Taking a deep breath, I sat back on the bed and extended my leg. With trembling fingers, I carefully unfurled the fabric wrapped around mythigh, revealing deep, jagged scars that encircled my skin. Each scar was reminiscent of the shadow tendrils that embedded into my flesh and cut into my bone.
My fingertips traced each raised and indented scar, each line a record of the pain inflicted by my mother's unforgiving shadows that might have very well been associated with dark magic.
The memories surged forward, along with the harsh words that reminded me of how defective she thought I was, the punishments for not using shadow magic that knew no bounds, and a childhood filled with isolation, chained in that Fates-forsaken cellar.
My breath lodged in my throat with a silent sob. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the memories to go away, but they lingered just like the scars she’d left behind.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I forced my eyes open and reached for the fresh dressing to cover them. I might not have been able to wipe the memories of her from my mind, but I could cover the damage she’d done to me. With hands that wouldn’t stop trembling, I wrapped my thigh, making the bandage snug but not too tight as it became a shield against the academy’s prying eyes.
Once I was finished, I took a quick glance in the mirror that Dreadful hung on the back of ourdoor. Seeing my reflection would never get old. I’d wondered for years what I looked like, and the only time I caught a glimpse was in the reflection of my blood.
I looked poised in these clothes that Daryl had insisted on buying me. But beneath the fabric, I knew the scars were still there.
I turned on my heels and strode back to my bed, making sure I put Nebula and the enchanted crystal bottle into my bag and headed for the door.
As I left Bound Dormitory, I made a vow not to let Mother’s abuse dictate the path I would choose for myself. I wasn’t only her daughter; I was also Daryl’s. But even with the optimistic words I told myself, a sense of foreboding hung heavy in the air.
The distinct scent of iron mingled with the dry desert breeze, burning my nostrils as I approached Cryptic Altar on the way to Demon Basics. The tang of freshly spilled blood wafted toward me, making my stomach churn with unease. The last time I’d smelled so much blood, it was mine. A throng of students clustered around the altar, near a familiar magic circle that was formed by the dark blood soaked into the sand. My peers’ expressions were etched with a mixture of fear and fascination.
Where had I seen that circle before? Itcertainly wasn’t in the textbooks from this academy.
Steeling myself, I cautiously made my way through the crowd toward the other shadowy figures surrounding Cryptic Altar. The low murmur of hushed voices filled the air, punctuated by the occasional whispered theories that sent shivers down my spine.
As I moved closer, the heat of the desert sun beat down upon my skin. When I finally remembered where I had seen that magic circle, my blood ran cold.
It was in one of the dark magic texts I’d been given to read by my mother, and that magic circle had been a focal point of at least five chapters. It was a magic circle that called forth tangible dark magic. The oppressive weight of the dark magic circle seemed to press in on me from all sides, suffocating me with its malevolent energy.
My grip on the strap of the bag tightened painfully.
Suddenly, Daryl and Hunter were in front of me, blocking the magic circle with their eyes alight with concern. The sharp sound of their feet shifting on the sandy ground echoed in my ears, drowning out the muffled whispers of the onlookers.
“Dark magic,” I croaked, reaching up and resting my palm on the base of my throat.
“What?” Daryl asked softly, reaching out and patting my shoulder a couple of times in greeting.
“Do you have the bottle I gave you?” Hunter gestured to my bag.
I nodded, pulling it out and gulping down a few drinks. “Thanks again for that. It’s been really helpful already.”
“You gave my daughter a gift?” Daryl turned to Hunter, and they shared a brief moment where Daryl looked murderous, and Hunter looked defensive.
“Why can’t I give her a gift?”
Daryl’s glare speared him.
“I really like it,” I murmured, taking another swig of ice water.
“That’s great, Pandora.” Daryl’s expression softened, his gaze momentarily flicking toward me before sharpening as he gestured toward the water bottle. “You know I could always get you another. What do you say?”
I frowned, tilting my head. “But I already have this one, and I like it. I don’t need another.”
Daryl let out what sounded like a wounded whine as he shot Hunter another searing look.
Hunter held his hands up in defense. “Is it such a problem that I want to make Pandora’s life easier?”
Daryl crossed his arms with a huff, the air blowing a piece of his black hair that had been inhis face upward. “Of course not, but you better not make it harder for her, either.”
“How would he do that?” I blinked up at them before taking another drink and placing the bottle safely back in the bag.
