Chapter 2
Some theorize that the advancement of technology was the cause of The Overshadowing. That in our hubris, we damaged a creation far beyond our comprehension.
HISTORY OF NIGHTSbrIDGE
I’d never liked whiskey, but for some reason, it felt like a good choice of beverage for this most shitty day. Cheap, nasty stuff, but boy did it do the trick at numbing the grief that waited to tear at me.
My mother was gone. Consumed by an insidious mortal disease until she was nothing but a shadow, waiting for death to ferry her away.
That final week, she’d slept around the clock, but on the last day, she’d stayed awake, sat up even.
Eaten a whole slice of pie. She’d laughed and hugged me, her body all bones—fragile and breakable.
We played cards and laughed some more. That night, I stayed with her as she slept, her hand held tightly in mine, as if I could anchor her to this world.
But she slipped away on a long exhale just before dawn, leaving nothing but an empty shell.
Death gave us this final day, and for that small mercy, I was grateful.
Grateful that her last weeks had been painless, despite Bunty’s refusal to help.
With Bunty dead, I’d gone to his competition, Carlisle, for my tinctures.
The smarmy weasel was twice as expensive, but he’d heard how good I was at my job.
He fired Trent and Harry, who, after a warning from Carlisle, left me alone.
I was worried that they’d tell my boss at the CCC about my freelance work, but I guess Carlisle had warned them against that, too.
The man was dangerous, slit your throat and leave you to the rats kind of dangerous, which was why I’d avoided working with him in the first place, but desperate times called for desperate measures and all that.
It was hard to accept she was gone, even after the sorry funeral where the sky wept alongside me. The few neighbors in attendance had no clue who they were truly mourning.
Ariana Onyx had died six years ago, and today I laid to rest Ariana Denton.
I couldn’t even bury my mother with her real name because Onyx graves were often desecrated.
The Arcanum Imperium, the governing body that was meant to protect all Arcanus, had stolen not only our power but our identities, and now… Now I was alone.
Truly and utterly fucking alone. Soon, I’d have to leave this cozy cottage we’d called home for the last six years.
A place Mother had lovingly decorated with knitted throws and cushions, mismatched cutlery, plates, and cups bought from thrift stores.
This place was a patchwork of antiques and color.
Of love. But it was no longer safe. If Bunty had found out who I was, then others could too.
It was time to move on.
I sucked down the dregs lingering in the bottle and contemplated throwing it against the wall so I could revel in the satisfying crunch and smash, but then, who would clean up the mess?
Something clattered through the letterbox and hit the mat with a thud.
I set the bottle down on the worn coffee table and staggered to my feet.
The world swayed a little, as if to remind me I was intoxicated.
I shuffled out into the hall, thick socks cushioning my steps against the cold, wooden floor, and retrieved the envelope.
My name was scrawled across it in my mother’s hand, along with our address, and on the back was the name of the law firm that handled the Onyx estate.
I knew what this was.
I carried it back to the sitting room and carefully opened it, tugging out the neatly folded paper that smelled like peppermint.
Mother…
My vision blurred, and I blinked away tears to read her letter.
Dear Anamaya,
If you’re reading this, then I’m gone, and, honey, I’m so sorry for that. Know that if there’d been a way for me to stay, then I would have, but not even the Weave allows us to cheat death. Death… Hmm, I’m hoping he’s a handsome fellow.
I choked back a laugh. She was always making jokes, even when she was in pain…especially when she was in pain, as if by doing so she could somehow lessen my agony.
I wiped my nose with my sleeve and read on.
I promised there would be no secrets between us, and for the most part, I kept that promise. But there are certain things I hid from you for your own safety. Now that I’m gone, somebody needs to hold onto these secrets in my place, and as the last Onyx, that duty falls to you.
There is a box under my bed that contains everything you need to know. What you decide to do with the knowledge inside it is up to you.
As your mother, with only the desire to protect you, I hope you bury it and move on with your life. But if you decide to act, then, honey, I wish you the best of luck and the grandest of adventures. Know that I will be watching over you always. My big, brave girl, I’m so very proud of you.
