Inside was an empty bedroom, and she shook her head with a sigh. “Figures.”
“What?”
“Sheryl got rid of my stuff,” she answered, checking the closet to see that it was just as devoid of clutter as the rest of the room. “She probably sold it to pay for bills. Or liquor, whatever.”
Isaac took a brief look around, asking, “What kinds of things were in here?”
“Mostly furniture I couldn't take when I moved out, but also some random stuff like clothes, books, and a few puzzle boxes.”
“Puzzles boxes?”
“Yeah,” she nodded, then smiled as if recalling a fond memory. “My dad was a traveling salesman, went on a lot of long trips. So he sent me things to make up for being away, and one day, he got me a puzzle box from some guy he'd met on the road. I figured it out pretty fast, so he got a few more and starting locking gifts inside as incentive, like bags of candy or jewelry.”
Isaac grinned. “I wouldn't have had the patience for that.”
“No?”
“Nah, my solution to the puzzle would be just break the damned thing open.”
Edith grinned, looking around the barren room while mentioning, “I liked them, and I would've come back for my stuff after I moved, but I was just so glad to get out of here that I didn't care.”
“Because of Sheryl?”
Edith nodded with a resentful look on her face, walking over to a shelf built into the far wall. Placing her hand on one of the boards, she mentioned, “This was where I kept the boxes lined up with books and pictures, and on this shelf were some of the … Oh shit, that's it!”
Her sudden exclamation came with a wide eyed look in his direction, and Isaac lifted a brow over his shades. “Figure out what you need?”
“Yes, I used to practice witchcraft, and I had some crystals on this shelf, including a rose quartz. That's why the roses on Charlotte's plate stood out.”
Edith grinned proudly over figuring it out, though the expression was short lived as she soon muttered, “Great, that means Sheryl probably sold it, too.”
Hearing this, Isaac almost suggested they ransack the place just to be thorough. But he didn't get the chance before the screen door downstairs opened with a loud voice calling on a heavy southern accent, “Who the hell's in my house?”
In response, Edith's shoulders drooped. “And she's back.”
Despite her obvious dislike of the development, Isaac was eager to meet Sheryl for himself after hearing so much about her, allowing his mate to exit the room as she called down, “It's me, Sheryl.”
“Who's me?”
Of all the questions she could've asked, he didn't expect Sheryl to be unable to recognize her own stepdaughter's voice—not that he'd expected much of anything really. Still, it seemed strange, and Edith announced her name as she descended the stairs to meet a short, thin blonde standing by the coffee table in the living room.
“Edith?” Sheryl sounded surprised, but her countenance grew annoyed. “Who gave you a key?”
Coming to stand at the center of the living room, Edith reminded flatly, “You did when I moved out, remember?”
“Must've been drunk,” she muttered. “Well, I want it back before you go. Why are you here, anyway?” Motioning to Isaac as he took a position next to Edith, she added, “And who the hell is he?”
“He's just a friend,” Edith rushed out, obviously ready to get to her reason for stopping by. “Listen—”
“Pfft, just a friend,” Sheryl interrupted mockingly. To Isaac, she added, “I'm so sure you're just taggin' along cause she's a friend.”
Isaac parted his lips to give the woman a scathing reply, but Edith quickly lifted a hand in a manner suggesting she wanted him to ignore the comment, followed by asking her stepmother, “I need to know where my old things are, Sheryl.”
“Your old things?”
“Yeah. Did you put them in storage?”
She'd asked the question hopefully, but her tone suggested she already knew the answer, and Sheryl confirmed those suspicions when she scoffed. “No, I sold it for money to pay bills.”
“Okay, and would that include a rock collection I had? The crystals in specific.”
Rolling her eyes, Sheryl shot back, “What part of I sold your shit don't you understand? I ain't even know you had a goddamned rock collection.”
Following the comment, she set her purse on the coffee table to rummage through it for a pack of cigarettes while muttering under her breath about Edith's behavior. The entire while, Edith looked incredibly disgruntled—and their exchange was testing Isaac's nonexistent patience.
Finally, the woman stood and lit a cigarette, then turned to face her stepdaughter again. “You ain't gone yet?”
At that, Edith's fists clenched as if emotionally distraught, and it was all Isaac could take without intervening in the affair.
But then he saw the corners of his mate's lips lift in an enlightened smile as her head tilted forward with a soft laugh. The action seemed to throw Sheryl off, her gaze narrowing uncertainly.
“What the hell's so damned funny?”
“You are,” Edith answered pointedly, and when she lifted her head again, all traces of her previous smile were gone. “Sometimes, I really wonder what dad would think if he could see you now. But it doesn't matter, so let's just cut the horseshit. Who did you sell my things to?”
Seeing how serious her stepdaughter was, Sheryl stated with a lot less derision than before, “Yard sales, pawn shops, whoever would buy it.”
Nodding, Edith gave a facetious smile and stated flippantly, “Good. Now, if I know you, this is the part where you mutter I need a damned drink, and walk away.” Pausing, she added more seriously, “So walk away.”
