Chapter 10 Trick of the Light #2
Trevor wasn’t just Jade’s obsessive ex. He was a descendant of the Eastman line, one of the five warlock families that had originally bound me.
The cologne I’d smelled was the same their family had worn for generations, a custom blend with notes of sandalwood and something more arcane, designed to mask the scent of their magic from supernatural prey.
I forced the memories back, focusing instead on the thread connecting me to Jade.
It still pulsed between us, warm and vital, a lifeline in the darkness of my panic.
She was alive and safe, for now. I needed to warn her then tear Trevor Eastman into so many pieces that no magic in the universe could put him back together.
First, I had to control the fear and think clearly. This wasn’t the full binding spell that had held me for centuries, just a containment hex. Powerful, yes, but not unbreakable.
I hurled Jade’s coffee table against the window with enough force to shatter reinforced glass, only to watch it bounce off the invisible barrier and splinter into useless fragments.
The sigils flared mockingly at the impact, absorbing the kinetic energy of my assault and turning it back against the furniture.
I roared in frustration, the sound rattling the few intact items left in the apartment.
Four centuries of captivity had taught me the taste and texture of warlock magic, had shown me its strengths and weaknesses.
This spell was powerful but hastily constructed—not meant to hold me permanently, just long enough for Trevor to reach Jade while I raged uselessly inside this magical cage.
“Come on!” I snarled, slamming both fists against the invisible wall that separated me from the exit.
The impact sent shockwaves of pain up my arms, but I welcomed it.
I stepped back, surveying the apartment with wild eyes.
There had to be a weakness, a flaw in the binding.
No spell was perfect, especially one cast in haste.
I’d studied warlock magic for centuries, learned its architecture from the inside out as a matter of survival.
If anyone could find the weak point in this containment, it should be me.
I closed my eyes, shifting my perception to the magical plane where the binding would be most visible.
The sigils appeared as a complex lattice of energy, interconnected lines of power forming a dome that encompassed the entire apartment.
Traditional warlock bindings required perfect symmetry, unbroken circles, precise angles—
There. Near the kitchen doorway, a slight imperfection in one of the secondary containment sigils. The lines didn’t quite meet, creating a hairline fracture in the overall pattern. It wasn’t much, but it might be enough for a targeted counter-spell.
I moved to the spot, placing my palm against the wall where the flaw existed.
Drawing deep on centuries of accumulated knowledge, I began to whisper in a language older than human civilization—the tongue of my ancestors, words that shaped reality rather than merely describing it.
Counter-magic flowed from my fingertips, seeking the weakness, attempting to widen it enough for me to break through.
For a moment, the sigils flickered, dimming slightly where my counter-spell attacked.
Hope flared briefly in my chest—then died as the binding reasserted itself, the patterns shifting and self-repairing.
Whatever warlock had designed this trap had included adaptive elements in the spell structure, allowing it to evolve in response to magical tampering.
“No,” I growled, slamming my fist against the wall in frustration. “No!”
I tried another approach, drawing symbols of my own in the air with one claw, tracing patterns of disruption and dissolution.
This was more sophisticated magic, techniques I’d learned from the fae after my escape, designed specifically to unravel human binding spells.
The sigils wavered again, longer this time, but ultimately held.
The thread connecting me to Jade pulsed with my growing panic, the sensation both comforting and agonizing.
She was still there. I could feel her presence through our connection, warm and vital despite the distance between us.
I closed my eyes, focusing on that thread.
If I couldn’t break the binding through conventional means, perhaps I could use our connection to warn her, but between one heartbeat and the next, the thread went silent.
I froze, my breath catching in my throat as icy terror replaced the heat of rage. “Jade?” I whispered, reaching desperately for the connection that had been there moments before.
No warm pulse of life met my probe. Just...silence.
“No!” I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat with such force that the windows rattled in their frames. “JADE!”
I had to get out, Jade needed me, the silence of the thread mocked me.
“LET ME OUT!” I bellowed. “SHE’S MINE!”
I had failed. Again. Just as I had failed others I’d tried to protect during my captivity.
The warlocks had found the perfect way to torture me once more.
My legs gave out beneath me, and I sank to my knees in the center of the room, Trevor had Jade.
And I was trapped here, unable to save her, the thread between us silenced by whatever magic he had inherited from ancestors who had once owned me.
History was repeating itself in the cruelest possible way. And I was powerless to stop it.