After Mom leaves for work, I’m too full of nervous energy to sit still. I pace the hallway from the front door to the greenhouse until Bria texts to let me know she’s arrived. Owen, West, and Felix share the back seat, allowing me the spot up front. I’m thankful for their thoughtfulness. I’m already feeling as though I can’t breathe.
The parking lot to the funeral home isn’t as full as it was at Crystal Taylor’s funeral, but Bria still has to park a decent distance away from the door. I recognize several faces from school, but there are others—adults—who are completely unfamiliar. Are these Zane’s family members? My hand freezes on the handle. I don’t know if I can do this. When I first read the details, I decided without really thinking that I would come, pay my respects. But now that I’m here, a wave of guilt sweeps through me. I shouldn’t have come. If it wasn’t for me, Zane would still be alive…
My door opens and Owen crouches down, locking his eyes on mine. He must’ve gotten out of the car when I wasn’t paying attention. In fact, the whole car is empty now but for me.
He takes my hands in his, squeezing them gently. “It’s not your fault,” he says quietly. “It’s not any of our faults. Zane used the crystal’s magic more than the rest of the circle—that’s what killed him. If he hadn’t, he would’ve lived along with the rest of the witches.”
I take in a shaky breath, blinking away the prickling sensation gathering in my eyes. Unable to form words, I nod, allowing Owen to pull me to my feet.
He doesn’t release my hand as we shuffle toward the front door. Felix raises an eyebrow, but I ignore him. Maybe I shouldn’t be holding Owen’s hand—maybe it’s sending the wrong message. But right now, I need the support.
But as soon as we enter the building, I wish I’d had the strength to walk alone. I’m not sure if it’s the intensity of the emotions pressing in on all sides, or if I’m just getting better at tuning out the thoughts and feelings of those I’m bound to, but I didn’t realize Fox was in the parlor’s main hallway until I clasped eyes on him. Unfortunately, he sees me at the same moment and his gaze drifts to my hand. I’d release Owen now, except I’m afraid it’ll make me look guilty, and I have nothing to be guilty about. Owen is a friend who’s trying to comfort me.
At least, I’m trying to convince myself that’s all he’s being.
“We should probably go sit down,” Felix suggests. “I think things are going to get started soon.”
We find a row toward the back with five chairs together. Once we’re seated, I release Owen’s hand, offering him a smile of thanks before turning my attention to the front of the room. The casket is still open, but I can’t see inside from my angle. I’m glad for that. We could’ve come earlier, to the viewing, but I know for sure I wouldn’t have been able to handle that. If I’m honest, I won’t miss Zane—I hardly knew him, and what I did know I didn’t like. Still, it isn’t fair that he’s gone. Death shouldn’t be a consequence of using magic.
A slide show plays on repeat at the front of the room. As much as I try to ignore the images, my eyes are drawn to them. Pictures of the Zane I knew are interspersed with ones of him as a boy: bright-eyed on Christmas morning, sitting on the lap of a man who must be his father, smiling while encircled in the arms of his mother. I always thought of Zane one way—a bad boy interested in magic only for what it could do for him. To see him as a son only makes his death more tragic and my own guilt more profound.
The officiant—the same man in the same suit who presided over Crystal Taylor’s funeral—moves to the front of the room and a hush falls over the crowd. There’s shuffling in the row behind me as people take their seats.
The man starts talking about Zane—about his life, his family, the things he enjoyed. I try to listen, but it all sounds generic. Perhaps everything he’s saying about Zane is true—I wouldn’t really know. It’s not until he mentions the circumstances of Zane’s death that my ears perk and my skin tingles.
“Zane was taken from this life too soon and without warning. An aneurysm—something he may have had in his brain for years—cut short his days. A reminder that we should all live each day to the fullest…”
“Aneurysm. Convenient explanation.”
