by Bella Klaus
“What about my second bond?”
“What about it?”
“Is it still frayed?”
Her lips formed a tight line, and her large eyes narrowed into slits.
I clenched my teeth, staring the woman down. Most healer appointments took an hour, and I was a paying customer. She couldn’t just give me a quick glance, tell me she couldn’t help, and expect to invoice the palace her full fee.
Healer Asena huffed a long breath, her shoulders rounding as though I’d asked her to work overtime. “Very well.” She closed her eyes, sweeping that crackling magic over me once more. “Your second bond is healthy and knitting together on its own. Spend a little more time with your partner, and it should fully mature.”
All the tension left my chest in a relieved breath. Perhaps that was why Valentine had been so keen for us to spend a week locked up together? If we ever survived Kresnik, we’d have to go on his yacht or somewhere equally as isolated.
“Thank you.” I turned toward the door.
“Take the other one, please.” Healer Asena pointed at an exit by the sink that I hadn’t noticed until then.
“Right.” I walked around the huge examination table and pushed open a door that led to the other side of the village square. It clicked shut behind me, and I walked around the back of the building.
“Psst!” said a small voice.
I quickened my pace, not wanting to get entangled with the sort of person who lurked in alleyways behind shops.
“Oi,” the voice said.
I broke into a jog.
“Mera!”
My steps slowed, and I turned around.
A thin woman with powder-blue hair stepped out, clad in a frayed denim jacket and shorts. She was in her thirties but looked a bit older, with the kind of worn and embittered expression Coral used to wear before Hades restored her youth.
“Do I know you?” I asked.
“No, but I can help you cut the thick cord you’ve got with Kresnik.” She placed her hands on her hips and grinned, revealing a mouthful of broken teeth.
My brows drew together. “How do you—”
The door slammed open, and Healer Asena hurled her stepladder at the strange woman, who bolted into the alleyway.
“Sybil Kenneally,” the healer growled. “Accost my patients with your shitty offers of black magic cures one more time, and I’ll curse you with a set of teeth where the sun doesn’t shine!”
Without a word, Healer Asena stomped back into her store and slammed the door.
I jogged toward the alleyway in search of Sybil. If Kresnik was siphoning off my phoenix magic, I was going to need all the help I could get—no matter how dark.
Chapter Eighteen
I rushed around the corner into an alleyway lined on both sides with dumpsters and so strewn with litter that I could barely feel the cobblestones underfoot. Roof overhangs from both buildings blocked out the light, casting the walkway in shadow. The scent of rotting meat and putrid vegetables made my eyes water, but I charged ahead.
“Sybil?” I said into the gloom.
Whoever this woman was, she was fast and was either hiding beneath one of the huge bins or had sprinted to safety.
As I continued down the alleyway, something the size of a cat darted out from the dumpster on the left and crossed my path with the most un-feline screech. My stomach dropped, and I picked up my pace.
“Sybil,” I shouted.
Up ahead was a dead end, and the passage twisted to the left, then the right in a series of maze-like alleys that made me feel like the woman was leading me into a trap. Correction: I was doing this to myself, because Healer Asena had chased Sybil away with a warning.
I glanced over my shoulder into the dark and shuddered. If I turned around now, what if I ended up missing out on something that might sever my connection with Kresnik.
A dark figure stepped out from the shadows, followed by another. My feet ground to a halt, just as heavy footsteps hurried from behind.
Whoever stood in front of me had skin too dark to reflect in the dim light, so all I saw of him were a set of glittering eyes.
“What’s a nice girl like you doing in our domain?” a deep voice purred.
The person behind me snickered.
I rolled my eyes, my skin tightening with irritation. At this rate, these idiots would make me lose my chance of winning the war against Kresnik.
“Looking for Sybil,” I said. “Which way did she go?”
“You’re in Mustela territory now,” the man growled. “And there’s only one way out.”
“Did you see where Sybil went, or not?” I snapped.
“Looks like this little girl needs a lesson not to mess with Big Felipei.”
With a weary breath, I raised my palms and pushed out my magic, illuminating the alleyway as well as the man standing in front of me. I’d been wrong about his skin. Beneath a thicket of fur that covered him from the forehead to the collar of his cloak, I caught glimpses of flesh as pale as mine.
Big Felipei stood about five ten, with a stocky build that could well have been padding. It was hard to tell beneath the voluminous fabric he’d draped over himself like the werewolf’s answer to Zorro. He gaped down at me, slack-mouthed, and said, “Fire mage.”
“Close,” I replied. “But there’s enough magic in me to burn anyone who fails to back off.”
As though they’d synchronized the movement, the trio took several steps away from where I stood.
I nodded my approval. “Thank you. Now, who can direct me to Sybil?”
“Sybil the stoat shifter, or Syphilis Syb?”
“Um… She was here a few minutes ago. Pale blue hair, faded denim?” I asked.
“Tits down to her knees?”
The men broke out into snickering laughs, reminding me of the kind of boys in the academy who used to sit around making disparaging comments about the bodies of girls who couldn’t lash out with magic.
“What?” I snarled.
