Chapter 24
Archer
I’ve never been sure how Sybil can read me so perfectly. It goes beyond her magical abilities or being twins. She always knows what I need to hear without any context.
Last night when we were getting back from dinner at the Wolf & Flame, she stopped me right before I walked into my room. The assured, clear look in her eyes told me she was temporarily out of her trance-like state.
She said, “All you have to do is trust your magic, Archer—letitleadyousometimes.”
She has seen how much I struggle with my connection to my abilities sometimes. Divination Witches are almost as misunderstood as Gray Witches, but Sybil has the type of magic that people can understand.
The kind of magic humans make into party tricks, or that you’d find on the boardwalks with a crystal ball.
My sense of perception makes witches uneasy—manipulated, even. It’s an unnatural thing for a witch to be uncomfortable with magic, to not fully honor that connection to the highest degree.
And yet…
I’m always worried about how opening myself up to my magic will affect my relationships. Not that I have many right now outside of Sybiland Gale. I know they both wish I’d stop fighting it, so her unsolicited advice kept me up all night.
First, I was trying to figure out what the hell she meant.
Let it lead me where?
That question kept my mind preoccupied for a few hours, always going back to where I hoped it would lead me.
Then it suddenly hit me—what Sybil was really trying to say.
The “where” won’t matter nearly as much as the “why,” and the only way to ask that question is by going.
As soon as I woke up, I changed and went to find Whisper. Our bond gives him better tracking and hunting skills than the average coyote. Most of the time, he finds what I’m looking for faster than I do.
It doesn’t take long to find him slinking over town lines from the nearby forest after a night of hunting. Trusting he will catch up, I turn down the street, toward the main square. I’d walk all day if it brought me closer to the woman in my dreams, or the truth of that fateful night a hundred years ago. Whisper looked determined to stay every second with me after I explained what I was doing today.
Maybe I should be surprised my magic called me here—to the Dreaming Willow Inn.
I knew it was on the outskirts of town, but part of me felt like it wasn’t time, or right to be here. Gale never gave me any more details about the coven, and I didn’t ask.
Letting out a dry laugh, it’s so obvious now.
I’m still standing outside of the gate, certain I’ll findherinside that manor.
There’s too much to unpack with that realization right now. I don’t want to lose my nerve to knock on the door, but the awareness of what it means for her to be a Blackthorn Gray Witch begins to settle.
In hindsight, it was clearly the answer.
I glance at Whisper. His ears are perked, tracking everything around us, but otherwise he looks uninterested—which is better than seeing his hackles raised.
Taking a deep breath, I mutter a quiet, “Fuck it,” and push the gate open.
The moment my hand connects with the iron, I’m frozen in place—literally frozen.
My entire body feels like being thrown naked into a pile of snow. It’s a type of cold I’m familiar with having grown up in Junimere. It’s the kind that seeps into my bones and infuses with the very marrow of them, until I’m unsure if I’ll ever be able to shake it. The most horrifying part about it are the emotions hitting me like a cascade of arrows.
Short-lived affection and happiness are immediately clouded by guilt, heartbreak, and jealousy.
My stomach sours at the realization of these emotions, because I know they belonged to Barrett.
In every story I’ve heard about him, his jealous rage is somehow the culprit of two deaths, a disbanded coven, and a curse spanning generations. The only mystery left is where he went.
