“Enough,” Aerin snarls. Her tolerance is at the end of its leash. Black magic rolls like smoke from her skin, a warning and a threat. The Witch’s eyes widen a fraction.
A moment later Aerin knows why.
Malice slams down a few feet in front and to the right of Aerin, his descent so violent it forms a small crater in the earth around him. He stands slowly, a low growl emitting from his chest as he levels his gaze on the Witch. He’s the picture of power. His body formidable, his wings flared ominously, and flames flickering from his palms.
In her periphery, Aerin sees another figure. Emrys steps forward on her left, mirroring Malice. He’s larger than she’s ever seen him, her head hardly reaching his white shoulder, larger than any predator Shifter. He bares his teeth at the Witch, his canines longer than Aerin’s forearm. Hackles raised, he's big enough to rip the Witch in half.
Aerin looks back to the Witch, the black magic still swirling out of her palms. It drifts off her like steam, misting the ground, ready to pounce at her command.
The Witch becomes stoic, though her purple magic hovers in both palms down by her side.
“Looks like I’m not alone anymore,” Aerin says, gesturing to her bonded-mates. For once, she’s grateful Malice is such a pain in her ass.
The purple magic fades from the Witch’s palms. She stands up straighter, disbelief cast over her features before she smiles wide.
“No, you are not, and now, I know exactly who you are, Aerin Tolvare.” The Witch appraises her once more, looking at her with something close to awe.
“You are the Phoenix.”
55
AERIN
After the Witch’s declaration there is silence. Malice and Emrys take turns glancing over their shoulders at Aerin. She doesn’t know what it means either, shrugging before they all turn their attention back to the Witch.
“Come.” The Witch gestures, turning on her heel and casually walking up the steps of the ruins as if she wasn’t inches from blasting Aerin into oblivion minutes ago.
Aerin shares an uneasy glance with Malice before following. The males flank her as she enters the ruins. Where before, the marble was coated with dirt and leaves, it’s now so clean it shines. A blanket lies in the middle, adorned with various items in small bowls that encircle a larger ceramic one. The Witch sits cross-legged on the far side of the blanket, her back to the ocean. She gestures for Aerin to sit across from her.
Aerin doesn’t dare glance at Malice again before sitting down across from the Witch, magic still hovering at her fingertips. Malice stands back, planting himself against a pillar, arms folded across his chest. Emrys sits directly behind Aerin, so close she can put a hand down to her side and feel his massive paws.
“I will help you, Aerin Tolvare, just as my grandmother did before me.” The Witch holds out her palm. Aerin hesitates, studying her. Features of the Witch from her childhood fall into place on the one before her, like a murky picture: same eyes, same nose, same cheekbones.
“I am sorry, for what happened to her,” Aerin placates, telling the Witch the truth as she fishes the locket from her backpack. She places it in the Witch’s outstretched hand.
The Witch immediately drops the necklace into the central bowl. She doesn’t speak as she adds things from the smaller bowls: a white crystal, green powder, blue liquid. The Witch holds her hands over the bowl, her purple magic once again swirling in her palms as she begins a low chant in a language none but the Witches know.
A sacrifice will come next, always in the form of Aerin’s blood. Fishing the knife out of the heel of her shoe Aerin holds her hand over the bowl, wrapping her fist around the blade.
Aerin hisses as she slides the knife out of her grip, and blood runs in rivulets out of her fist and into the bowl. Each drop is accompanied by a sizzling sound as her blood is consumed by the magic and fused in the locket.
The Witch continues murmuring as Aerin pulls her hand back to her chest. Malice, appearing at her side, takes her palm, wrapping the cut in a strip of cloth and gently tying it off. Aerin’s chest warms as he does. The cut will be closed in less than ten minutes and yet Malice doctors it. She pushes down her feelings as the Dragon-Fae backs away again, taking up his position at the pillars once more.
In a flash of purple magic, the Witch goes silent, and inside the bowl lies only one item: the locket. She picks it up by the chain and holds it out to Aerin to take.
“This should be enough to mask the Human,” she says.
Aerin stills. She never told the Witchwhyshe needs the locket.
As if reading her mind the Witch says, “I know many things about you, Aerin Tolvare. Many things you don’t know about yourself.”
“How?” Aerin asks immediately. The Witch holds up her hand, halting the questions poised on Aerin’s tongue.
“I will answer three questions, one from each of you. This is all I can give you, Aerin Tolvare.” Her brown eyes dig into Aerin. It’s like Witches to be tricky, to be careful with their words and their gifts.
“The Dragon-Fae may ask first,” she says, turning her full attention to Malice leaning against the wall. Aerin expects Malice to consult her, to know what she wants to ask, instead he speaks.
“Why did you call Aerin a Phoenix? To my knowledge, a Phoenix is a creature of Old. One that’s born from three lineages of magic, has died, and been resurrected.” Malice’s blue eyes find her. “Aerin only has two types of magic, and has never died.”
