Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It’s hard to admit your heart was never truly for the taking, or giving. It would always be his.
—Lorinne Leroux’s private journal.
Shisoba, Winter’s buffer, hopped off the table at the mention of the Witch Queen.
She couldn’t blame him; the queen was horrific.
But now there was nothing to distract her from honesty-is-my-policy West and I-can’t-help-but-flirt Everett.
She glanced around the backroom of the archives, doing her best to ignore them both.
The glass ceiling let in so much light it refracted off the little orb she’d swiped from the shelf.
The shining sphere was perfectly round, filled with a glittering white liquid, and fixed to a gilded platform.
She picked it up, curious to see if it worked like a mortal’s Magic 8-Ball.
Ask a question, shake, and receive an answer.
Hmm.
Had West been about to kiss her?
Winter shook the orb, preparing for the result with one eye open.
Nothing.
She sulked and gave it a disgruntled look.
Hardin, a dark-haired shifter with fox-like eyes, raised his voice. “If that’s the Witch Queen’s butler, why hasn’t anyone killed him yet?”
West looked equally confused.
“Because,” Winter seethed, “Shisoba’s my friend. And you can’t kill a familiar—only its maker can. They don’t even require food.”
Everett glared at her. His performance last night, or lack thereof, had been top-fucking-tier.
She’d asked him to erase her heartache, not highlight it with glossy paint.
Sitting across from him was uncomfortable, to say the least. What the fuck was he still staring at?
Winter snarled, exposing her fangs. “Why are you looking at me?”
Everett didn’t speak. It was unusual considering his specialty was talk, talk, talk. It was driving her crazy. “Cat got your tongue?”
“Always,” he replied, flicking it between two split fingers.
Fucker.
West dropped his head back, appearing more interested in the snow-crusted skylight.
Huh?
Did his second’s vulgarity not justify a table slam, or was His Highness practicing patience today of all days?
Everett seemed to be gauging West’s reaction as well. When there wasn’t one, he grinned at her. Was this him testing his alpha’s boundaries? And did this mean West was allowing Everett to taunt her? Why were they always teaming up on her?
Winter shook the orb vigorously. The insides splashed along the glass walls, forming little bubbles.
No answer.
One too many questions, she supposed. How the hell did this thing work?
Magdalene flew in like Prudence—flapping her arms and squawking. “Winter, put that down! Do you care about fate at all?”
Everyone startled, followed by sitting up straighter.
Winter quirked a brow. “How’d you know I took it? Are you a witch?”
As usual, Magdalene was unamused by her humor.
“My bird was spying on you, you, you, and you.” She glanced sidelong at Hardin, who half-smiled.
The glimpse of pink in her cheeks faded when she faced Winter.
“There’s a reason the orbs are back here and away from the students.
Who, by the way, are desperate to return. Letters are flying in.”
“But don’t their parents want to keep them safe?”
“Their parents want properly prepared mages. Exams won’t stop. You must understand?”
“Yes,” she said, setting the orb on the table. “But I thought these things helped you see the truth. Will you teach me to use it?”
Magdalene sighed. “Not now, Winter. There are three more divisions to organize. Feel free to join me.” She began muttering in French as she leaned down and lifted another stack of books off the floor.
“I will soon.”
Magdalene pressed her lips into a disapproving line. When she made it to the door, she spared a glance back to Hardin. Was there something brewing between them?
West nudged Winter’s thigh, sending her into a new realm. The backroom of the archives blurred as her vision narrowed on him. The air was heavier here, like the rise in pressure before a storm.
“Was that why you took it off the shelf? To see the truth?” His gentle tone gave her pause. He was supposed to be rough around the edges and in the interior. Why was he talking like this?
Lying would be easier. Tempting, even. But he’d been truthful with her. “Yes,” she said, embracing her wolf side.
West leaned closer, sucking the remaining space away. “You don’t trust me to tell it?”
Her lips parted. “I do, but orbs are known to see what will be.”
His hazel eyes burned into hers. “Can’t now be enough?”
No, she didn’t want to focus on now. How could she when it affected later?
“Talk to me,” he said, pressing a palm to her knee. “Truth only.”
West was supposed to be the one answering questions, not the other way around.
How was she supposed to tell him she was falling for him?
She couldn’t. “I don’t know a Westley in the future.
Haven’t you thought about that?” She studied his flawless face, wondering what could’ve killed him.
The alcohol? The battle? The queen? “If we’re mates, then why haven’t I met you yet? You should be very old, not dead.”
“You think I’m going to die?”
“Maybe. There are too many possibilities.”
“It’s okay not to know.”
She pushed his hand off her leg. “Is it?” Anger simmered to the surface, readying to bubble over. It wasn’t just her heart he’d been mending, it was her soul. She was happier around West. Someone like him wasn’t allowed to waltz into her life, only to die.
He wrapped his arms around her. “Yes. It is.”
She sighed, burying her face in his shoulder. It shouldn’t have taken time traveling to have found him, to have found a feeling this good—this real. But would it all be for nothing? She was desperate to know what their future held.
West squeezed her tighter. “We really need to talk. About us.”
“I know.” The words came out in an exhausted whisper.
Hardin cleared his throat, slid some papers across the table. “Sir, if there’s nothing else you need at the moment, I’ll return to my position?”
At that, the backroom of the archives reappeared. Winter didn’t need a wizard to pull her into a void; she was bewitched by a werewolf.