Sheryl was so surprised by her attitude that she stared for several moments. “Edith, what the hell—”
“What part of walk away don't you understand?”
Isaac didn't bother masking his grin at that turn of the table—and Sheryl quickly took exception.
“This is my house! Don't come in here tellin' me what to do!”
The comment finally gave him the chance to intervene, and he did so by tugging his shades off to stare directly into Sheryl's eyes while asking aggressively, “Why the fuck not?”
Mortals were easy for demons like him to intimidate, and almost instantly, Sheryl's demeanor changed drastically. Her angered stance shrank back, her stern expression softened, and she exited the room like she couldn't move quickly enough.
Grinning, Isaac waited until they were alone, then gave Edith some very important information.
“Edith?”
“Yeah?”
“Just so you know, the way you handled that was sexy as fuck.”
Once again, Isaac was grinning like he'd won the lottery, and Edith's cheeks heated in a way she hoped wasn't noticeable.
Still, and despite her shyness, she smiled back. “Yeah, that was fun.”
“Giving people what they deserve usually is,” Isaac pointed out, and she could agree.
Midway through her conversation with Sheryl, Edith realized two things. First, there was a good chance she'd never see the woman again, and whatever lingering fear of retribution she possessed no longer applied. So even if she wasn't a mage on the verge of bigger things, enough was enough.
She'd been respected by her peers in Mystikkar, and by damn, she'd earn the same respect here.
Second? I'm a fucking mage on the verge of bigger things. So she asked herself what Chandra would do, and the answer was simple; Don't take any of Sheryl's shit without throwing some back.
There was a good chance Sheryl would call the police to make certain they vacated the home now, but it didn't erase the sense of pride standing up to her offered. It was a small, personal victory, but one that served as an important reminder to Edith that she was worth more than a cold shoulder.
“So,” Isaac started, getting her mind back on the issue of her Calling by asking, “what about the rose q
uartz?”
“If Sheryl pawned my stuff, it could be anywhere,” Edith muttered, taking a few moments to ponder some way of finding it, and thankfully, it wasn't long before an idea struck. “Wait, there's a map of Summerton in my car. With the proper components, I can enchant it to reveal the location.”
Isaac raised a brow, then inquired, “Okay, but what if it's not in Summerton?”
“Then I'll need a bigger map,” she answered with ease. “I mean unless we go door to door, it's my only shot. So I'll need a marker and some of Sheryl's hair to make this work.”
Isaac nodded, though the movement was reluctant, giving her the distinct feeling he didn't want her using any magic to locate her crystal—not that he wasn't right to question the method.
This enchantment wasn't a tricky process, nor would it require a ton of magic. But if the stone wasn't actually in Summerton, she'd end up using more magic to enchant a bigger map, and doing so with one the size of North America wouldn't be as specific.
Instead, it would simply reveal what city she'd need to go to, not where in the city.
There was also the issue of having the proper components each time she cast the spell, or it wouldn't work.
Still, it was definitely the best method of finding her stone, and she was thankful when Isaac didn't get pushy about it, asking, “Should I go rip Sheryl's hair out?”
Hiding her amused smirk, Edith retorted, “Nope,” having the nagging feeling the purse Sheryl left sitting on the coffee table was all she needed—and she was right. Inside was a marker and a clump of blonde hair tangled in a folded brush which she didn't hesitate to pull free of the bristles.
With the items in hand, she and Isaac returned to her car to perform the enchantment.
Sitting in the passenger's seat, she pulled her map of Summerton from the glove box and spread it out over the dashboard, then uncapped the marker. Across the surface, she wrote the words my rose quartz, and added a request to find it in the form of several runic symbols.
Edith then placed a few strands of Sheryl's hair on the map. The more hair she used, the more powerful and accurate the enchantment would be, but it was necessary to save some in case this didn't work, and she held her hand above the items.
Soon, a soft light emanated from her palm, and the words she'd written began shining one by one. With them, the hair started to glow, brighter and brighter before abruptly bursting into a million tiny flecks of light that sprinkled back down onto the paper.
Once this happened, the words she'd written started moving across the surface, blending with the streets as if searching for a location.
As Edith lowered her hand to wait for something to show up, Isaac muttered, “Guess it's out of town.”
“Just wait,” she remarked patiently, noticing a dot forming on a street five blocks away from their current position.
“There it is,” she smiled, looking more closely, “at … my old high school.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, it's the only thing located on this road.” Shrugging, she suggested, “I guess a teacher bought it to put on display for the students or something.”
As she spoke, Isaac flipped the keys in the ignition. “Only one way to find out.”
Eight
• • •
Edith's old high school wasn't far away, but the silence during the ride was grating.
For the first half of the trip, she sat quietly in the passenger's seat while Isaac struggled with his desire to try gaining ground where it concerned their matehood. But his oath not to push the subject prevented it, and he was coming to regret that promise even more than vowing not to interfere in her training.
Knowing Edith was out of reach in another realm? Frustrating.
