Immediately I attempt to escape through the network of shadows, but my power fizzles, and it doesn’t take long for me to understand why. My wrists are bound in front of me in cuffs of pure sunlight. All my energy drains into those cuffs. My knees wobble with the effort to remain standing.
Valeska flashes an evil grin. I cringe when she crosses to me and brings her blood-red lips close to my ear. “In time you’ll be begging to be my mate.”
My teeth grind even as my bones ache where the light shines through my skin. My voice holds every ounce of hatred I feel for her as I respond. “Don’t. Bet. On. It.”
2
Nuclear Winter
ELOISE
Damien slips through my fingers and I scream.
“No. No. No!” My love, my mate, disappears through the dark portal. With no hesitation, I leap, throwing myself toward the closing maw of darkness. It’s a stupid thing to do. I have no idea what’s on the other side of that portal. But I don’t care. I just want him back.
But it’s no use. Like a fish only drawn to one bait, the spell is selective. I pass right through it, ending up splayed on the floor of the attic, the wind knocked out of me. Pressure builds in my chest, clogs my throat like a fist, until it finally bursts out in an agonizing wail. He’s gone. He’s really gone. And the worst part is, my best friend or her family took him.
I will kill the witch responsible for this. I don’t care who it is. I won’t stop until their blood coats my skin. The only reason I know my heart hasn’t been torn from my chest is it’s hammering against my sternum like a prisoner trying to break through their cell wall. A fiery whirlwind of fury is building within me. I plant one foot and then the other under me.
Only then do I hear the low rumble in the room, like stomping feet on the bleachers in high school. All the books in my parents’ magical library are vibrating on their shelves, snapping their covers like rabid dogs. Pages rustle. Paper shreds rain to the chalkboard floor like confetti.
Something deep within me quiets at the sound. My skin buzzes with arcane energy. Each book tingles along my skin, as if invisible whiskers grow from my flesh and attach to their spines. I sense each of them. One lifts from its shelf and flies across the room, circles my head like a bird.
Another person might watch this display with wonder or awe. Maybe fear. All I feel is frustration. There is power here. There is power in me. But I haven’t the slightest clue how to use it to get Damien back.
Experiencing magic isn’t exactly new to me, but experiencing it alone, in the attic of Harcourt Manor, still is. Memories of the night I killed my abusive ex Tony rush to mind. Technically, he killed me first, choked me to death in my mother’s art studio downstairs. I descended into the underworld, where I saw the souls of my parents and grandparents living in an alternate version of Harcourt. They told me the tattoo on my back was a keyspell. Within me lives the power to open portals between worlds. With my parents’ help, I mustered the strength to stab Tony with my palette knife. At that moment, my mother’s sculpture came to life and killed him. Well, we both killed him. I knocked him off-balance with a well-positioned kick, and her tower of blades sliced through his torso and ended him.
Since then I’ve suspected that my house, Harcourt Manor, is some kind of conduit for spiritual energy. I hesitate to use the word haunted. It’s a loaded word with a negative connotation, and whatever is here with me is benevolent. Considering my great-grandfather was a spiritualist and claimed to speak to the dead during the séance parties he threw here in the twenties, it isn’t actually surprising that the place would be home to a few spirits.
Oddly though, I never believed in the supernatural until I met Damien and found out that my best friend Maeve is a witch. Turns out my parents were witches too, when they were alive. Before I was born, they practiced with a coven that used dragon’s blood to imbue its members with magical powers—the same dragon’s blood that still flows through my veins.
Fisting my hands, I shuffle across the attic, madly searching for my phone. I dig in the pockets of my clothing, still strewn across the floor from when I made love to Damien. Above my head, the flapping books return to their shelves like trained birds landing on their perches.
Maeve was supposed to help me navigate my parents’ magic. As a witch, she’s the only one I know who can help me distill the overwhelming amount of information in this attic. Now… if she’s responsible in any way… Dark thoughts fill my head as I pull the phone from the pocket of my leggings and dial her number with trembling fingers.
She answers on the second ring. “What’s up?”
“Bring him back. Bring him back now!” I shout. I’m shaking with rage. My eyes burn with it. My tears evaporate in the heat of my fury. And that’s not all. Red haze has moved in around me, and ash falls like spindrift. I smell smoke and sulfur.
“Bring who back?” Maeve asks.
Her confusion multiplies my fury. How can she not know? The entire world should know. The world should stop.
“El, what’s going on?”
The genuine concern in her voice sinks in a fraction, turning my skin cold. “You must know. You have to know.”
My accusations dissolve into silence.
I check the connection, about to ask if she’s still there, when she speaks again. “It’s almost two in the morning, El. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Take a deep breath and tell me what happened.”
“Damien is gone,” The words scrape up my throat, which is already raw from screaming. “He was taken in a cage of light. He told me… He said only a witch with his blood could do that. Who could wield a spell like that, huh?” My words fall heavy with accusation. Tears sting my eyes again as I add, “Your family just couldn’t let him remain free, could they?”
“When did this happen?” Now she sounds positively baffled.
“About five minutes ago.”
“Eloise, it wasn’t me. I’ve been in a bathtub with a glass of wine and a book. I was about to go to bed when you called.” My phone dings and it’s a selfie of her in her pj’s.
