Chapter 5 #2
“That he’s good. That he’s telling the truth. That he won’t hurt me.”
“Then there is your answer.” Oma squeezed her hand. “The Mother of All sends Her servants in many forms. This one comes with fur and fangs, but he serves the Light just as surely as we do. Trust him. Let him help you.”
“I’m scared,” Petra admitted.
“Of course you are. Only a fool wouldn’t be scared in your situation.” Her grandmother’s expression grew serious. “But fear and courage are not opposites. Courage is being afraid and choosing to act anyway. You have more courage than you realize.”
The garden around them began to fade, the edges growing soft and indistinct.
“Wait,” Petra said desperately. “Don’t go. I need you.”
“I am always with you.” Oma’s voice came from everywhere and nowhere. “In your blood, in your magic, in the knowing that has been passed down through our line since time began. You are not alone, Petra. You have never been alone.”
The last thing Petra saw was her grandmother’s loving smile before the dream dissolved into ordinary sleep.
She didn’t wake until morning, when sunlight streamed through her open window and a bird sang somewhere in the gardens below.
Petra woke slowly, awareness returning in stages. First, she noticed the softness of the mattress beneath her. Then she felt the warmth of sunlight on her face. Finally, she heard the song of a bird outside her window, clear and sweet in the morning air.
She kept her eyes closed for a long moment, reluctant to let go of the dream’s lingering warmth. Oma’s face was already fading from her memory, the details blurring like watercolor in rain, but the feeling remained. That certainty, that comfort, that sense of being loved and guided.
Had it been real? Or was it just her subconscious working through everything she’d learned yesterday, weaving familiar faces and reassuring words from the fragments of hope she desperately needed?
Petra opened her eyes and stared at the canopy above her. The blue damask looked different in daylight, seeming somehow less imposing. The whole room felt different, actually. Less like a stranger’s space and more like somewhere she might actually belong.
She sat up, wincing slightly as her muscles protested. Apparently shoving heavy furniture around wasn’t something her body was accustomed to doing. The dresser still blocked the door, solid proof that last night’s fears hadn’t been imaginary.
Her hand went to the locket at her throat, warm from her body heat. She opened it with careful fingers, looking at the small photographs inside. Her parents smiled up at her from one side. Her Oma and Opa from the other, frozen in that moment of happiness before age and illness had taken them.
“Thank you,” she whispered, not entirely sure who she was thanking. Her grandmother’s ghost? The Mother of All? Her own stubborn subconscious for giving her the dream she’d needed?
Maybe it didn’t matter. The result was the same.
She felt steadier this morning. More certain about her path.
The bone-deep terror that had kept her on edge and off balance had been replaced by something quieter.
It wasn’t confidence, exactly. She wasn’t that naive.
She was still completely out of her depth, and facing dangers she barely understood.
But she wasn’t alone. Seth was helping her. And if the dream was to be believed, she had her grandmother’s blessing. Her family’s blessing. The legacy of magic and knowing that ran through her bloodline, thin as it might be.
Petra threw back the covers and padded to the window.
The gardens stretched out below, peaceful in the morning light.
No sign of the golden jackal, but then she hadn’t expected to see him.
Seth would have shifted back to human form by now, probably gone to wherever he’d stashed his things to rest and plan their next move.
She wondered if he’d stayed awake all night watching the castle, or if he’d dozed in shifts the way soldiers supposedly did. The thought of him out there in the cold, keeping guard while she slept, made something warm curl in her chest.
Trust him, Oma had said. Let him help you. Petra intended to do exactly that.
She moved to the dresser, bracing her shoulder against it and pushing hard. It scraped back across the floor with a horrible screeching sound that made her wince. So much for moving quietly. If anyone had been wondering whether she’d barricaded her door, they definitely knew now.
The room felt larger with the furniture back in its proper place. Less like a fortress and more like a bedroom. Petra turned the key in the lock and eased the door open, half-expecting to find Herr Müller standing in the corridor with a disapproving expression.
The hallway was empty.
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Right. Time to face the day. She wanted to meet with Seth again and figure out what came next before the lawyers returned tomorrow, and the Venifucus mages returned next week. No pressure at all.
Petra closed the door and turned to survey her meager wardrobe options. She’d need to either do laundry soon or figure out how to acquire more clothes. Add that to the growing list of practical concerns competing with the whole “fighting dark magic” situation.
She caught sight of herself in the antique mirror above the dresser and paused.
She looked different somehow. Same mousy brown hair, same ordinary features, same slight frame that made her look younger than thirty-seven.
But there was something in her eyes that hadn’t been there yesterday.
A spark of determination, maybe. Or just the reckless certainty of someone who’d decided to stop running from her problems.
“You can do this,” she told her reflection firmly. “You have to do this.”
Her reflection didn’t argue, which she chose to take as a good sign. Petra grabbed her toiletry bag and headed for the ensuite bathroom, ready to face whatever this strange new day would bring.