Hannah follows me down the stairs. Isaac is fiddling with a pair of floodlights, transforming the antechamber’s vibe from “spooky murder room” to “ancient IKEA.”
My whisper paces back and forth in front of the sealed vault door. I thought she’d have already gone inside. But maybe she can’t unless I’m with her?
“Is your whisper here?” Hannah asks.
“Yes. She’s waiting for me.” My stomach twists into a knot. The magic inside calls to me, wrapping its tendrils around my limbs to pull me closer. I can’t stop myself until my hands are pressed to the old, scarred metal. “Help?—”
A blue glow surrounds me, the air suddenly thick with an ancient, spicy scent. It seeps into my pores. I breathe deeply, desperate to fill my lungs with it, and only then realize I’m no longer in my own body.
Gray stone surrounds me—us—as my whisper stands in the center of the vault. She holds out her hands, still nearly translucent in the flickering light.
We turn in a circle, slowly. Torches stand six feet tall in each corner, tongues of cerulean flames casting the entire room in an eerie light. Writing—etching—marks every single surface. Symbols. Words. Pictures.
Two steps forward, and a stone altar seems to materialize out of thin air. We move as one. I don’t fight her any more. She’s in control. I have to trust she knows what she’s doing.
A leather-bound tome rests on the ancient dais with symbols burned into the cover. Before my eyes, they start to move. Swirling, changing, alive with frenetic energy.
She reaches for the book, but her fingers go right through it. Anger prickles over her skin. Frustration. Pure, rawneed. Her emotions have never been so clear. She needs to touch it. To open it.
“You’ve done it before,”I try to tell her. But I have no idea if she can hear me. Or sense me.“Focus.”
MaybeI’mthe one who needs to focus. But how when I’m trapped in her consciousness? It’s not like I can control her.
She tries again and again, stamping her foot against the stone floor when nothing works. My head swims. The incense is too strong. The room starts to spin. The symbols slow until I canalmostread them. But then I’m falling. Flailing. A weak whimper escapes my lips, and everything goes black.
A soft rustling rouses me.Followed by a cool cloth draped over my forehead. I force my eyes open. Hannah leans over me, concern in her tired gaze. “Oh, thank goodness. You’ve been out for over an hour.”
With a groan, I try to sit up, but I’m too dizzy.
Nope. Not happening.
The heavy scent of the incense is gone—replaced by fresh linen and something vaguely fruity. Soft lights chase the shadows away, but I don’t recognize the room I’m in. I’m still dressed in jeans, a tank top, and my UCSF sweatshirt, but this isn’t my bed.
“What…happened? And where are we?” Someone is using the inside of my skull as a drum, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.
Hannah slides her arm under my shoulders, lifts me gently, and tucks a pillow behind my back. “You’re in the apartment over the lab. We worried we might need one of our healers to take care of you. As for what happened, you’ll have to tell me. One minute you were standing right up against the vault door, then you let out a scream and collapsed. We couldn’t wake you up—not even with smelling salts—but your vitals were all within normal ranges, so we brought you back here.”
Oh.
“What did you see inside the vault?” she asks, tucking the soft blanket tighter around my body.
I’m so tired. All I want to do is sleep. But I tell her everything I can remember. The blue flames. The altar. The leather cover, alive with symbols that made no sense to me.
“But my whisper couldn’t open it. She wasn’t strong enough. I’ve seen her affect the physical world before, but in that vault…she couldn’t.” A single tear tumbles down my cheek. Why do I feel like I failed?
“You did so well, Willow,” Hannah says, and her smile eases a fraction of my guilt. “The next time, you’ll be stronger. You’llbothbe stronger.”
“How?” I don’t know that I believe her, but she’s so confident, she must have some sort of plan.
“We’ll talk about that tomorrow. Get some rest. You’ve earned it.” She pats my shoulder, then reaches for the lamp on the bedside table.
My eyes are so heavy. But I reach for her arm. “I want to go home. Can someone take me home?” Even as I say the words, I know she’s going to refuse. I can barely sit up, let alone walk.
“Willow, I don’t think you should be alone tonight. Stay here. I’ll sleep on the couch in case you need me. Oh, and I turned the magic dampener on. Your whisper won’t wake you. She’s earned some rest too.”
I want to thank her, but the words are simply too hard. So when she slips out of the room and shuts the door, I let myself drift into oblivion.
Gabriel
