It wasn’t just his tone. I didn’t know how I knew, but I felt it as a part of me, an undeniable fact that something was not quite honest about what he’d said.
I took a small step backward, closer to the door. “Look. I don’t want to be a witch. I don’t need magic or spells. And I’m not going to Everden.”
“Ember.” As if spoken to a child. “You have to.”
“I don’t. The treaty expired eight months ago. No one cared.”
“You’re a Blackburn,” he said pointedly. “They cared.”
Was I though? I didn’t identify as one. I was a Rose, even if my motherwasone of the Echelons, a Magister of sorts — one of eight scholars who controlled Everden’s supply of spellcasting magic and sat on the Council that ruled over their realm. But to call me a Blackburn? Leland was wrong. He didn’t know all the ways Helen had shown me I wasn’t, the birthdays she’d missed, the milestones that went uncelebrated.
My stomach flooded with a nauseating feeling, and I looked stubbornly off to the distance. “If they cared,” I said, “then why did they leave me? They took Ash the moment she turned eighteen.”
“I don’t know,” he said seriously. “I only know you can’t stay. Humans don’t want witches here permanently. If you stay, humans will interpret it as an occupation, as us declaring war. It would undo all the progress we’re making — ”
My phone vibrated and nearly fell out of my grip as I registered the meaning of the notification.
Leland, evidently annoyed by my scattered attention, said, “In our realm that’s considered rude, by the way — answering a message when someone’s in the middle of talking — ”
“It’s my dad.” I glared. Actually, it was an alert from his smartwatch about his heart rate spiking. Because the entire time I’d been arguing back and forth with Leland, Dad had been spiraling alone. “I have to go inside now.”
“I can’t let you do that.” Quicker than lightning, his hand shot out to brace the door.
I winced at the sound of the loud impact. I knew the effect it would have.
“I’mgoinginside,” I said, no time to negotiate. “You’re welcome to follow.” The comment, though rushed and hostile,was sufficient to disable any wards.
I raced to the back of the house without a second look back at him — not thinking about the fact that there was a reason why witches weren’t invited inside lightly.
I found Dad rocking back and forth in his chair, his hands pressed hard against his ears. His watch battery, flashing red, was about to die from alerting. I’d never seen it this bad.
Quickly, I began to comprehend the words he mumbled between winded gasps.
It’s starting. They’re here. This is it. The prophecy.
Dad didn’t see me. I don’t know what he saw, perhaps the war he once spoke of, but he was locked in a vision of something not real, and the more I shouted “Dad,” the more I filled with dread because it wasn’t helping.He couldn’t snap out of it.
Leland moved fast. Kneeling on our living room floor, he unzipped his bag in a fluid motion. “What’s wrong with him?” he asked, rummaging through his backpack. “Why is he doing that?”
I couldn’t believe how fast his hands moved, how purposeful and direct he was, my complete and total opposite as I was stuck panicking over how every one of Dad’s strangled breaths sounded like it might be the last one.
“It’s some kind of panic disorder that got worse eight months ago.” I waved my arm toward the front door. “He’s afraid of the outside. It started with you knocking, but” — I fluffed a blanket over Dad’s legs because what else was I supposed to do? — “I’ve never seen it this bad before.”
Leland glanced up from the floor. “Will he take a pill?”
Dad gasped out the words he’d been repeating, faster now.
It’s starting. They’re here. This is it. The prophecy.
I shook my head.
“All right,” Leland said, syringe in hand. “Injection it is.”
Before I could stop him, Leland plunged a needle into Dad’sthigh, cutting off his mumbling as whatever he’d injected him with caused him to go utterly still. Dad’s head slumped to his neck, his breath giving up its struggle.
I charged at Leland. My blood on fire, I saw red. “What did you do to him?” I leaned down to listen for any sign Dad was still with us, sighing with relief as I felt his living breath on my skin. Then I turned to Leland. “What,” I repeated, “did you give him?”
“A depressant.” His eyes, carefully monitoring my father, were touched with apology. Hazel, I realized now that we were indoors, and something about the sincerity in them helped me calm down enough to forgive him for a minute. “Has he done that before — said those things about a prophecy?”
