Chapter 35 #3
I try to respond, but my voice feels distant, disconnected from my will. The threads have reached my throat, my jaw, the base of my skull.
“Almost done,” Salome says, her focus absolute.
The water pulses with a strange rhythm, almost like a heartbeat. The wooden bird and dragon scale hover beneath the surface, caught in the current of Salome’s magic. They begin to orbit each other in slow, strange circles.
Seriously, this is the weirdest bath I’ve ever taken.
Suddenly—violently—the water lurches.
The smooth surface fractures, ripples becoming jagged waves that slap against the basin’s edge. The silver threads flicker, their light dimming, then brightening, then dimming again in an unstable pattern.
“What’s happening?” Dayn murmurs, his grip on my hands tightening.
Salome’s eyes snap fully open, her expression hardening. “Interference. There’s push back.”
A sudden, familiar chill spikes through the center of my skull. Esther isn’t here in person, but apparently the imprint she left on my soul hasn’t quite evaporated yet.
“Think of it like a spectral recoil,” Salome explains. “A phantom limb trying to reclaim a body that’s moved on.”
Great.
I feel a strange dragging sensation, deep inside me. Like a hook has been snagged in the softest part of my spirit, trying to pull me back to my former state.
Salome steps into the basin, her simple robe billowing around her as she moves with determination through the churning water. The waves seem to part for her, or rather, submit to her. She reaches down into the depths and snatches at the glowing lines with her bare hands.
“I did not preserve this forest for centuries to be outdone by a dead woman’s grudge,” she mutters irritably.
As soon as Salome’s fingers close around the silver threads, something changes. The chill inside me explodes outward with violent force—which feels like a deliberate, calculated response that erupts from whatever Esther left behind. The water froths and churns, turning a strange blue-black shade.
Salome’s eyes widen—the first genuine surprise I’ve seen on her face. The blast hits her square in the chest, throwing her backward with such force she slams against the basin’s edge. Water cascades over the rim in a freezing wave.
“Salome?!” I move toward her.
She recovers quickly, pushing herself upright with a grunt. But then the ancient witch just stares at me, her expression no longer detached or irritated. She looks... concerned. The shift is jarring.
“This is not right,” she murmurs, studying me as the water gradually settles. “Not right at all.”
“What do you mean?” Dayn asks, moving closer.
Salome doesn’t answer immediately. She climbs out of the basin, water streaming from her robes as she paces the perimeter, her fingers tracing symbols in the air that leave faint blue trails hanging in the dim light.
“If this were simply a spectral retuning—a grandmother’s misguided attempt to suppress your emotional responses—I would have been able to dissolve it completely,” she says finally, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. “But this... this is something else.”
“Something else like what?” I ask, dread pooling in my stomach.
She stops pacing and fixes me with those ancient blue eyes. “It’s buried too deep for me to diagnose without risking damage to your, and possibly my, spiritual integrity. Whatever she did, it wasn’t just masking or retuning magic. It was anchored deeper.”
“Deeper how?” Dayn pushes.
“I don’t know.” Her mouth presses into a thin line. “I’ve stabilized what I can. Your emotions, your core self—that’s largely restored. But there’s still something there, something I can’t safely touch.”
I feel cold despite Dayn’s heat beside me. What could it possibly be? I wonder if it’s even related to Esther at all. If it’s something else entirely—some remnant from the Ide ritual, from me acting as a vessel? Could I still somehow be affected by an Ide?
“So what do I do now?” I ask, lifting my gaze to Dayn’s.
He’s already watching me, closely. His eyes are sharp, and his energy feels like a low-burning furnace.
I can practically hear the gears in his mind turning, mapping outcomes, risks, contingencies.
He didn’t expect this either. Why would he, when neither Rayala nor even Salome did? Whatever it is, it’s hidden deep.
Salome sighs, looking suddenly more her actual age. “Return to Darkbirch. Speak directly with Esther. Investigate. You need the diagnosis before you can get the treatment.” She gives me a look that’s almost sympathetic—like she knows exactly what kind of pain in the ass that would be.
I exhale sharply. “So this is my only option.”
She nods. “I’ve done what I can.”
Great. Return to Darkbirch.
I guess, at least, we’ve accomplished something.
I definitely feel more like myself. But it’s unsettling to know there’s still something there.
What happened? I wish I could remember what transpired between the moment Esther dragged me from that grey, endless bookshelf space and when I woke outside Rayala’s lair.
If I knew, we could find a way to fix this.
“Great,” I mutter. “Just what I needed. More Salem family secrets. Assuming Esther’s behind this.”
“If she isn’t,” Dayn says quietly, “we’ll find out what is.”
His tone is more threat than promise, and for some reason the memory of his kill in my parents’ summer house flows back unbidden. I swallow, returning my focus to Salome.
“The Salems have always been fond of their contingencies,” she says dryly. “Even in death.”
“Well, thank you,” I say. “For your help.”
She grunts. “Don’t be inviting yourself back anytime soon. At least not before you’ve saved the world.”
We dress in silence, the weight of her words settling heavy in the air.
I needed to return to Darkbirch anyway. Whatever’s been happening there in my absence, whatever’s waiting for me, it’s just no longer something I can delay seeing.
We ascend the narrow staircase, the damp chill giving way to the faint warmth of Salome’s cottage above. Dayn pauses at the door, offering her a quiet word of thanks before pushing it open.
I follow him out, but Salome’s hand clamps my arm before I can leave her porch. I turn to her, and for a moment her expression is unreadable—ancient, guarded. Then she presses something cool into my palm.
I look down at a slim vial. The clear liquid inside glints oddly, as if something stirs beneath its surface.
“For when you face her,” she says simply. “Lucent distillate. It won’t turn you into a spectral matriarch, but it might help give you clarity.”
I curl my fingers around it, feeling its chill seep into my skin.
“Thanks,” I murmur. Guess I could do with all the help I can get.
Salome doesn’t reply. She just watches me, her expression settling into something quieter. Not hope. Not quite. But not exactly indifference either. Something in between.
“You know,” she finally says, “I never thought I’d see the day a darkblood hooked up with a dragon—and a Salem and a Draxion at that. But I have to admit, it’s interesting. I’ll be keeping my ear to the ground for the result.”
“The result,” I echo.
But she’s already backing away, then closing her door with a soft click.
The result. Right.
The result.
I swallow, turning to face Dayn… my husband… waiting in the moonlit forest, one brow raised, silent question in his eyes. His gaze fixes on me, tracking my every movement.
And my pulse stutters.
My husband.
The word lands differently now. No longer distant or theoretical. Real. And with it, the rest of it—everything we’ve avoided, delayed, skirted around without ever quite discussing.
Dayn’s gaze drags over my face, catching something I don’t manage to hide in time. His expression shifts, subtle but unmistakable.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say, managing to step past him.
There’s a brief pause behind me, then: “Do you feel ready to return?”
I falter a step. Not because of the question itself. Because of the way he says it.
“It doesn’t matter if I’m ready,” I say softly. And it’s the truth. “I have to return to Darkbirch. To Esther. To answers.”
And, apparently, to everything else we’ve been putting off… this smoldering thing between us that threatens to consume us both.