
JAX
Ireach out, my fingers trembling as they touch the surface of the mirror.
The reflection doesn’t ripple; it doesn’t break.
Theodore Salem—my father, the man I watched leave on a routine mission thirteen years ago and never saw again—stares back at me.
His eyes are fixed on mine, heavy with a sadness that feels like it’s being poured directly into my marrow.
“Jax,” the voice echoes again, vibrating through the bones of my skull. “I am sorry it had to be like this. I am sorry this is how you found me.”
“You’re dead,” I choke out, the word feeling like a jagged stone in my throat. “We... We waited for you. For years. The grid, Dad. You never came back to the grid.”
That was the worst part of it. When a Salem dies, their spirit is supposed to snap back to the Darkbirch sanctuary like a homing pigeon.
It’s our birthright, our eternal duty. When my father’s essence didn't return, we all feared the worst—not just that the clearbloods had killed him, but that they’d used some kind of twisted ritual to ensure he couldn’t return.
Or that he’d simply moved on, refusing the call of our ancestors.
We mourned a man we thought was forever gone from our universe.
“I couldn't come back,” my father says. “I didn't move on, Jax. I don’t…
remember what happened. Somewhere, between the strike that took my life and the pull of Darkbirch, something happened.
It was like a rift. I just… found myself in the gray space, the no-man's land between the light and the dark.”
“The Ide space,” I whisper. “And it was the clearbloods who killed you?”
“My death’s hazy, but I think so. On that reconnaissance mission to Tarnhollow.”
My throat feels thick. I swallow hard, trying not to choke up. I think I’d rather not know the details of how he died.
And I can’t get over how when he talks, it’s my father, but the existential distance between us—between the past and the present, between all the years passed, all those tears shed—feels enormous.
He feels like a stranger. Like a reflection of someone I used to know. And yet this is supposed to be him.
“So you somehow got trapped as an Ide,” I breathe, still hardly able to believe it.
“That’s right,” he says, and winces as if recalling something agonizing.
I want to reach through the glass. I want to grab his shoulders, to feel the solid, calloused hands that used to toss me into the air.
I want to hug my father so hard the world stops spinning.
But I can't. He’s inside me. He is the pressure behind my eyes, the warmth in my chest…
the ghost in my head. The realization is a dizzying, nauseating paradox.
I’ve never been more connected to him, and yet he’s never been more unreachable.
“But how could it have happened?” I ask, my voice cracking. “How did you become an Ide? You were one of us. You weren't some ancient warlock seeking unexplored power.”
“I wish I knew, Jax. As I said, it’s a mystery even to me.
I wish I remembered the moment of the change, whatever led me into that pocket of fresh solitary hell.
But it’s gone… like a black hole in my memory.
” His reflection flickers, his eyes darkening for a second.
“But maybe some things are better left forgotten, for now.”
A sharp, rhythmic rapping on my bedroom door makes me jump, my reflection snapping back to my own startled face. My father's image vanishes, leaving me staring at my own gray eyes, wide and bloodshot.
“Kitchen service,” a muffled voice calls from the hall.
I don’t move. I can’t move. I hear the soft thud of the tray hitting the carpet and the retreating footsteps of the server. I stay frozen, my heart thudding against my ribs.
“You should eat, Jax,” my father’s voice returns, calmer now, settling into the back of my mind. “And you need to get back into a routine. It will be good for you. For both of us. Go back to attending your classes tomorrow. Blend in. Be the son your mother needs to see.”
“Classes?” I ask the empty air, a flare of incredulity hitting me.
“Dad, you’re back from the dead. I’m not exactly in the mood for Advanced Sigil Theory.
” I leave the bathroom and grab my jacket.
“I need to tell them. Mom and Brynn, your brother, aunt Maelis, Ridge and Nyv and Isola. Esme whenever she gets back. They need to know you’re here.
Mom... she… she never really stopped looking for you, you know. She’ll be—”
“No.”
The word feels like a cold strike, the authority in his voice absolute.
I stall, blindsided. “What?”
“Jax, listen to me.” His tone becomes more urgent. “This should stay between us. You cannot tell your mother. You cannot tell your sisters or anyone else.”
