by H. A. Wills
Connor stills, tilting his head slightly, as if the angle will allow him to absorb my words better. His gaze stays riveted to my face, not bothering to look at the truth on the pages before me.
“The call to you? Not your call?” Donovan comments, his brows furrowed and showing signs of the academic I saw when we tried experimenting with my magic. His fingers tap out a rapid pattern on his desk.
Licking my lips, I subtly shake my head. “No. It says ‘The Call to me’, because… those wolves are, um… well, they’ll be loyal to me because…”
“Callie,” he groans, the gravel in his voice highlighting his growing impatience.
“Because they’re the direct descendants of shifters my bloodline made,” I huff.
“Made?” Connor whispers, his voice low and soft.
My stomach feels like I swallowed a lead ball, and I drop my right hand to my lap to nervously trace the denim lines of my jeans with my fingers. This morning I was given fresh underthings that I don’t want to know where came from, but my jeans are still the ones from the day before, and Nolan lent me another one of his t-shirts-- his spicy cologne following me all day.
“Um, I don’t know the particulars. Maybe it’s deeper in the journal, but I guess early on, spirit witches needed protectors that weren’t fellow witches,” I murmur, the air suddenly feeling thin, and I’m scared to look into Connor’s eyes. “So they sought out the strongest and bravest of humans and offered them amazing power in return for their guardianship. Those that agreed… became the first shifters. The wolves, created by my bloodline’s magic, are forever connected to the Volkov spirit witches and will feel compelled to protect them.” In a small voice, I postulate, “Maybe that’s why we took the name. Volkov means ‘wolf’ in Russian, so maybe it was a literal declaration of the bond between the wolves and these spirit witches.”
I steal a peek at Connor from under my lashes. He’s so still he’s barely breathing, and looks dazed, like he was hit in the back of the head with a bat. I gently squeeze our joined hands.
Donovan drops a heavy hand on Connor’s shoulder, while keeping his gaze focused on me, seeming to try to give Connor a chance to process privately, but also wanting him to know that he isn’t alone.
“Mildred said the wolves betrayed the spirit witches, and that’s what got them killed. How’s that possible?” Donovan asks and Connor growls. He rolls his eyes, muttering, “Wasn’t talking about you.”
A breath of a laugh escapes my lips.
“I don’t know,” I sigh, picking at a small tear in my jeans. “Maybe Agata was wrong. She did write this before she died, and so far, premonition hasn’t been listed as a spirit witch ability.”
“Opposed to after she died?” Donovan quips with a raised brow.
“Hey! Felix broke a lamp. Anything is possible,” I chide with a challenging squint. “Speaking of, how did he do that exactly?”
He shrugs. “Beats me. Your aunt asked how long he’d been dead…”
“Turned,” Connor utters so quietly that he can barely be heard over Donovan talking.
“Huh? Is Felix turning into something?” I question, equal parts confused and concerned.
He gives a hard shake of his head, his shaggy, dark brown hair, sweeping across his brow. There’s a harsh flexing in his jaw from gritting his teeth. “The traitors. Wolves turned by Alphas.”
Donovan slowly nods, jumping between topics faster than I can. “They wouldn’t share blood.”
Clearing my throat, I raise a finger in the air. “Want to elaborate for the newbie?”
“Shifters aren’t just born,” Donovan says, taking over explanations. Does Connor have a personal word count he’s not allowed to exceed? “Humans can be turned by the bite of an Alpha.”
“Cool,” I chirp a little too loudly. Connor and Donovan give me looks, while some of the other students glance over their shoulders at us. Oops. My cheeks burn, and in a much quieter voice, I add, “I mean it’s just… um, neat to find out another myth is true. That’s all.”
“Uh huh,” Donovan mumbles, a smirk pulling at his full lips. “Any other revelations from… Agata? I’m guessing that’s the spirit witch.”
“Yeah, though in their times, she was also known as a High Priestess,” I murmur, running my finger once again along the pages of the journal. Whoever translated this had tight, cursive writing, and it’s difficult to read. “Since there were general spirit witches, and then there was the main, ruling congress of spirit witches-- I’m guessing, the title differentiated from the two.”
