“I was conceived on purpose,” she continued, her voice soft. “Which sounds lovely, doesn’t it? That I was wanted enough that I was planned. But a baby was not what my parents sought, no they actually wanted a living vessel. Power requires a great sacrifice, and death is the highest offering. It was even better if that offering was directly blood-related to the casters.”
“They conceived specifically to kill you?” He still paced, fury evident in every stride.
“At first, yes. But they realised shortly after my birth that I wasn’t simply a black witch. Black magic requires sacrifice of the soul and mind, slowly polluting the witch until there was nothing left but a hollow shell. Even hours old my chi held no ill effects from the magic they tested on me, my chi able to repel the bad effects, able to withstand stronger magic for far longer than they could combined.”
“Canticum pro defunctis,” he said, his tone a low timbre that was laced with acid. “What does it mean?”
Kyra paused, his anger igniting her own. Guess they were no longer on friendly terms. “Exactly what it translates to. A song for the dead.”
A dark chuckle. “You’re a soul witch.” He flung the name like an insult.
Her hands clenched, arcane tingling her fingertips even with the restriction of the manacle. She had never reacted in such a way, always being able to surpress her irritation, to protect herself from others. And yet with Xander she felt it bubbling, ready to blow.
“That’s me,” she laughed without humour. “A soul witch, a rare designation born from two powerful black witches on the eve of a blood moon. Death is nothing but an essence, and I’m able to manipulate, or sing it into my will. My father used to tell me I was neither living or dead, but a conduit in between both worlds.”
“A witch with a secret,” he sniggered. “What a fucking surprise.”
Kyra snapped to her feet, and Xander stopped pacing to face her, eyes smouldering as if he too were on the edge. Which she understood, but that didn’t stop her.
“I had to keep it a secret,” she snapped out at him like bullets, knowing his persona of ice had melted, and if she wasn’t careful she was going to get burned. “Because if being hated on sight just because of my magic isn’t enough I would be hunted for my abilities, and not many people would ask nicely. According to Magicka law, I should have never made it past my first birthday.”
“Frederick knows, doesn’t he?” A snarl more than a question. “That’s what he has on you. That’s why you do everything he asks like a little fucking dog. Your power is repulsive,” Xander continued ominously. “To control the dead is…”
“You may believe I’m this horrible person, but I have no interest in harming others.” Her voice was more of a screech, but there was steel behind the words. “I feel it, every slice and every cut. I feel the death of the animals as if my own soul is being ripped out.”
“You would say that, wouldn’t you.” He stepped forward, a predator behind icy irises. “That doesn’t change the fact your magic is pure death, powered by others misfortune.”
“Don’t you dare tell me what my magic is!” She pushed at his chest, unable to have him so close as he bared his teeth. “I never asked for this magic, never wanted to be able to taste your very essence.”
Xander’s reply was obscured by his snarl.
“I never wanted this,” she replied, her voice quieter but no less angry. “I was kept in a cage my entire life, a room trapped in an endless darkness with no source of light. I was allowed out only to assist with spells, to be used as a conduit over and over.”
She had to swallow her cry, her voice straining against the hurricane of emotions. She swore she would never tell anyone of her past, but as usual Xander pushed and pushed.
“I’ve never known a life where I haven’t been used because of my unique chi, apetas you so delicately called me. Don’t you dare judge me when I’m trying to break the cycle.”
There was a pregnant pause, Xander’s chest so close all she saw was him.
“Are they dead?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet. “Your parents, are they dead?”
Kyra’s chest tightened. “I killed them.”
She had never admitted it, not even to Frederick who suspected what she had done. But he didn’t truly know what had happened, what she was actually capable of.
“I poisoned them with nightshade, just a little, enough for paralysis.”
They had been trapped inside their minds, eyes wide with fear.
“They hadn’t suspected anything, not until I let them see exactly how powerful I was.” A hot tear burned down her cheek. “I removed their souls from their bodies while they were still alive.”
It wasn’t supposed to be possible, and she had no intention of hurting them beyond the temporary paralysis. But she had been so angry, and she had felt a tug, a thread of sensation that she instinctively pulled. Their souls had ripped free from their flesh before she could stop it, their harrowing scream something she could never forget.
“I didn’t mean to,” she added, swallowing hard. “I just wanted to get away, but it proves that I’m exactly what you believe I am.” She touched the cuff on her upper arm. “It’s why I wear the crystal. It’s a siphon, it breaks the connections I feel to souls. Without it I… I can’t control it.”
She held her flinch when his face became cold fury, his eyes like rapid lightning.
“I can’t be here, not right now.”