I shiver as warm air tickles my ear. I know the voice and my stomach clenches. Griffin. I haven’t seen him since leaving his house after his fight with Fox, and I didn’t notice him when I came in. But it’s clear he noticed me.
“It’s a nice story,” he continues, his voice low. “Too bad that’s not what killed him. He’d’ve been luckier. You weren’t linked to the crystal—you didn’t feel what it was like to use magic after you tried to break our connection to it. It was excruciating. You realize that, right? When Zane died, he was in excruciating pain.”
“Enough, Griffin,” Felix hisses. “If you need someone to bother, try me. She couldn’t’ve done that spell without me.”
“You couldn’t have done the spell at all, psychic,” Griffin mutters. “She’s the witch. She’s the one who did it.”
I stand, pushing past Owen toward the aisle. I’m not going to sit here and listen to Griffin. Why does he keep wanting to torture me? He already knows I feel guilty about what happened. Isn’t that enough?
Several bodies shift in their seats, ready to follow me, but with a shake of my head, Felix, Owen, and Bria all settle. I scan the room for Fox—he’s several rows ahead of where I was sitting, on the other side of the aisle. He didn’t even see me get up.
It was foolish of me to come. What was even my motivation? Certainly not to comfort his family—I don’t know them. And if I wanted to comfort his friends, I’d be here with the witches, not the psychics. I came because I felt like I had to, like I was supposed to. I came because the idea of not coming made me feel even guiltier.
I walk out of the room and continue down the hall. There are only a handful of people here—some merely chatting, a couple in tears. I make my way past them, to the end of the hall, and sit on a padded bench. I’ll stay out here until the service is over, then I’ll ask Bria to take me home. It’s what’s best.
Owen’s consciousness presses into mine, wanting to make sure I’m okay. I push him back. I don’t want to talk—telepathically or otherwise. I’m still not back to full power on my psychic side—I can tell because it takes more effort than it should to block Owen. I access my magic to strengthen my wall. Actually, I should thank Griffin for tapping into the circle’s power the other day—without his intrusion, I might not have figured out how to bridge my two kinds of abilities, using one to fortify the other. The process isn’t automatic, though, so I have to concentrate to make it work.
At the end of the hall, a girl emerges from the room where Zane’s service is occurring. She has long, dark hair and a heart-shaped face. She’s vaguely familiar—probably someone I’ve seen around school. She walks to a window and looks out for a moment before continuing down the hall. At first, I think she’ll step outside, but when her eyes sweep past me, her face flickers with recognition. The corners of her mouth upturn briefly as she changes trajectory.
Straight toward me.
“Hey,” she greets as she approaches. “Kristyl, right?”
“Yeah.” I bite the inside of my cheek. Although she looks familiar, I have no idea what her name is.
She offers a small smile. “We were in math together last year. I sat in the back.”
I nod as if recognition is dawning on me. I can’t very well tell her that I have no memory of last year’s math class, so it’s easier to play along. “Yeah, of course. I’m sorry—I forgot your name.”
Her smile broadens. “Sasha.” She hitches a thumb toward the door at the end of the hall. “Pretty intense in there, huh? I mean, I can’t believe it. He was our age.”
“Pretty intense,” I agree.
She bites her lower lip. “I’m sorry—I forgot. You and Zane kind of ran in the same circle, right? He was just my lab partner freshman year.”
“You’re fine. I just… I
don’t really like funerals.”
“You and me both.” She glances toward the door. “Hey, you wanna go for a walk? I mean, it’s not exactly warm out there, but my skin’s kind of itching in here, you know?”
I weigh my options. She’s right—it’s not warm out. But walking around a bit sounds better than sitting here, waiting for the service to be over. “Sure. Let’s go.”
She smiles so wide she flashes straight, white teeth. “Excellent.”
I follow her outside. A wind I didn’t notice earlier assaults me as soon as I exit the building and I pull my coat more tightly around my body. Sasha leads the way toward the street, seemingly unaffected by the cold.