Big Felipei flinched. “Thin Jim didn’t mean nothing.”
“Where can I find her?”
He raised his broad shoulders. “If she’s not plying her trade, then she’s in her hovel.”
“Show me.”
Thin Jim backed against the wall as I followed Big Felipei through the alleyway and out into a different part of town. The roads there were more like Striga, and lined with the terraces of two-story brick dwellings, which were still better than the ones available for witches of our income bracket at home.
“Fire mage, then?” he said. “Do you know Kresnik?”
“Only from the legends and what I saw on the Supernet,” I lied.
“Right.” Big Felipei nodded as though he’d already guessed the answer to my question. “I suppose you’ve been hiding yourself until they waived the execution law against your kind.”
“That’s right.”
He stared down at me and frowned. “You look familiar. Where are you from?”
“Striga.”
Thankfully, he didn’t say much else as we continued past the houses until we reached one at the very end of the road, a one-story dwelling with a crumbling roof, boarded windows, and moss growing on its stone walls.
“That’s where you’ll find Syphilis Syb.” He pointed at a door that hung at an awkward angle, looking like it had been kicked in too many times and someone had left the wood to buckle.
“Thanks.” I bit down on my lip, trying to catch a glimpse of the interior through the gaps between the door and its warped frame. “Why do they call her that?”
He raised his shoulders. “Some of the wolf shifters say she’s diseased, but she smells alright to me.”
I pursed my lips. “Then maybe you should call her by her real name?”
“No need to be so bloody judgmental,” he muttered and skulked back toward the alleyways. “It’s not like a weasel shifter can change anything.”
My eyes narrowed, and I clenched my teeth. He made me sou
nd like I was in the wrong for suggesting he not join in with the other shifters’ bullying. That was the trouble with most shifters—they followed the person they believed was the strongest, not the kindest or fairest or the best leader.
I rapped on the door, cringing as my knuckles sank into the damp wood.
“Who’s there?” hissed a voice from inside.
“Mera,” I said.
“What do you want?” Her voice shook.
I glanced over my shoulder at Big Felipei’s retreating back, wondering if he’d brought me to the right place. “Is this Sybil?”
“Which one?”
Frustration roiled in my belly, and I exhaled a breath through flared nostrils. I’d be damned if I called her Syphilis Syb. “The woman in denim who said she could help me get rid of a soul bond?”
The door opened a few inches, and Sybil peered out at me with narrow eyes. “Can you pay?”
“That depends on your credentials.” I folded my arms across my chest. “What makes you think you can do anything when Healer Asena can’t?”
“Maybe because I used to be the foremost healer in Lunaris,” she said, her voice bitter and harsh. “Maybe because I wrote a thesis on soulmate bonding at the University of Logris. Or it could be that maybe I’m a seer.”
I straightened, blinking over and over, studying the woman’s face and posture. Fury burned in her eyes, along with a confidence that told me she really was telling the truth. Maybe she had fallen from grace at some point, and the wolves had turned on her, just like the young woman I’d met in Beowulf’s hideout.
“Do you take cards?” I reached into my pocket.
“Gold.”
I rifled through my other pocket and extracted the chain Valentine had used to hang the engagement ring around his neck. “How about this?”
The door opened a few more inches—enough for Sybil to poke out her head and sniff. “I can’t give you change.”
“That’s fine.”
Sybil moved aside, opening the door wider, and flicked her head toward the interior of her home. As I stepped over the threshold, she held out her palm. “Gold first.”
“Alright.” I dropped the chain into her palm and continued into her home.
I had expected a ramshackle interior with crumbling floors so infested with woodworm that I would have to place a hand on slimy walls so as not to fall into the cellar—a miniature version of the dilapidated mansion, I supposed.
Sybil’s house was just as warm and as welcoming as Istabelle’s bunker or Mrs. Meg’s cottage, with oak floors, and a pair of tan leather sofas situated around a large, rustic coffee table. A chandelier of candles provided soft lighting, as did an array of floor lamps and table lamps with cream-colored shades.
A fire crackled in the background, filling the room with the sweet scent of burning applewood.
“You have a lovely home,” I said.
Sybil pocketed the gold chain. “If anyone knows I’ve treated you—”
“I won’t tell anyone.” The words tumbled from my lips. “But why would someone so accomplished be banned from practicing healing?”
She shook her head, her shoulders sagging. “If I tell you, it will cloud my third eye, and we’ll get nothing done.”
“It’s alright.” I placed a hand on her thin shoulder.
Sybil flinched. “Give me a minute, okay? Let me get changed into something more suitable.”
I stepped back and wrapped my arms around my middle, watching the taller woman retreat though a wooden door. Logris could be a brutal environment, especially for women. Look at Coral, who had started off trying to earn a living selling blood and became the plaything of vampires who took advantage of her addiction to thrall.
Sometimes, it was hard not to wonder what my life might have been like without the love and guidance of Valentine and Aunt Arianna. I glanced at the walls, taking in framed certificates with the names of Sybil and someone else.
Before I could read the name, she stepped out, clad in a white gown. Her blue hair flowed down her shoulders, appearing darker, as though she’d shaken out the powder that had turned it pale.
