“They figured it out, but I wanted to be the one to tell you.”
She blinks a few times and lifts her chin in a stubborn manner. “Well, go on then.”
“All signs point to Barrett murdering Petra and Nestor. You realize what that means, Bil.”
She holds that defiant look for a few seconds, before realization dawns on her. Her mouth drops open and she lets out a ragged breath. “No.”
“Sybil—”
“I saidno, Archer,” she says and stands, pointing a finger at the table. “We did not come here so you could offer yourself up as some sort of sacrificial lamb for a murder that happened a century ago.”
Giving her a somber look, I say, “That might be exactly why I came here.”
“No,” she murmurs and shakes her head frantically. “No, no, no.”
“Hey,” I say and walk around the table to her. Her hands go to her head, and she looks around the room, but from the unfocused look in her eyes, she’s becoming a prisoner of her mind. She’s playing back every vision she had from the moment she stormed into my room that fateful morning to this very second, blaming herself for bringing us here.
Grabbing onto her shoulders, I shake her and make her look at me. “It was always going to happen. It didn’t matter if you were with me or not, but I think you are meant to be here, Sybil. So you have to stay. After.”
Tears are streaming down her cheeks, and she tries to stop them by pressing her palms into her eyes. “No—there won’t be any after. That’s not—no. That’s not how this is supposed to go.” Looking at me with crazed eyes, she insists, “I know it. Because I have to—I would have to know if you were going to die. I thought it would be me. I always thought…”
She trails off, and I don’t try to make sense of her words right now. She’s in a frantic state, one I haven’t seen since we were twelve and her magic was growing stronger.
Wrapping an arm around her, I look at the table. “I’m going to take her to bed. She’ll be okay… She gets overwhelmed sometimes, not able to differentiate between reality and her visions.”
“You’re sure?” Renata asks, clearly worried that Sybil is experiencing the same hallucinations she does.
“I’m sure,” I promise. When I look around the room, I see Rowyn’s brows scrunched in concern. So, I tell the Hearth Witch, “Tea would be great. She likes pepperm—”
“Peppermint with lemon balm and a drop of honey,” she says, already rushing to the kitchen.
“I’ll meet you in your room?” Renata says before looking around, embarrassed.
Nodding, I turn Sybil out of the room and I hear Esme let out a teasing, “Ooohh.”
“Don’t be a child,” Renata snaps, but it’s playful.
An hour and a half later, Sybil has calmed down, and is sleeping.
She refused to look at me, so Rowyn stayed in the room with us until she finally closed her eyes and let exhaustion pull her under. I left our friend in there, knowing Rowyn needs to feel useful in these situations.
I need to find Renata.
I’m fighting my own lids from closing, but the sight of her sitting in my room withAncient Rituals of the Heartopen on her lap has me perking up.
It’s funny how the sight of her can instantly turn my mood around—and how desperately I want to stay right here with her. Forever.
She didn’t look surprised when I mentioned my plan, so she sees the importance in it. It’s not that either of us expect it to make a difference in the grand scheme of things, but we both want answers at this point.
“Interesting nighttime reading,” she muses and holds the book up. “It only felt fair I dug around your room.”
Huffing out a laugh, I shrug and walk toward the bathroom. “You’re welcome to look through anything—or ask me like a normal person.”
She lets out a hum. “Can’t say that fits me.”
Stopping outside the bathroom door, I smirk and pull my shirt off. With a dip of my head, I motion for the shower, and she follows me.
Pulling the door shut, I quickly turn on the water, knowing she likes it nearly scalding.