West turned to address Hardin. “Thank you,” he mumbled, then scooped up the papers. “You’re dismissed.”
While West read, Everett chomped on a raw tomato like it was an apple. His snacking lacked restraint. There was slurping, juice dripping, and obscene moaning. Must he suck on the flesh that violently before biting it?
Sitting this close to both of them was making her claw at the neckline of her shirt.
“A human?” West spat, startling her upright.
“Yes,” Everett replied, still tongue-fucking his tomato. He used the back of his hand to wipe the juice off his lips. “We have no idea how they acquired her, but the scent is strong.”
“This doesn’t explain how Fang outfought ten of his pack members.”
Everett scratched his head. “Did you flip the page? One of Xavier’s betas was quite talkative.”
Westley rustled the papers and leaned in closer. “A doctor?”
“Keep reading.”
There was a groan followed by a growl. “This can’t be.”
“It’s off-market, sir. Some recipe passed privately between doctors. It helps with strength and endurance.”
“What?” Winter snatched the report from Westley.
She skimmed the pages; this handwriting was not as neat as Everett’s, but she managed to read the botched cursive.
Was this blood doping? It couldn’t be. There was more to it than blood alone.
“What does secret ingredient mean?” Winter wracked her brain before coming up with the only possible answer.
“This has to be referring to some kind of steroid.”
Everett and Westley spoke as one. “What’s a steroid?”
She paused, thinking of how to explain it.
“Usually a synthetic hormone, like testosterone. But I would think it would be too soon for synthetics.” They both looked at her with blank faces.
Was it that complicated? “It’s a male secretion found in the testicles.
Scientists recreated the hormone in the future, hence synthetic. ”
“And what is it used for?” Westley asked.
“For exactly what Everett said. It boosts strength and stamina, and it’s how someone wins competitions they wouldn’t have won otherwise. If he’s taking steroids combined with blood, this fight will be illegitimate.”
“According to who?”
“It’s simply unfair and against the rules. At least, it is in the future.”
“There are no such rules in this time,” Westley countered, his voice flat.
“You’re an alpha,” she reminded him. “Maybe it’s time to make new rules.”
“I’m killing him, so it won’t matter.”
So confident. His ego problems were exactly why Winter needed this damn orb to work. She scowled while picking it up, then shook the thing. What did the future hold?
When nothing happened, she rolled her eyes and dropped it. “Prophesizing piece of shit.” The orb landed on its side, made the smallest clink, and cracked.
Oops.
The white liquid didn’t spill, it billowed. Winter watched with fright as the white and wispy magic formed a hovering cloud that bobbed over the table. Little bolts of electricity began to dart across it.
“Oh, fuck.” Maybe shaking the orb had created a similar effect as shaking a carbonated beverage would. Everett, who she could barely see through the haze, tried to poke the cloud.
It seemed to repel his advances.
“Ouch,” he barked. “It zapped me.”
West held a finger to it next. Instead of assaulting him, the white blob encapsulated his hand. Sparks swam towards him. He didn’t flinch when they neared, he let out a warm laugh. “They tickle.”
Curious to see how it would react, she reached over. It covered her hand and the sparks swarmed her fingertips. She laughed, meeting West’s eyes. “You’re right, it does tickle.”
Suddenly, streaks of light traversed back and forth between them, forming the shape of a rainbow.
His lip twitched. “You should ask your question now …”
“Right.” Why was West frequently a better mage than she was?
But which question? Asking the orb if he was going to die was imprudent.
Everyone died, eventually. She had to be more specific.
Would it be the battle, queen, or something else to kill him?
Maybe the trick to orb magic was being specific and vague at the same time.
Winter marshaled her witch brain to help, because it was time to twist some words.
“Dearest truth-teller, what exactly does my future with Westley hold?”
“That’s your question?”
She ignored West because the little bolts of light stopped. Her hope for an answer was short-lived as the white cloud of magic faded to black. There was no whisper, no picture.
Nothing.
Winter groaned in defeat. “I think it’s officially broken.”
West pulled out his hand and tugged on his hair. She tried to retract her hand and couldn’t. “Uh … I’m stuck.”
West grabbed her wrist, trying to yank her free.
Fuck. It wouldn’t budge. Instead, an invisible force manipulated her hand until she was pointing. Her finger moved like it was a wand, sweeping the dark, cloudy substance away and leaving a white, shimmery trail behind.
This was no longer a Magic 8-Ball, she realized, it was a floating ouija board. Sort of. One at a time, a letter from an alphabet she didn’t recognize was outlined by her own finger.
West’s gaze went wide. “Everett, get over here.”
She’d lost sight of his second once the smoke darkened, but she heard his chair tumble and his feet shuffle.
A moment later, Everett set a hand on each of their shoulders. “Holy hell.”
“Start drawing,” West ordered. “Every shape her finger makes.”
Everett scurried to the built-in shelving, rummaged frantically, then returned with supplies. Winter’s finger-wand continued to expose more letters as he sat down and started transcribing. It wasn’t long before the so-called alphabet was complete.
To her relief, the orb magic released her. “Thank fuck.” She rubbed her possessed wrist.
The door swung open at the same moment the first letter on her makeshift Ouija board illuminated.
“Mon Dieu!” Magdalene stood on the threshold, her jaw halfway to the floor. “What have you done?”