“Wait, rewind. W-what’s an anchor?” My voice is barely a whisper as I croak out the question. For some reason beyond even the obvious Reaper in the room, there’s this sense of foreboding soaking into my very being that keeps my heart beating faster.
They both pause to look at me and I feel my skin crawl with apprehension. Cian’s brows draw together in a frown and he looks questioningly at Seth who holds my gaze for a beat longer than is comfortable before he nods and sighs.
“Well, this just got exceptionally awkward.” Seth rubs his temple and nods as if I just answered a question he never asked. “You, little Witchling, are an anchor.”
“What are you talking about Seth?” Cian’s voice is hopeful but nervous as he sits up a little straighter.
“She’s not a human. At least, not a full human. She’s a witch by blood… and coming into contact with her—with her flesh and blood—is what’s allowing you to temporarily assume the full Witch-bound form.”
I look between the two otherworldly sexpots in my bedroom and snort. “I—I’m not a witch! I have legit zero idea what you’re talking about!” I can feel a bubble of laughter lodge in my chest at the absurdity of the notion as words continue to tumble out of me, “I can’t be a witch, I mean I had a teenage witch phase but what private school orphan doesn’t—am I right?” I purse my lips. The Craft had asolidhold on me in high school and I dabbled in paganism, but I’ve never been able to handle any kind of ‘organized’ religion… after a while keeping up with even the laid back rituals felt like too much work.
I smile wryly remembering the time I convinced Gabbi and one of the other girls in my dorm to let me test my ‘skills’ with them—but the only thing magical about that night was that no one ended up spraining a finger.
“I couldn’t even do ‘light as a feather, stiff as a board’ so there’s like, no chance I’m a witch. Right, Cian?” I look up at him, expecting to see that knowing humor glinting in his eyes, but pause when I see how serious he looks.
Cian cups my face in his hand and licks his lips, hesitating, “What you were doing in the bathtub earlier?”
“Drowning?” I deadpan.
Seth cuts a sideways look at Cian and raises his brow ridges doubtfully mouthing, ‘In the bathtub?’ as if what he’s really asking Cian is ‘you sure about this one, buddy?’
Cian glowers at Seth and tries again, “No, love, not drowning. Scrying… Not everyone who dabbles in divination is a witch, but…” he trails off and I let out a huff of impatience. This is starting to feel less like a fun little joke for the group and more like I’m the village idiot who everyone tries to patronize.
“But what?” I snap, and immediately feel like shit. He’s just trying to help and I’m getting defensive. I take a breath and attempt to relax, but there’s this feeling in my gut indicating that I’m not going to like where this conversation is going. There’s also a not-so-small part of me that feels a little bitter that I’m having trouble entertaining this as a real possibility because I just… don’t think that I’mspecialenough to be some mystical being.
I sigh and look up at Cian sheepishly, “I’m sorry, I’m just… this is, I mean… please, just come out with it. I’m too frazzled to handle subtly right now.”
“You told me in a text that you saw your parents die in a dream… that your mom talked to you the night she died…” He winces, presumably at how explosively direct that was. AlthoughI can’t really complain, I did ask him to rip off the proverbial Band-Aid.
Still, my throat closes up at the unexpected veer in conversation. I swallow the shock and lick my lips, “What’s that got to do with anything?”
Cian’s eyes are stormy as he scrunches his nose, as if he’s forcing out his next words against his better judgement. “Dream divination—oneiromancy—combined with the water scrying in the tub without any actual training or ritual. It’s… it’s not really something humans do on accident. You’re from this area, right? There was a coven here, fifty years ago who focused on divination so it’s possible…” Cian swallows and I stare at him, and then at Seth, who now looks decidedly uncomfortable.
Thoughts swirl dizzyingly around in my head and goosebumps break out over my skin.Holy fucksticks! Could I actually be a witch? The thought sends little bolts of excitement racing through my veins. The dream with my parents wasn’t the first one like that I’d ever had, or the last… but, wait… the bolts of excitement fade as apprehension settles in the pit of my stomach, making me nauseous.
“So,” I close my eyes and take a deep breath against the tightness suddenly clogging my throat and squeezing my chest. “So, if that dream was real… my p-parents.”
I shake my head, not wanting to be a witch if this—this knowledge is the price. Not if it costs me all my carefully curated sanity… fortified with years of avoidance. My eyes meet Cian’s and he looks at me with tenderness, and regret. I feel like I’m hovering above an abyss with nothing but a pair of wings that turn out to be cheap, flimsy paper. I can’t avoid it anymore though—the abyss. I was never meant to. All the broken little pieces of myself that I’ve held together with duct tape and humor are being shredded as surely as those paper wings.
I feel a tear slide down my cheek as I whisper, “They orchestrated it. They… pulled their car over and waited to get hit. I watched them hug each other goodbye. They knew!” I can see the truth of it in Cian’s melancholy green eyes. And I fall. I fall like a wingless bird into the abyss and not even my superior disassociation skills can save me from feeling the pain of this revelation. I collapse against him and curl up into a ball, unable to stop the sobs now racking my body. “They knew. H-how could they do that?Why?” My voice breaks along with my heart and I bawl into Cian’s chest, too far gone to care that I should probably be embarrassed at falling apart so completely in front of them.
“Fuck.” Seth’s eyes go round and he rubs at the back of his neck for a minute before he scoots up onto his knees and shuffles toward us.
Cian is rocking me and whispering gentle words into my hair, but I can’t understand him—can’t process anything beyond the pain…the betrayal.
“Can you do anything?” Cian begs.
“Give me her forehead,” Seth sounds genuinely concerned, no trace of his teasing tone left to be found. He leans down over us and gently places a soft kiss on my forehead. “I’m sorry, kid.” His voice is a gentle whisper fading into the inky black of my unconscious.Right before I succumb to the blissful peace of the dark, my granny’s voice rings out, singing a long forgotten cradle song about keys.
Chapter twenty
Blood Debts
Cian
“Well, that was unexpected.” Seth sits back on his knees and goes silent. He nods toward Trissa and mumbles, “She’s only sleeping, but I put her in a dreamless sleep, just in case. She’ll wake up on her own.”
I manage a small smile of thanks and blink to clear the haze from my eyes. I’m not sure what to think or say. If Trissa really is a witch, then she may be able to help me finish the ritual. I don’t really care so much about being able to leave the house, but being able to control my phasing? We could have an almost ‘normal’ relationship, and she wouldn’t have to worry about me vanishing if we somehow lose physical contact. Hope and guilt war for a place at the forefront of my mind. I push a tendril of hair behind Trissa’s ear and look up at Seth.