“What do you think? A walk around the block?”
“Maybe just up the street and back,” I suggest. “I don’t know if I can make it all the way around the block with this wind.”
“Fair enough.”
We walk in silence. I’m glad she doesn’t feel the need to make small talk—or worse, bring up memories from the class she thinks we shared. This quiet companionship is exactly what I need right now—no well-meaning friends trying to peer into my thoughts, no one-time boyfriend wanting to pick up our relationship where it left off before I messed with the timeline.
About three quarters of the way down the block, Sasha starts looking left and right. I follow her gaze. “What’s up?”
She stops, turning to face me. “Nothing. I just figure we’ve probably gone far enough.”
I squint. “Far enough? For what?”
In response, she pulls her hand out of her pocket, bringing it to her mouth and blowing some kind of powder directly into my face. I have no time to react. As darkness encroaches on my vision, the last thing I feel are her arms snaking around my back, and the last thing I see are her cold blue eyes.
Chapter Thirteen
When my eyelids flutter open, I’m in a room I don’t recognize. It’s a basement—that much is clear from the poured concrete floor to the single fluorescent light above my head. The only other thing I know is that the basement must be in Clearwater, as Jodi’s spell would make it impossible for me to cross the town line.
What did Sasha do to me? What was in that powder?
But I don’t have to know the specifics of the latter question to be able to formulate an answer to the former: She cast a spell on me to knock me out and bring me here. But why?
She’s a witch, she must be. But if that’s the case—if she’s a witch and she lives in Clearwater—then why doesn’t the circle know about her? And why didn’t she get caught up in the binding spell?
Unless she’s not from here. She could have easily lied about being in school with me. She was vague on purpose—just enough detail for me to believe without question.
How could I have been so stupid? And, more importantly, what does she want with me?
I shift in the metal chair I’m sitting in, but I can’t move far: My arms and legs are bound. A determined smile curls my lips. I’ve been in this type of situation before. I should be able to use my abilities to loosen—
But before I even try, I know something’s wrong. My powers are muted, inaccessible. The feeling isn’t dissimilar to when Seth was drawing on my magic to harness the power within the crystal. On a low wooden table several feet in front of me sits a metal bowl filled with herbs and surrounded by three deep indigo taper candles. Another spell—one designed, no doubt, to keep me from using my abilities. But it can’t block everything, can it? Can it be powerful enough to sever the link forged by the binding? Although I can’t sense Fox or Owen, I can only hope the answer is no. I close my eyes, concentrating, hoping I can send them some kind of message—something to help them find me.
The stairs to my right creak as someone descends. I don’t open my eyes, instead keeping my focus on the task at hand.
“So,” Sasha begins slowly. Her footfalls draw closer to my location. “This is the great Kristyl Barnette. I’m gonna come right out and say it: I’m underwhelmed. How could a girl like you beat Seth? Frankly, I was expecting… more.”
My eyes snap open. “What do you know about Seth?”
The corner of her lip curls into a smile. “More than you, I imagine. I know it was foretold he’d rise again, and that he’d reward those who remained faithful to him. My people have waited a long time for him to return to us—full of his former glory. Imagine our surprise when you stopped him from regaining his full strength. But it’s no matter—mark my words, he’ll get his power back. And you’ll regret ever crossing him.”
My head spins. She’s talking about him like he’s some kind of savior. Anya told us about the Devoted, but until now the idea hasn’t really sunk in. There really are people out there who have been waiting for him to come back. “What do you want with me?”
Her smile returns, but it gives me no peace. Something about it is twisted, perverse. As her lips begin moving, chanting words in a language I don’t recognize, I know something bad is coming before it happens.
A searing pain shoots up my arms. My skin is on fire—it has to be. But when I look down, there is no flame. Still a scream rips from my mouth as the pain continues, affecting every inch of flesh between my fingertips and shoulders. I’m melting or my blood is boiling—those are the only things that could be causing this much agony.