“Great. Don’t care,” he replies, pulling his hand from Connor’s shoulder, so he can cross his arms over his chest. “Anything else important in there?”
And that’s the end of Donovan caring about motivations.
I sigh and go back to skimming the pages, vowing to go back and read more thoroughly once I have time on my own. Maybe I should invite Kaleb to read it with me?
A warm glow flows through me at the idea of us huddled over the journal; him sharing his thoughts based on his far more comprehensive knowledge of the supernatural. I don’t even know what I don’t know, so I feel like I’m constantly one step behind. A smile skates across my mouth imagining him, the academic light in his eyes, as he explains the universe with a voice so deep it reminds me of rolling thunder right before a comforting rain.
The image starts to grow clearer. A library with the sounds of a gentle dizzle outside. The corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles, and…
Damn it, focus! This is all yesterday’s fault, I mentally grumble, looking more carefully at the words on the page. Both of the guys look at me intently, unaware of my wandering mind.
“This doesn’t make sense,” I mutter, finding something else of interest. “It says to restore the priestess, we’ll need to combine the blood of a spirit wolf with the center of where her essence flows. Once that’s accomplished, find the other potential High Priestesses and have them do the same.”
“The fuck does that mean?” Donovan grunts, precisely vocalizing my thoughts. “Spirits don’t bleed.”
Connor shifts uncomfortable in his seat, his leg bumping into my shin. “Recently dead wolf?” he suggests, with a subtle growl to his soft voice.
“Well, that’s a big, fat nope,” I counter, squeezing his hand. “I don’t want to be one of these priestesses anyway. No way am I killing someone for it. All I want is to control my powers and not blow up the town. Is that too much to ask for?”
They both snicker, and Connor visibly relaxes. I want to hug him again, but I stay in my seat, not wanting to get called out by Coach Harris again.
“And ‘from where her essence flows’ sounds like weird virginal sacrifice bullshit or something,” Donovan adds, enhancing the creepy factor up several notches.
“Gross,” I cringe, my face twisting to fully showcase the yuck factor I’m experiencing. “Thanks for that… so we’ll be doubling down on that nope. Upgrading it to maybe a ‘hell no’, or perhaps a ‘fuck no’.”
“Let’s hope you don’t need it to control your magic,” he counters, with a hard squint while his knee bounces up and down.
“And that’s enough of that. Should probably spread out the creepy history and rituals,” I groan, closing the journal. “Now, how do we tell the others?”
“Don’t tell Nolan,” Connor demands, sitting up and cradling my hand between his.
“You too?” I lament.
Donovan runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. “Being able to make new supernaturals is even bigger than the ‘could wipe out several states’ thing. He. Will. Freak.”
Connor runs his thumbs along the back of my hand in soothing patterns, while his eyes beg me to understand.
My heart sinks, remembering how safe I felt in Nolan’s arms. The way he looked when he thought I was afraid of him, and his relief when I told him I wasn’t. Would he hate me if he knew the full truth of what I am? What I’m capable of?
“We won’t
be able to keep this from him forever,” I reason, hunching in on myself while my free hand goes back to picking at my jeans. “Won’t he be mad when he finds out that we’ve kept this from him?”
“Oh, he’ll be pissed as fuck,” Donovan answers, not making any of this better, “but by then we’re hoping he’ll just be mad about the lie, not…”
“Scared of me?” I whisper.
“Yeah,” he sighs, rubbing at his face. “Look, it’s not personal. He’s just had the shittiest track record when it comes to magic.”
“I know the feeling,” I mutter, and he at least has the decency to wince.
Connor reaches up and lightly touches the side of my face, drawing my gaze back to his. “Give him time,” he murmurs gently.
“How much time?” I whisper, fearing the secrets inside me growing until I’ll burst.
Donovan clears his throat and rubs at his face with both hands. “Until the idiot can see you past your magic.”
