Chapter 22 #2
I snatched a random tank top from my laundry basket and threw it on, and my attention locked on the bed—on the blood. With each step closer, the stone in my hand began to rattle, almost like it knew whose blood it was—essence wishing to return to its physical form.
“Well, it’s too late to wash them tonight,” Roxie said. “How about you stay in my room, hmm?”
“Yeah, I’m thinking that’s probably best. Thanks. Just, give me a sec to get this all wrapped up for tomorrow and I’ll head over, all right?”
She nodded. “You got it.”
As she sauntered toward the door, guilt panged me.
I’d altered her thoughts, her reality. While I’d done it for valid reasons—Bethesda being the primary one—it didn’t change the fact that I’d gone into her head and jumbled stuff around.
But I had no other choice. Not until I knew more about what all this meant: who the Ancient Lores really were, how the cloaked woman fit into it all.
Hell, until I knew more about how I fit into it all.
If it’s a war you seek, Feyanna, then it is a war I shall provide you.
A shiver ran up my spine. Something told me Bethesda didn’t make empty threats.
I pulled the sheets from the bed to find Chaos’s black blood had seeped clear through the mattress.
They weren’t worth salvaging. Even if I could scrub what remained of Chaos from them, I’d always know the truth hidden within those threads.
I knotted them up, tossed them in the fireplace before making my way to prop open the balcony doors, and flicked a match.
How had Cillian known to show up like that? And why did he refuse to tell me the truth? Celine too. What good was introducing me to Fhírinne and the journals about my past lives if they had no intention of acknowledging anything? It all made absolutely zero sense.
Flames nipped my finger, and I flinched, dropping the burnt-out match to the hardwood floor.
I sucked on the burn before lighting a new match and casting it into the fireplace.
The sheets caught with little encouragement.
I watched, stunned. Exhausted. Who knew magic and killing nightmare beasts could be so damn tiring.
With the flames taking on a life of their own, I pulled off my bloodied clothes, tossed them onto the heap, and flipped the mattress. After a scalding hot shower, I sprawled out on the hardwood floor, twirling Chaos’s essence stone in my fingers.
What was I supposed to do with this anyway?
I searched for a hidden message within it, a clue, anything.
But inevitably, I tossed it into my bedside table along with the evil red stone.
Whatever madness I’d gotten myself into, it would have to wait.
I’d had enough beasts, blood, stones, and dreams for one night. Fuck, a lifetime.
I slammed the drawer shut, took a step away, and my ears began to ring. An unnatural ring: magic. My feet spun back toward the side table to find the knob quivering. I swallowed hard, cemented in place until the drawer stilled.
When I finally pulled the drawer open, I was met with utter darkness, as if a black velvet cloth lay over the contents within, and a chill seeped out and over me.
The light under my skin reacted of its own volition, willing me to draw near.
At the approach of my now illuminated hand, the darkness parted and hissed, sliding into the back of the cabinet as if it were alive … and afraid.
But worse still? The bloodstone was not the same; it had changed.
Reshaped itself. The right side reflected no divot or dimple.
Instead, Chaos’s essence had taken up residence there.
The stones had fused together, and where they touched, a sickening blue glow radiated.
My breath caught. Nope. Done. I slammed the cabinet shut and flew out the door.
I didn’t need any more insanity for the night.
What I needed was my friend, some semblance of normalcy, and a break. I started out the front door, but my foot caught, sending something clattering into the hall.
“Now what?” I bent down to find a small velvet box and popped it open.
Encased in a smooth, silver swirl sat a brilliant kaleidoscope of color: rainbow moonstone.
My favorite gemstone. I brushed my finger against its surface, and the magic inside me purred.
I turned the box over in my hand. On the bottom, in swirly calligraphy, it read:
Every witch needs her talisman.—Cillian
I snapped the box shut, slid it into my bedroom, and started toward Roxie’s room.
But the light swirled violently below my skin, condensing on the left side of my body, physically pulling me back toward it.
I sighed, fighting it. It was so obviously a bribe; another pretty lie tied up in a bow.
Again, I tried to move, but again the power within me surged.
The light seeped across the floor, tendrils forming and reaching for that stupid little box.
A growl passed my lips. “Fine. You want the damn crystal, have the damn crystal.”
My fingers clipped the clasp behind my neck, the stone coming to rest in the exact spot Chaos’s had fused from earlier.
Without warning, a peace settled over me.
My magic quieted, laid itself to rest in different pockets about my body, and I shivered.
Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how out of control I’d felt.
During my nightmares, sure, but the moonstone quieted the anxiety.
Not entirely, but it smoothed the edges, and the part that threatened to spew over settled down.
My hands latched around the doorframe. However this magic had found its way into my bones, there was no way it hadn’t known me before.
The way it moved under my skin with purpose confirmed it, the familiarity second nature somehow.
My heartbeat quickened as the magic shifted about the same way your stomach dropped on a rollercoaster, its warmth curling around my heart.
This light was an extension of myself, and yet some entirely separate being altogether. Sentient.
Despite every god-awful and horrific event that night, I smiled. If I had to face these bastard Lores, it brought me peace knowing I wouldn’t be going in unarmed. Not anymore. My mind bid the light beneath my skin to dance, and I relished the sight. Magic.
My magic.