"Because I recognized what you are." She said it simply, like it should have been obvious. "The convergence. Demon and witch bloodlines meeting in a single vessel. It happens once in many generations. But those vessels..." She shook her head. "They usually destroy themselves. Or are destroyed by those who fear what they represent."
My fingers tightened around the grimoire. "And you thought I'd be different?"
"I hoped." For a moment, just a fraction of a second, her perfect composure slipped, revealing something raw beneath. "Your mother thought so too. That's why she hid the grimoire in plain sight. Why she made sure you'd find it when the time was right."
The mention of my mother hit like a physical blow. Eloise. The woman who'd raised me, loved me even though she acted as if she hated me my entire life, died protecting me, and apparently kept more secrets than I'd ever imagined.
"What are you talking about?" My voice cracked. "I'd known she was obsessed with the supernatural and recently some kind of witch, but she couldn't have been powerful."
"She was a dangerous witch," Zandia interrupted, her tone gentle despite the correction. "One of the last of her line. She knew exactly what you were. What you'd become. The grimoire was her legacy to you. Her way of guiding you when she couldn't."
The room seemed to tilt around me
"She couldn't tell you," Zandia said, as if reading my thoughts. "Not with your father's enemies watching. Not with the Division already tracking supernatural manifestations. She did what she could to keep you safe. To give you time to grow into your power before it woke completely."
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. "And the dagger?"
"Not just weapons." Zandia's expression shifted, something like satisfaction flickering across her features. "Key. Bloodright. The dagger specifically responds to Eloise's line. Your line."
My hand moved to the nightstand without conscious thought, fingers closing around the dagger's hilt. It cooled at my touch, the metal seeming to pulse in time with my heartbeat.
"The runes," Zandia continued, watching my face closely. "They're written in your witch language. You can read them now, if you try."
I looked down at the blade, at the intricate symbols etched along its length. They'd seemed like decoration before… pretty but meaningless. Now, as I focused on them, something shifted. The symbols seemed to... resolve, like an image coming into focus after being blurred.
"Some of them," I murmured, tracing a finger along the edge of the blade. "Not all."
"That's to be expected." Zandia nodded, satisfaction deepening. "Your internal acceptance of that bloodline is still forming. The language will come as you embrace it."
I turned the dagger over, studying the runes from different angles. Some remained stubbornly opaque, symbols I should have recognized but couldn't quite grasp. Others leapt into clarity with each passing second, meanings unfolding in my mind like flowers blooming in fast motion.
Protection, one rune whispered. Boundary, insisted another. Blood-right, declared a third, larger than the rest.
"It's like..." I struggled to put the sensation into words. "Like learning a language I already half-know."
"Yes." Zandia's voice held a note of something I'd never heard from her before… pride, maybe. "That's exactly what it is. The knowledge lives in your blood. In your bones. You just need to remember it."
I set the dagger carefully on my lap, one hand still resting on its hilt. "Why are you telling me this now? After all this time?"
Her expression sobered. "Because you're ready to hear it. Because what's coming requires you to understand exactly what you are." She leaned forward again, her gaze intense. "I won't give you easy answers, Parker. I won't restructure your team or assign new personnel to babysit you through this transition. This is your path to walk. Your power to claim."
The weight of her words settled over me, heavy with implication. No safety net. No hand-holding. Just me and whatever was coming, armed with half-understood powers and a dagger that might be a key to something I couldn't begin to comprehend.
"What's coming?" I asked, my voice steadier than I'd expected. "Ro mentioned something watching me. Something that's been there longer than he has."
Something flashed in Zandia's eyes… too quick to name. "Ro speaks out of turn."
"But he's not wrong." It wasn't a question.
She held my gaze for a long moment, then sighed… a sound so mundanely human, so tired, that for a second I forgot she wasn't. "No. He's not wrong." She straightened, composure sliding back into place like a mask. "The convergence you represent threatens certain... established orders. Orders that have existed since before humans built cities. Before they learned to write their histories."
"And they're coming for me." The statement fell between us, flat and final.
"If they can find you." Zandia's mouth curved in a smile that held no humor. "Which is why you need to complete your bonds. All of them. The protection they offer is... significant."
My mind flashed to Ryker… distant, wounded Ryker, who couldn't bear to be in the same room with me most days. To Kearan, with his carefully maintained distance and secret sacrifices. To Trux and Rhiot and Seph and Grayson, all broken in their different ways, all somehow bound to me despite everything. They would all die if Kearan and Ryker couldn't complete the Tsigo bond with me. Time was running out, and I didn't know how much longer we had left.
"They're not complete yet," I said, the admission costing me.