“Great,” I groan, dropping my head down on Connor’s desk, my forehead pressed against the closed journal. “That’s just great.”
Chapter 11
Callie
I wake up gasping with the taste of smoke and ash still on my tongue. The dream again.
First, it was the steel table, trapped and burning. This time, I was able to break free, but it didn’t bring me relief. Instead, engulfed in flames, I fed the fire-- my all-consuming rage manically encouraging it to spread. To burn down the house and man that made me a prisoner, the city filled with people that didn’t see my pain, the state with its isolating deserts, anything and everything until my wrath was quenched.
Except outside my prison wasn’t Phoenix, but Twin Cedar Pass with acres and acres of forest ablaze. And there they were. My friends-- burning, begging for help, and I stood frozen. Inept and cowering, as the flames were no longer my means of vengeance, but again a tool of my torture. I watched them burn until all that was left was Felix’s hate-filled eyes.
Adrenaline still pumping through my veins, I reach over for my phone on my nightstand to check the time. Twenty minutes until my alarm goes off. I could get up early, but the bed is warm and I’m exhausted. Taking a few deep calming breaths, I remind myself it was all a dream and roll over to snuggle back into my blankets. My heart skips a beat finding Felix standing at my window, staring at something outside, as if my nightmares conjured him to cast judgment.
“Felix?” I mumble, propping myself up on my elbows.
He doesn’t respond or seem to even hear me, his stance rigid and his attention fixed on something outside. That’s when I notice that the taste of smoke is not from my dreams, but real, a haze funneling into my room from the cracked door leading out to my balcony.
Fear grips me as I climb out of bed, and I can’t seem to get enough air into my lungs, each breath stinging with the whiffs of smoke. I don’t want to see, but I have to know. With my hands clenched into fists, desperate to hold myself together, I walk the few steps to stand beside Felix.
Nightmares and reality blur together. Outside is a bonfire that reaches the height of my balcony-- the same spot Felix’s family was burnt beyond recognition.
My body becomes rigid, each muscle turning to stone, as I fight to keep myself from going under again. I choke on each breath, black dots dancing around the edges of my vision, and somewhere there are terror-filled screams.
Within moments, my vision goes blurry and I see nothing but fire like it’s crawled up the house into my room and is now a circling cage. My father’s furious words echo that it’s my fault. That if I wanted to, I could make it stop.
No no no. Please no. Stop. It hurts.
My eyes burn with hot tears, and my clawed fingers rake down my face. The darkness is coming for me. It’ll trap me, and I won’t wake up. I drop to my knees, the carpet silencing my fall.
“Callie!” My name reverberates through the darkness, the voice’s warm timbre turning brittle and cracked with fear.
It’s happening again. The fire is real. Everything I’ve grown to love will burn. I’m sorry. I wasn’t strong enough.
There’s a searing agony in my chest as if the fire has clawed its way inside me, incinerating everything in its path.
“Callie, please,” the voice cries. “You need to calm down. Come back. The fire is getting worse.”
There’s a shivering cold through my shoulder, followed by a harsh gasp. “Fuck, that feels weird-- Shit. Shit. Shit. What do I do? I need the guys, but I can’t leave you.”
“What the bloody hell?” A feminine voice shouts from the other side of the darkness.
I can’t remember who they are, my past tearing through my brain, only that they’re important. Run. Save yourself. Please don’t die.
“Oh thank God,” the first voice breathes in relief. “Don’t worry, pretty girl. Mildred will take care of you while I get the guys. I won’t be long, I promise.”
Within seconds, arms wrap around me, the scent of roses breaking through the smoke, and they hold me tight.
“Cleansing fires of change, I extinguish thee,” is shouted with authority, followed a moment later by a gentle whisper in my ear, “It’s okay, my darling. The fire is gone. Open your eyes.”
I blink, only now realizing the darkness was my eyes squeezed shut, and through the haze of smoke, I see my room, not the basement. Not the fire.
“Aunt Mildred,” I cry, my throat hoarse, and collapse in her arms.