“Sessions work best for my perception if the patient is in contact with the wood element,” she murmured. “Are you comfortable with lying on the low table?”
I turned toward the sofas and nodded.
“Very well.” Sybil swept her arm toward the crackling fire, turning down the intensity of its flames. “Please remove your footwear and make yourself comfortable.”
I toed off my shoes and lay on the oaken table with my hands at my sides. Shallow breaths rasped in and out of my lungs, and my heart thrummed a rapid beat.
Healer Asena had speculated on how Kresnik had created the connection, but her suggestion to find someone with immense power to break our bond was near impossible. The only person I knew who was anything close hadn’t cared enough about me to save me from a pair of demons who had threatened to eat my organs.
Sybil lowered herself to the wooden floor behind me, placing both palms on my shoulders. A rush of power pulsed down my meridians, making me jolt.
“Please try to relax,” she murmured. “I use a more hands-on approach than other healers, so you may feel a little discomfort if you’re sensitive to magic.”
“Alright.” I clenched my teeth against the onslaught of rough energy coursing its way through my system. When it gathered around my heart chakra and encased it like a fist, I gasped.
“There they are,” she said. “One regular-sized soul bond and another taking up a third of your heart chakra. It’s both powerful and active.”
“Active?”
“There’s a two-way flow,” she said. “He’s putting a lot of power into you while drawing upon your reserves.”
“But I can’t feel it.”
“That’s the point of such a subtle soul bond. It’s not parasitical, so you’ll never have to worry about magical exhaustion or being drained, but it does mean that you’ll be able to use his magic, and he’ll use yours.”
I gulped, not bothering to tell her that everything Kresnik had was stolen from others. “Can you sever the bond?”
She exhaled a long breath. “I can only weaken the connection so that the link between you only lasts one lifetime.”
“How?” I asked.
“Careful unpicking, so it will snap at the first sign of fatal injury.”
“Then if he dies—”
“You’ll stay alive,” she said. “And vice versa.”
I stared into her golden eyes. “The other healers I spoke to said it wasn’t possible.”
“If they use subtle healing techniques, whereas my methods are more heavy-handed. Even the thickest of ropes will snap under pressure if you attack their individual fibers.”
I gave her a sharp nod. “Let’s do this.”
Sybil raised my top, exposing my heart chakra, and burned a flame beneath a glass jar, turning its insides black. Istabelle had shown me this technique before. It was called cupping and was used to draw out impurities from the body.
“Brace yourself for the heat.” She placed the warm jar over my chakra, forming a vacuum that sucked hard on my skin.
“What’s that for?” I asked through panting breaths.
“To weaken the bond,” she replied.
“Alright, but please make sure the other one—”
“Relax.” She squeezed my shoulder. “The bond with your true mate is resting on the other side of the chakra. No harm will come to it during the severing.”
I stared at the ceiling, breathing hard through my nostrils and trying not to think about a thick rope protruding from my heart chakra and being pulled apart fiber by fiber, but it was impossible. Each separation felt like the ghost of a plucked hair, and after the first four, I stopped flinching and closed my eyes.
“Won’t he notice?” I asked.
“Probably, but he’ll still be able to feed you his power and draw on yours.” Sybil’s voice slid through my ears.
“He’ll be too worried about securing his access to your phoenix to think that you’re trying to weaken the bond.”
Sybil had probably eavesdropped on the entire conversation between the healer and me. I forced my muscles to relax and used the meditation techniques Istabelle taught me to send my mind to an altered state. One where Kresnik had never risen from Hell, and Prince Draconius was countries away from Logris.
Hours later, Sybil placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’ve finished, but you’ll need at least an hour to let your magic settle.”
“Where’s the nearest place I can take a mirror?” I blinked my eyes open to find the room even dimmer than before, as the candles on the chandelier had burned out.
Sybil helped me to stand. “I would advise against upsetting your magic for at least an hour.”
I placed a hand on my pocket, tracing the outline of Valentine’s card. “I’ll call an Überwald.”
By the time I returned to the palace, the sun hung low in the pale blue sky, with the trees casting long shadows across the manicured gardens. I stumbled out of the cab and placed a hand over my mouth to conceal a yawn. With the bond between Kresnik and me weakened, it meant we could attack sooner.
Yellow light bathed the palace’s pale exterior, making the majestic building look like it was reflecting gold. As I trudged up the steps toward the guards standing by the doors, I heard the thrum of a motorcycle and glanced down the driveway.
Beowulf stopped his bike in the courtyard and bounded up the steps, his amber eyes stricken. He stopped at my side. “Have you heard the news?”
Dread rolled through my belly, and I placed a hand over my middle, bracing myself for the worst. “What’s happened?”
“King Valentine.” He swallowed.
My knees went weak, and I shot out a hand to grab his bicep. “Is he alright?”
He grabbed my elbow, holding me steady. “There was an attack in the prison,” he said with a snarl. “It took place moments after you left his cell. Both King Valentine and the assassin are believed to have perished in a fire.”
A nervous laugh bubbled up from my stomach, and I lurched forward, clapping a hand over my mouth.