“Why?” I demand, my frustration boiling over. “They’re your family! They love you. Why the hell would you want to stay a secret?”
“Because the world has changed, Jax,” he says, his voice dropping to a cautious, strangely cryptic whisper.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
A pause, and then: “For now, let’s just say there are many Ides, and Dominic Merlin doesn’t really care who’s who.
He thinks all the Ides are essentially the same: loyal, wild…
but ready to cooperate so long as it keeps them from being thrust back into their maddening former existence.
He opened the channel which let us through.
That gives him a certain level of control. ”
I frown. “I’m still not following you.”
“I still have a sense of my identity, unlike most who, I sense, are far older than me. Most, I believe, remember at most their names and little else. So I would like to keep that under wraps, at least for now.”
“You mean Dominic might not like that you’re… somewhat different?” I ask.
My father is silent, which I take as a nod.
“Why wouldn’t he like that?” I ask.
I hear my father sigh. “I’m not drawing any conclusions, at this point, about whether he might like it or not, or what any possible consequences could be. I’m currently as new to this… situation as you are. Hence my request that we lie low for the time being.”
I pause, running my tongue over my lower lip.
“So… you remember us,” I say, something deep inside me needing the confirmation. “You remember me, and Mom, and Es, and Brynn, and—”
“I do,” he replies, tense, as if the words pain the very core of him.
I nod, swallowing, taking a minute to compose myself to speak again. “And what makes Dominic different?” I ask. “He seems aware of himself.”
“I’m not entirely sure,” my father replies. “Possibly something to do with the ritual that brought him back. My gods, I can’t believe that girl had the balls to do this.”
I can’t help but smirk. “Probably your fault. Esme got her stubborn streak from you. She hasn't stopped looking for a fight since you left.”
“That’s my girl,” Dad sighs, and a faint, sad chuckle echoes through my mind. “I worry she’s too much like me for her own good.”
The pride in his voice makes my chest ache. I sink down onto my bed, the weight of his presence—of this impossible reunion—pressing on me from all sides.
“I missed you,” I whisper, the words scraping my throat raw. “Every day. Every single damn day.”
“I know.” His voice is gentler now, a soft current beneath my thoughts. “I missed you too, Jax. More than you can imagine.”
“Did you...” I hesitate, half-afraid to ask, half-afraid of the answer. “Could you see us? From where you were?”
“Not really.” The word is heavy with regret. “I was just… lost.”
I nod, swallowing, not wanting to hear more details of his suffering—not wanting to remind him of the pain.
The silence stretches between us, thirteen years of absence condensed into this surreal moment in my dorm room.
“So just… lie low, for now, Jax,” he finally says, after a beat. “There’s still much to learn about this new world. Let’s play things by ear.”
A chill snakes through me that has nothing to do with the cold floor. “Do you fear Dominic?”
“As I said, I’m not sure what to think of him yet,” my father says softly. “Hence, I’m telling you: return to your routine. Observation first.”
I feel a flicker of true familiarity. This is what he is: a trained operative.
And now I understand his request. Observation always comes first. It’s Darkbirch training 101—even if it makes me nervous that he doesn’t fully trust Dominic…
the spirit who’s basically just been handed control of the entire darkblood world.
I hope, for all our sakes, his lack of complete faith is unfounded.
After all, why would Dominic want to hurt us?
What would he get out of it? We’re his people. His blood.
“So promise me, Jax,” my father concludes. “For now, not a word to anyone.”
I exhale, leaning my head against the cool wall. It feels wrong. It feels like another lie in a life that’s already built on a foundation of uncertainties. But the concern in his voice is something I can’t ignore.
“Fine,” I mutter. “I promise. Just... don't go disappearing on me again.”
“I'm right here,” he says. “I'm not going anywhere.”
I stand there for a long time, listening to the silence of the room, until the hunger in my gut becomes an actual pain. I finally walk out, open the door, and pull the tray inside.
The next morning, I drag myself out of bed and stumble toward the breakfast hall.
Dad's been quiet since I woke up, just a subtle pressure at the back of my mind like a thumb pressed lightly against my cerebellum. Maybe he figures I need space. Maybe he needs his own space. Either way, we both seem content to let this weird shared-body arrangement ride for now. Good thing I’m single.