“You’re alright. You’re safe now. I have you,” she murmurs, rocking me back and forth, both of us on our knees. “Can you tell me what happened? I heard you screaming, and when I got here, it looked like this whole side of the house was on fire.”
“Outside,” I choke out. My whole body trembles, as I try to piece back together what is real and what isn’t. “Um... burn spot… bonfire.”
“Someone set another fire in the backyard?” she clarifies, coughing and clearing her throat from the remaining haze of smoke. I nod. “Alright. I’ll have to call the police to report what happened. Bloody hell, explaining how the fire is out will be a treat.”
A breath of a laugh escapes me, and I pull away. My smile feels warped and brittle, as I try to feign normalcy; all the while I push down what happened back into my ‘deal with it later’ box. The locks on it are looking frayed and strain under all the shit I keep stuffing into it. I’ll need to find a safe place to hide before it explodes, but since my house was nearly burned down, I don’t see that happening anytime soon.
Mildred gazes at me with worry filled eyes. “Are you…”
“I’m fine now,” I interrupt, not wanting to discuss what happened. Talking at all has tears wobbling my voice and on the brink of spilling down my cheeks. “Go call the police.”
Her dubious expression shows me she doesn’t believe me.
“Felix is here. It’s okay,” I lie.
Please leave before I break.
She looks around, like this time she’ll finally be able to see him.
“Thank you,” she says out into the open air.
Mildred gets to her feet and walks over to the balcony sliding glass door, opening it all the way. She whispers something under her breath. The haze of smoke condenses into ash, and like leaves dancing on a gentle breeze, funnels its way out the opened door.
“That’s better,” she announces. Returning to me, she pets my hair and murmurs, “I’ll be right back.”
“It’s fine,” I reply, my cheeks hurting from trying to keep the smile on my face, and I shoo her away.
Once she’s gone, I drop to the floor and lie on my side. The carpet is soft against my cheek. For a while, I just breathe, staring at my room but not really seeing. Counting my breaths. Concentrating on the feeling of my ribs expanding as air fills my lungs. My eyes burn because I keep forgetting to blink.
It’s only when I feel properly numb, that I try to take stock of my surroundings. My room, though seemingly drenched in the gloom of the grey outside, appears to be f
ine now that the smoke is gone-- the circling fire was only in my imagination. I crawl over to the open door and peek my head outside. Huge black streaks run up the side of the house, along with singed shingles. Considering it’s another foggy, wet morning, it’s an easy guess that’s my contribution to the fire.
My heart skips a beat, because it only now occurs to me that I may have started the whole thing. I haven’t lit anything on fire before, but I also hadn’t exploded any trees before coming here. Shit.
I sit back on my feet, unsure what I should do next, when there’s a tingling sensation between my breasts. I pull the neckline of my flannel sleep shirt out, and where the stone of my necklace lays, my burned skin heals back to its normal golden color. That’s one mystery solved.
“Okay, not what I expected to see,” Felix comments, clearing his throat when he pops back into my room.
I feel drained and disjointed, so it takes me a moment before I realize what he means. Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I quickly let go of my shirt. My gaze flits around the room, not knowing where to land. I need to know, but I can’t seem to meet his eyes.
“Did I do it?” I question. “Did I cause the fire?”
“No,” Felix answers quietly. “You were sleeping peacefully when I showed up, then I saw the fire and I just… I couldn’t look away.” He pauses before awkwardly adding, “It did, uh… get a whole lot bigger when you woke up.”
I cringe while guilt fills my stomach and weighs me to the ground. Even though I didn’t start it, I still failed Felix. There he was, staring at the fire that echoed the one from the night he died, and instead of comforting him, I fell apart again and made a bad situation worse. I grip the sleeves of my shirt, my fists pressing hard against my thighs.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my eyes focused on my lap.
“For what?” Felix asks, sitting down next to me and leaning sideways in an effort to see my face.
I lift my eyes to meet his hazel ones, tears collecting and ready to once again fall down my cheeks. Fuck, there went my numb feeling.