Turning to her, I asked, “Who wrote this?”
Alice’s chilling words haunted the space between us.
“You did, my dear.”
Wistor.Wistor. Wistor. It was morning, and the single word became an incessant whisper that I couldn’t escape. And the scrutiny inside the mansion was so thick it flexed its muscles each time I took a step closer to the dining area. Alice trailed behind with shuffling feet and clothes hanging from her forearm.
“Miss Adora, you must change,” she said, out of breath.
Exhausted, I waved her away. There were more important matters to resolve. My sleepwalking, for one. I thought I had it under control.Why is this happening now?
The other was the man on Bone Island and the infuriating way he seemed to have used some sort of twisted magic to get inside my head and enter my dreams.
Unwelcome images of Stone emerged with each step, and the way his eyes hit me like obsidian.
Hard. Fast.
Unyielding.
Maddening!
Pathetic was what I felt as I marched down the hall.
He was entirely infuriating and a stubbornhumph!left me while Alice continued to ramble. I couldn’t find the patience to bother with her. Anger had already eaten me up and spat me out. How did he do it? The only witches who had the power to control, trick, and influence the mind were the Pruitts.
For most of my life, Kane Pruitt had found pleasure in manipulating me until I began doing whatever he wanted so he didn’t have to use mind control. So he could trust me blindly. This was the price I continued to pay for what would come on the night of the Crimson Eclipse.
Was Stone a witch? A sea witch?Impossible.
But if he were, would I be able to tell? It wasn’t like we walked around with a badge of honor or magic flaming at our fingertips. Embodying power wasn’t something that could be seen. We didn’t have elf ears or enchanting wings. Not the kinds of things one would find in fantasy stories or fictional worlds. Even so, I refused to allow another man to have a key to get inside my head.
My steps quickened, angry footfalls echoing through the halls. I passed by the ancestors of the Cantinis trapped in gilded frames and wondered if they were aware of the dream I had in the night, the filthy thoughts of Stone that plagued me. No doubt, the ones he’d given me.
When I turned the corner to the dining room, all six members of the Cantini family sat around the breakfast table. They were discussing the monthly Town Hall meeting that would take place in a few hours.
At the end of the twelve-foot table sat Darnell Cantini in a wheelchair.
I froze at the sight of him.
Cold air slithered around my exposed arms and legs, despite Viola’s heated gaze. The table remained quiet, but I focused on the pale, thin man with hollowed cheeks and twigs as fingers. The Sacred Sea jacket swallowed his scrawny frame. Only a pile of bones beneath it.
It had been so long since I’d seen Cyrus’s father.
The years had only been cruel.
Viola cleared her throat and cut her eyes back to a breakfast plate, continuing to slice into her husband’s ham. “Breakfast is at sunrise sharp. Tomorrow, you will join us on time, wearing proper attire.”
The children also returned their attention to their breakfast plates, each wearing the black academy uniforms with the silver stitching my sisters and I had worn when we’d attended.
Cyrus’s gaze lingered, glossing over my naked legs.
When his eyes met mine, a grin curved his lips.
Viola’s sharp voice cut through the room. “Adora?”
I snapped my eyes back at her, not realizing she’d been speaking. Alice tugged on my wrist, and Viola looked at me as if I was ignoring her. “You have been dismissed. Alice will show you to the kitchen.”
I pulled my hand away, straightened my posture, and headed to the kitchen.
