No wonder he’s a psychopath.
All the videos of him as a teenager confirm what I suspect about him. He’s charming. Polite. Perfect. He’s been caught more than once with a hot magic-less girl on his broom.
His move into politics is unsurprising. He is something unheard of in Skadra — a witch with a familybackground. Because there is no genetic component to magic, it’s almost unheard of. All witches come to Skadra as orphans or refugees, and fall into a coven as a means of distinguishing themselves.
Often, witches who claim a witch as a parent are adopted, like Darisius’s children. The leader of the Weavers has adopted a handful of children over the last two hundred years, but often because they are too powerful to be denied.
Not Drayer. He was just born with what so many witches envy. A family who treasure his magic. And yet he still stole my fucking life.
I hate him.
Wren and Adrienne arrived at the exact same time as the night before, only this time the necromancer’s bag appeared even larger. Adrienne carried it this time, and appeared as bored as ever. Wren was beaming, particularly when she’d taken Gentry’s hands into her own.
Her wide blue eyes shone with excitement. “Ooooh, you’re closer this time. I can feel it!!” She pulled Gentry over to thechair. “Tell me all you’ve learned about him.” She hopped up and down, making Gentry’s hands brush against the scratchy pink-and-white monstrosity of a sweater she was wearing.
Gentry pulled her hands away before they got carpet burn. “I haven’t learned anything so far. All I’ve had is a creepy dream and I meditated.” She told them about the bird dream and all its gory details. Wren’s beaming smile never wavered, and Adrienne actually put her book down to listen, her eyes sharply interested in the way a scientist’s were.
Wren clapped her hands together when she finished. “See, Adrienne? Your potion worked! That certainly sounded like a deep psycho-whatcha-you-call-it was unlocked in Gentry’s brain.”
“A deep subconscious fear”—Adrienne leaned forward—“that’s what the potion said it unlocked. That, or long-forgotten memories, which is what the foreign bit of soul inside Gentry would present itself as.”
“A memory?” Gentry asked as her head swam. “How couldthatbe anyone’s memory? It was so… surreal.”
“It’d be rare too,” Wren agreed, “no one stays in their body long after they die. The urge to cross over is strong, and even when they don’t, they choose to vacate the body and wander the earth. No one would fight that urge to leave their body just to witness their body getting eaten by birds. They’d be torturing themselves at that point.”
“Chalk it up to a fear of birds, then,” Adrienne said before pinning Gentry with a level-stare, “have you ever been afraid of birds?”
“No.”
“Then the foreign soul is scared of birds then. Wren, scan her so we can get out of here. Imagine that you’re looking for a weenie who’s scared of carrion. A little bitch.”
Gentry had no time to laugh before Wren was once again grabbing her hands with her freezing ones. This time, she felt a slight tug at her center as the necromancer worked. It was a deeply unsettling feeling, and soon she was shivering.
“Merle, get her a blanket,” Wren bossed in a sing-song voice as she continued to tug and pull at Gentry’s soul.
To her horror, a blanket from her bed was dragged onto the floor in a rhythmic, persistent rhythm, as if Merle the ghost fox found the item to be rather heavy. The blanket then scurried up the chair and onto her shoulders. “Uh, thank you, Merle,” she said, not all enjoying the chilliness present on her shoulder.
The sensation worsened and moved from her shoulderthrough her face. Gentry bit back a curse, her heart racing from the ghost fox jumping through her. Adrienne was right; Merle was an asshole.
Wren finished her prodding about a minute later. “I think I found a lot of coward, but a lot of it seems to be Gentry,” she reported sadly, “I don’t think the carrion lead worked.”
Gentry felt dismayed at the news, and a little thrown off by the backhanded insult. She’d hoped to make at least a little progress tonight.
Adrienne stood up and stretched. “Well, we’ve done what we could tonight. She’ll have to keep taking the tonic. Come, Wren, have Merle pack up.” The taller woman held out her hand and the necromancer accepted it with a smile.
As the ghost fox started putting the knife, Adrienne’s book, and a line of candle incense away, there was a knock at the door. Kit’s knock. Gentry’s heart stopped, especially when Adrienne pushed Wren behind her and lifted a glowing palm towards the door.
“Stop, it’s okay,” she told the women, “it’s my… bodyguard,” she finished lamely. Kit knocked again.
“Well, open up and prove it then,” Adrienne snarled, her palm still pointed towards the door.
Gentry hurried to the door and wasted no time unlocking it, her hands shaking as she had an angry Weaver witch at her back. She cracked open the door to see an exhausted-looking Kit. “Be cool,” she hissed at him, “I have guests.”
Kit stiffened, his eyes narrowing at her words, but then he nodded.
Knowing that the proverbial cat was out of the bag, Gentry opened the door and ushered a silent Kit inside. Adrienne and Kit glared at each other, while a cheerful Wren waved. Candles flew into the bag as Merle continued to clean up.
As soon as the door was shut, Gentry turned around and sealed the lid to her coffin, “Kit, this is Wren the necromancer and her girlfriend, Adrienne. They’re Weavers. Wren and Adrienne, meet Kit.”