My vision blackens around the edges and my consciousness dips. Just before I pass out, the pain recedes. It doesn’t disappear entirely, but it dials back enough to pull me from the brink of a blackout.
“What’s your plan?” Sasha asks, her voice a growl. “There’s a shield up around the town. Is that it—you’re just going to hide? Is that your goal?”
Her words echo through my head and I try to focus on them. What is the goal of the spell Jodi cast? Keeping us safe, yes, but is there more? Even if I wanted to tell Sasha, the fact is I don’t know. Dad is keeping me in the dark about everything.
In an instant, the pain is back, this time in my legs too. My head tips backward as another scream tears itself from my throat. I’m going to die. There’s no doubt in my mind. It is impossible for a person to experience this degree of suffering and survive. It is as if my very bones are on fire, like I’m combusting from the inside.
The searing heat ebbs again and Sasha’s face swims in front of my eyes. “Tell me about the spell! Why would your aunt want to trap you in town? Unless…” She squints, studying me. My mind reels. Has she asked me a question? Does she expect me to say something? I scramble for words—anything to keep her from hurting me again—but before I can move my lips, her hand darts forward, gripping my forehead. As she murmurs a new incantation, a stream of memories play out before my eyes like images from a movie. Jodi at the town line. The candle. The bag. The knife.
Sasha pulls her hand away, falling silent. “Blood,” she says after a beat. “Of course.”
Spinning on her heel, she walks to the low table. Her back is to me, obscuring whatever action she’s performing. Is she casting another spell of some kind? And if so, what could its purpose be? If she’s looking for a new method of torture, she doesn’t need to. Although she’s not actively reciting the words that make my insides burn, an ache remains, as if I’m smoldering from the inside out. Were I unbound, I don’t think I’d even try to move for fear my arms and legs would crumble like embers in a fire.
When she turns, she holds no candle, herb, or talisman. In her hand is a knife, one that looks like it would be useful in gutting a large animal. My heart begins to thunder in my ears. Now that she has whatever information she wanted, is she going to kill me? I can’t take my eyes off the silver blade. I’m transfixed by the way the fluorescent light glints off it.
“The same blood runs in your veins as hers.” Sasha steps closer, now just a few feet in front of me. She slashes forward and I ready myself for the coming blow—straight in my heart, most likely. No, she’ll probably go for my stomach to prolong my suffering.
But when the blade makes contact, it’s w
ith my upper arm—more a slice than a stab. I almost don’t notice it compared to the throbbing ache already in my limbs, but the blood is warm and wet as it trickles down my arm. Sasha reaches forward with her other hand. For the first time, I notice it’s not empty. She presses a small glass jar just below my cut, forcing the dark liquid to flow into it. When she’s collected enough, she pulls it away and turns back to the table.
A door overhead opens and closes and floorboards creak as someone enters. My heart leaps. Could it be Fox or Owen? Have they found me?
“Sasha?”
My stomach sinks. The male voice is unfamiliar. So, Sasha isn’t working alone. Just how many people has Seth planted in Clearwater?
“Are you downstairs?” The male voice is closer now, clearer.
An almost guilty expression flickers across Sasha’s face, replaced immediately by a hard mask of defiance. Knife still in hand, she moves to the bottom of the stairs as her companion descends. I can only see flashes of movement in my periphery as the guy appears.
“The hell, Sasha,” he hisses as they jostle. “Is that a knife? What are you thinking?”
“She’s fine, Elliot,” Sasha insists. “No lasting damage.”
Elliot finally manages to push past her. In two strides, he’s in front of me, crouching to inspect my injuries. He’s young—maybe Griffin’s age—and intense. His sharp blue eyes scan me, lingering on the cut on my arm. Blowing out a breath, he stands. “Of all the stupid things to do. Are you kidding me right now? We have strict orders to keep a low profile. Dammit, Sasha!”
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