My body went limp. There was no way I could touch Donovan and take pain from him; I was certain it would kill me. I wasn’t sure how or why, but it would.
I thought about when we were intimate, our abilities lying dormant while we only made one another feel good. In this case, our innermost workings would be at war—I’d be pushing, and he would be pulling, or vice-versa.
“That witch, Emelee, lied to Ceci. That’s all you need to know. The arrangement is over and it’s not my business to share why, but she’s back and she needs to move on to another love interest. Take her pain and send her on her way.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes, that’s it. What else do you need to know?”
For starters, I didn’t have to touch Donovan. Second, I needed to know if Donovan was back. I didn’t dare mention either to my mother.
“Nothing else. I haven’t used my powers in months. I hope it works.”
“Don’t breathe a word of that to anyone. Emelee is on her way over with Ceci. Take care of business. Then, Prim is coming over with some dresses for the Spring Ball. Or did you forget about the occasion?”
I had wanted to forget, but clearly that wasn’t an option, and now all I wanted to know was where Donovan was.
“Thank you. I will look forward to the ball.” That was all I could come up with.
I decided I looked a mess and needed to make myself presentable for Ceci, so I scurried off the couch and willed myself to not think about her son for ten minutes.
There was a soft rap on my door, and I didn’t have to ask who it was. When I opened it, Ceci stormed through, dragging Emelee. For a quick moment, I prayed this was the last time Ceci barged into my place with another female in tow.
“Tulya!” She barked my name and then looked at Emelee. “She lied to my son, and now she is banished from my house.”
A tear rolled down Emelee’s cheek, taking some dark mascara with it. Her wavy black hair was down, shielding her face from more inspection, but judging by her wrinkled white blouse, she was tired and not happy.
I only knew Emelee to recognize her. We weren’t friends. She was a year older and ran with a popular crowd.
“I’m sorry,” she seemed to say to Ceci.
“I don’t care. You should not have lied,” Ceci answered in return.
“I wanted us to be happy, and there were other choices. Using Donovan’s—”
“Cut it,” Ceci interrupted, seemingly with zero fucks left. I didn’t know what was going on but it felt heavy.
The nape of my neck was on fire, and I couldn’t help feeling badly for Emelee—it was in my genetic makeup. Much like Cinder, Emelee, who I didn’t know well, trusted Ceci to do right by her. But Donovan and Magnum could not be told what to do.
I tightened my cardigan around my body, keeping my lesser-than hand by my side, hoping no one noticed it. Moving toward Emelee, I didn’t ask any questions. Partly because I didn’t want to know—maybe I couldn’t handle it—and I wanted to get this over. It would be a test of my abilities, and I needed to make sure everything worked.
Stopping by her side, I wondered what her power was. I knew most of everyone’s capabilities as a result of being my mother’s daughter, but not Emelee’s. It was my assumption that whatever she could do matched up better with Donovan’s skills. Otherwise, they would not have been promised to one another.
Forbidding myself from asking, I brought my strong palm to the side of her cheek and let my body do its thing. The floodgates opened and I felt her vitriol and sadness flow through me. With nothing to do other than allow the magic to happen, I didn’t interfere. It was a relief to feel everything working and, as the anger and emotions fled my body, a large weight lifted off my back.
Emelee started to slump, and I let go, using my hand to guide her to sit down. It was safe to say the process had worked and she was feeling empty.
“There you go,” I was whispering to Emelee when my front door banged open, a murderous Donovan standing in the frame.
“Mother, have you not learned your lesson? Stop bringing all your messed-up mistakes to Tulya. She is not your private servant.”
His words came out curt as his green gaze jolted around the room.
“I’m sorry,” he said to me, walking toward the sofa. With an arm linked under Emelee’s, he helped her off the couch, steadying her when she stood. “Time to go home,” he told her.
I wasn’t sure if he would take her or send her with Ceci, but when he left my cottage with her on his arm, without another word, I got my answer. And when I felt the tears start to fall, I shied away from Ceci seeing me.
“You can go, it’s done,” was all I said to the woman who had been making my life miserable. “I can’t promise she won’t need it again though, with the way he left with her.” I didn’t know if it was wishful thinking, or what. What had I really thought—that Donovan ran to my house so he could choose me? To declare his undying love?
