Peering around the corner toward my father’s study, Elrod and Thatcher stand beside the door, waiting for my father to emerge. The darkness moves around them like a black curtain, shielding them from danger. The door flies open, and my father floats out with Calia at his side. Shadows pour off them as if they are one silhouette, connected somehow, that I don’t understand.Neither speaks as they stalk forward with purpose down the hallway.
I remain hidden in the shadows as their figures fade in the distance. One corner stands between them disappearing and me making my move. My foot shifts forward, but then Calia stops in her tracks. My father and the others continue around the corner. I freeze against the cold stone wall. Calia slowly turns, blinking through the darkness as if she knows someone is nearby. She’s smart.
She steps in my direction with a heavy foot, and my father shouts from around the corner, “Calia! Now.”
She remains frozen, her gaze locked in my direction as I continue to hold my breath. Whipping around, she disappears around the corner with the others. A heavy exhale escapes my lungs. Something is off about her—but what?
I creep forward, my stomach twisting the closer I get to the study, every creak sending waves of nausea through me. The door is unlocked, and I open it as I silently pray to the Gods. The rusty hinges squeal as I carefully push the door open, revealing an empty room. It looks no different from the last time Oak and I were here, which feels like ages ago. My feet barely move forward, passing the fireplace, unable to ignore the painting of my mother and father. Time seems to slow as my eyes meet my mother’s, frozen in time, precisely how I remember her. She is stunning and full of life.
My father’s desk is cluttered with books and papers—the same ones from last time—as if he hasn’t been here in weeks. I flip through the pages of the books before me, but there’s nothing new; my chest tightens with an overwhelming sense of defeat. My mother is gone, and I’m no closer to discovering the truth. Barlowe died knowing something important, and I fear I’m next in line if we don’t hurry. The study is cold, despite the roaring flames from the fireplace. As a child, I always wonderedwhat my father did in this room; he would stay cooped up for hours each night studying.
Moving from the desk, I see a drawer slightly ajar. My eyes shoot up, knowing this drawer was locked last time. Carefully, my hands creep to the handle, pulling it open with a loud squeak. It's empty.
Shit.
Refusing to accept failure, I pull the drawer with force, opening it wide enough to reach my arm deep inside. I lose sight of what I’m doing and rely on my feelings. My fingers sweep across the back, unlocking a small hinge, and I cautiously grab what’s inside. A zap travels up my arm, causing me to drop the small pouch and glance down at my hand. Black veins become visible, my magic reacting to this room or what’s in my hand: a key.
Scanning the room, the only door leads to the hallway. My eyes move toward the painting once more, and my body vibrates in its direction as I tiptoe toward the fire. The radiant gold flames roar before me, and I don’t allow myself to get too close to the heat.
Something whispers in my ear,“Move closer. Touch the flame.”
I spin around, but only my shadows exist here as company. I grit my teeth and reach my arm toward the flames. Golden sparks reflect in my eyes, and the fire draws near, its heat stinging my hand. My fingers brush against the fire, but instead of the burning pain I expect, a warm pressure meets my skin. Before me, the fire turns black, and shadows whip around, mimicking the illusion of flames as they wrap around my body. A scream escapes my throat as the fire engulfs me, pulling me into the fireplace behind the blazing world of darkness. My eyes snap shut as I brace for death to greet me once and for all, but it doesn’t come. I crack open my eyes to find I’m standing behinda thunderous fire. I’ve been transported behind the flames, and the office still sits untouched in the red glow.
The fire feels hot against my back as I move down the narrow hallway tucked behind the flames. Darkness flickers on the stone wall as the light from the fire dims the further I go. The hallway twists and turns, and it seems like I’ve been walking for hours. When I reach the end, a heavy door stands before me. My hand trembles as I grasp the key tucked into my pants.
I press my ear to the door, hoping to gain some insight into what this room holds: silence.
Sliding the key into the slit, I turn it to the right, hearing a successful click. The silence inside is louder than a scream traveling through an empty room. Sweat beads on my forehead as I push the door open, revealing nothing but darkness.
“Hello?” I whisper into the nothingness. “Is anyone in here?”
I steady my hands and shove the door wider in one swift motion, hoping the abruptness will frighten whatever might wait inside.
“Briar?” The faintest whisper travels to my ears, making me jump.
“Hello?” I repeat, moving further into the room.
Rose moves into view, her face almost unrecognizable.
“Oh Gods!” I run toward her, kneeling beside her chained body. “Are you okay? What is going on?” Panic rises in my chest.
“You shouldn’t be here! You don’t have time,” her voice barely manages to get out. I blink twice, exhaling sharply. Her voice rasps, “Your father did this. He found out about the letters. He has the resurrection crystal. I… I know you know what that means by now because I’ve been leaving you hints over the past few weeks.”
Shock travels through me. “Wait. What? You told me those letters were from my mother?”
She slowly shakes her head. “Arieste and I planned this years ago. We knew this day would come, and we would be ready to prepare you. We suspected that your father was planning to use the stone, but… I never knew he would try to sacrifice your mother.”
Tears form in my eyes, but I remain quiet, allowing her time to speak. “Your father killed your mother.”
The ground beneath me starts to spin. “No. That’s not possible. He wasn’t even here when she died!”
“She tried to stop him, Briar. Your father changed once he learned of a crystal that could resurrect the dead. Your mother was researching how to destroy the crystal for years. The night she left to tend to one of her patients, yes, he was out of town, so I traveled along with her. The crystal she used was charged with black magic. Magic no wielder has been able to handle in hundreds of years. He used her as a test to see if she was a vessel, someone who could handle the flow of power since she was so strong. She wasn’t.”
The vision pops into my head of me performing the ritual for Rohhit. The power I felt running through my veins, the darkness—it was easy for me to handle, but my mother wasn’t strong enough. My father tricked her into using that crystal.
“Why would my father need someone to handle that kind of magic?”
“Because Kalix needs a strong vessel. The Great Wiitch can’t live in just any Wielder. The rituals would be useless if a vessel isn’t available to possess.”