Love eternal,
Mother x
For the first time in days, the horrible numbness that had gripped my mind abated. What secrets was she talking about? I shoved the letter into my gown pocket and headed up the narrow steps to Mother’s bedchamber.
Someone had made up the bed with fresh sheets patterned with sunflowers that stood out starkly against the black-painted finish of the bed frame, as if making a statement.
Probably Darla from down the road. She’d stayed the last few nights, refusing to leave me to cope alone.
Then she’d asked me if I’d like her to go through Mother’s things to donate them to charity, and I’d told her to go fuck herself.
Probably not my finest hour.
I grabbed the bed frame and shoved with all my might, revealing the dusty wooden floor beneath, along with a small, relatively dust-free box.
No lock.
Nothing to keep me out.
I tipped the contents onto the bed. A leather-bound book, a letter, a necklace with an oval red stone hanging off it, a silver locket, a brooch in the shape of a crescent moon, and a hairpin in the shape of a shell.
I turned over the brooch to find an inscription—Bharti Onyx.
The hairpin was also inscribed—Melody Onyx.
The locket carried the name Irenia Onyx, but the inscription on the ruby amulet was the one that made my blood run cold—Dharma Onyx.
The woman responsible for the shitstorm that had stained the Onyx bloodline.
We were sorcerers, at least we had been until Dharma committed an act so foul it forced the Arcanum Imperium to bind not just her power, but the power of our bloodline.
She was responsible for the extinction of a whole incantor bloodline, and the reason why my sorcerer bloodline had been treated like pariahs for the last century.
These items were focuses belonging to the Onyx women who’d wielded our power before it had been stripped.
While incantors used spells, potions, and rituals to manipulate and channel the Weave, as sorcerers, the Weave flowed directly through us.
At least it had at one time, before we’d been cut off from it.
Back then, these focuses had acted like conduits, a central focus for power, and a way to direct that raw magic without burning out.
We were a matriarchal family, our connection to the Weave passing from mother to daughter, regardless of whether the male sire was a sorcerer or not. But there had been no power since Dharma.
Onyx had become an Arcanus bloodline without access to the Weave, each generation of women plagued with a different curse.
For my mother, it had been the curse of loss.
The death of her firstborn followed by my father, then the loss of her second love, followed by the loss of quality of life, and finally, her death.
Mother was right—access to our magic would not have prevented her death.
But the stain on our name had kept her from getting the medical care she needed.
The care she deserved. The taint on our bloodline forced her to suffer for months, because to ask for help would mean revealing her true nature, and thus, our true name.
Our fake identities wouldn’t have survived the scrutiny.
She’d suffered to protect what we’d built here.
To protect me. I was glad I was able to ease her pain, but mine would fester until the governing body that left us to rot paid the price for their cruelty.
But that would never happen. They were powerful.
Untouchable. Arrogantly justified in the sentence they’d passed on my bloodline.
My mother’s pain was nothing to them, and I had no grounds to demand retribution, leaving me with a crushing weight of impotent rage.
I was the last Onyx. Cursed to feel neither physical pain nor pleasure. My bloodline would likely die with me, and maybe that was for the best.
I moved the focuses aside and picked up the letter. The paper was worn as if it had been opened and read many times.
My Love,
It has come to pass. The thing that we feared. They know about us, and because of that, I cannot return.
I want you to know that not a day will go by when I won’t think of you.
Of the way you feel in my arms, or the scent of your perfume.
Not a day will pass when I won’t wish to feel your soft lips against mine.
I did not know it was possible to love until I met you, and the years that we shared have been the happiest of my life.
My heart breaks as I write this. I will never forget you, sweet Ariana, or my beloved stepdaughter, Anamaya. Please tell her that I will love her, always.
Goodbye, my love,
Daniel x
It took every ounce of will not to tear up the note. The bastard. The fucking gall of him. He could have stayed. But he’d chosen society over us, his secret family.
At least my real father had stuck around, leaving only because he had no choice. Death doesn’t take no for an answer.