He sighs, running his fingers through his hair as he sits back against the headboard. They tangle with his horns, and he drops his hand to his side. I don't know what else to tell him. It was just a spell—no better or worse than the others. I haven't used anything other than the summoning circle spell, so I assumed this one wouldn't screw me over.
I roll to my back and yelp as something sharp pokes my hip. Omen practically dives over me and snatches up the book. He growls and drops the heavy tome between us, and it brushes me. A shock zips up my arm and I yank it away. Omen shoves off the bed and glares at the dark cover.
“If the damn thing is going to lash out at me, maybe I'll return the favor. I should have dragged it to the depths of Hell and burned it when I had the chance.”
“You can't burn it. Besides, it's an heirloom.”
“It's a fucking menace. And it's making you sick,” he snarls, still glaring at the black cover.
“It's a book, not a poison. It's not making me sick.” My voice breaks and my shoulders shake as chills wrack my body. Tears spring to my eyes, and I close them so he doesn't notice. Maybe it's embarrassment, though that doesn't make sense. He took care of me when I was on my period. He saved me from the washing machine. He's been saving me over and over, regardless of the requests.
He drops his hands on the bed and leans close. “What. Did. You. Do.” It's not a request.
“I…I got the book. No, the book fell off the shelf. It opened to the summoning circle, I assume because I was trying to summon you back.” I wince as another bolt of pain hits my back.
Omen mutters a curse under his breath. My chin trembles uncontrollably. I don't know if it's the chills razing my body or the memory sitting at the edge of my mind.
A familiar emotion blossoms in my chest, and I realize I've gone too far. Hell was supposed to be scary, terrifying, and full of screaming. At least according to certain people. I wasn't worried about where I was going, I was concerned for Omen, to the point where I fell straight into the depths.
And now I'm here, hoping he won't throw me away, all while telling him I'll leave. It's ridiculous and unhelpful to my situation. I'm making the same mistakes with him that I made with my friends. Avoidance is apparently my personality. If I pretend it isn't happening, then I can dodge the pain.
I close my eyes and an image floats up from the darkness. It's blurry with a silhouette of a demon with wings spread wide surrounded by shades of grey and red. A hot lance rips into me, but I don't understand why.
“What else, Clara?” Exhaustion lines his voice, despite being completely unaware of my inner turmoil.
“I got the candles and hemlock. The book was in Latin, though.”
“And we both know you're shit at Latin,” he says with a chuckle, and I scowl as best I can.
“I may have cussed at it to translate, and it just…did. After I said the incantation, nothing happened. Then the cat showed up and tried to eat the hemlock, so I went to grab him and tumbled into the circle.”
His brows pull low and he shakes his head. “What do you?—”
“Actually, the pages turned black.” I grit my teeth, holding back the cough. Between my lungs being on fire and the dryness in my throat, it's a losing battle.
“Spellsick,” he breathes.
I don't know what he's talking about. The book couldn't make me sick. My father warned me about spellsickness, but it was one of those warnings that didn't hold much weight. It was like the bogeyman or Krampus. They were cautionary tales to teach kids a lesson. I know getting ill from messing up spells used to happen in the old covens centuries ago. I assumed we'd evolved enough not to have to worry about things like that anymore.
My eyes flutter closed as a wave of heat washes over me. Fire burns through my veins and licks at my bones. I have no idea if this is from the spell or the trip through the dimensions. Maybe it's from whatever images are hiding in the corners of my mind.
Omen's lips brush my temple as he whispers, “I'll be right back.”
Memories flood back to me. Blackness. Numbness. Omen. There's a flash and the dream plays behind my lids once more. Except it didn't feel like a dream. It felt like a prophecy coming to life.Premonition isn't my strong suit. Some witches have the sight. I'm definitely not one of them. No one seems to have that particular gift anymore.
“Clara? What's wrong?” Omen's voice cuts through the terror gripping me. He presses a cold washcloth to my forehead and I bite back a moan. I didn't realize just how hot I was until now.
“I…I saw something,” I croak. “When you were bringing me here, I saw something. I don't think I'm spellsick. I'm just…scared.” I whisper the last word as if I'll be able to hide from the reality of what I saw.
“What did you see?” he growls.
“Nothing,” I breathe.
His hand slides into my hair, and he tips my face up. I meet his gaze and a tear slips down my cheek. The concern in his dark eyes overwhelms me. Twin flames erupt in their depths and the thread tying us together pulls taut. One tug and it'll snap, unleashing everything I've been holding back.
His gaze softens. “What did you see?”
“I saw you dying.”