Having her right next to him, but still out of reach? Infuriating.
Isaac grumbled under his breath over the thought. But despite his irritation, he also wondered at her silence. Maybe she really had nothing to say, or she didn't want to talk to him about anything other than her Calling.
If so, he knew it was due to the fact that she was his mate. Mortals didn't handle such news very well. Hell, some immortals didn't do well with it either.
Edith was also a virgin, so her lack of experience could be playing a hand in her reluctance, and he wondered just how far that lack went. Had she been with someone, but simply abstained? Or had she dated at all?
Because it wasn't a question related to their matehood, there was no compulsion urging him to keep his mouth shut. So though it wasn't the most eloquent question to ask—as if Isaac cared about eloquence—he had no compunctions over spitting it out without warning if only to break the silence.
“So, you're a virgin?”
“Not anymore.”
Her answer came without any pause for thought, and Isaac suddenly felt like he'd been kicked in the nuts, casting his gaze in Edith's direction as she added, “There's just so many handsome men in Mystikkar, I could barely keep my robe on.”
With that said, she gave an impish smirk, proving she was teasing.
Isaac almost grinned, but the mere idea of her with anyone else had his grip on the steering wheel tightening in jealous anger.
Quickly pushing the thought aside before he damaged her vehicle, he stated, “I didn't mean anything by it. Just wondering if you've ever been with anyone.”
“I'd rather not talk about that with you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you think I'm your mate. So it just feels too personal.”
Isaac nodded without pushing the matter. For as much as he wanted to learn more about her, and as little as he relished the inability to attempt getting closer, he was relieved to finally have the chance at all.
So if she wasn't ready to talk about it, then they wouldn't talk about it.
Still, she seemed to have a few curiosities of her own, or she was just changing the subject when she inquired, “You never told me how you survived the Pit, by the way.”
Watching the road, Isaac shrugged. “Did whatever I had to, even if I didn't see a point to it.”
“You mean you didn't see a point to surviving?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
His answer was simple, and he gave it with ease. “I knew I was thrown in the Pit for some reason, that I'd had a life before it, but I couldn't remember anything when I woke up there. So to me, the Pit was all I knew. Guess after a while, it just seemed kinda pointless to keep going when nothing ever changed.”
“Do you know why you ended up there now?”
“Yeah, for murdering Perosia's imperial family. But I have it on good authority that I was framed so Rothario could take power.”
“Who's authority?”
“An Ancient I met not long after Ulric pulled me out. Said he knew me from before, and told me I was the Emperor's youngest son, some guy named Alder Persias.”
At that, Edith turned in her seat to face him, looking surprised. “Chandra said you're an heir to the throne, but you're a prince?”
Isaac sighed. She had that tone in her voice suggesting the man he'd forgotten was more interesting than the one he'd become. Furthermore, he'd met women in the past who never showed a glimmer of interest in him until learning of his royal birth, and it always pissed him off.
So he immediately denied it.
“No, Alder was, and he died when they erased his identity.”
“Erased it?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Well, I mean, if they completely changed your identity, why throw you in the Pit at all? You're an entirely new person now, right?”
“I guess,” he shrugged. “I don't know enough about Alder to be able to tell. Still, everyone knew what he did, so why the fuck would I wanna live with people who'd ridicule me, if not try to kill me themselves?”
She inclined her head as if to concede the point, then sat back in her seat again and asked, “So why the name Isaac?”
The question threw him off. Bes
ides Chandra, Ulric, and Ulric's family, no one had ever asked how Isaac got his new name—and it was extremely relieving. Edith wasn't pushing for information on his former life, and she also didn't seem anymore interested now than she'd had before learning of his pedigree.
The thought made him so grateful he could've kissed her.
But, since his oath prevented it, he answered her question without pause.
“Got it from a teenager named Kidd who was thrown in the Pit as a criminal. Usually, it was kill or be killed and trust no one, but Kidd was young, and obviously not a fighter. So I kept him under my wing for a while, and he named me Isaac after his brother.”
“Who was he?”
“I'm not sure, actually. I remember thinking he was too young to be tossed in the Pit, and asked how the fuck he got there, but Kidd didn't answer, like he was ashamed. Then he was killed by a tratter before he could tell me.”
Edith wrinkled her nose in confusion. “What's a tratter?”
“Skin thief,” Isaac answered simply, wrinkling his nose at the thought of the tall, bony, skinless monsters. Few creatures in the Pit had left an impression on him, but the Skin Thieves were an exception. “They wear the skin of their victims until it rots off. I just call 'em tratters because of the sounds they make.”
Edith stared at him before asking hesitantly, “Were you ever … ”
When she trailed, he supplied, “What, skinned?”
She nodded.
Isaac nearly answered her question truthfully, but managed to stop himself at the last second. Edith was young, and regardless of her feelings for him—or lack thereof—hearing the tratters had captured and repeatedly skinned him alive due to his quick regeneration probably wouldn't settle well with her.
But what the hell was he supposed to say? “ … Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Does it matter?”
The Final Calling Page 8