“I volunteered. I knew she wouldn’t kill me.”
“Cora had her fingers deep inside your abdomen. Your blood was spilling everywhere because she couldn’t figure out how to use the Bloodstone. She wasn’t going to stop,” Bridget replied heatedly. “Not until she opened the gate. The only reason you’re still alive is because Quinn distracted her.”
Alexia paled, and for a second, the reality of what really happened in Cavamyne seemed to hit her. Or at least, Bridget hoped so. For once, a nervous tremble sat on the other girl’s lips. Stuffing her soda can in the trash, Bridget almost felt bad for being the one to force the reality of Cora on her. Almost.
When Alexia tightened her cloak around her shoulders, the one she’d refused to change out of no matter how many times she’d been asked, Bridget decided to change the subject, realizing now that the cloak might be from Andarre. She eyed the dark green stitching, and the thick wool that had hidden Alexia’s amethyst tattoos for so long. Did she use to have something similar?
A wave of dizziness hit Bridget hard. Not only did she have one bizarre past life with Cade to comprehend, there was another one in Andarre she still knew nothing about.
“So my father is not a nice person,” Bridget said. From Alexia’s descriptions, that much was obvious. He’d been so cruel to Cora, the Witch had practically tortured her to get back at him.
“Well… he’d probably be nice to you.”
The thought was nice, but it certainly wasn’t true. A father who cared wouldn’t have let her be shuffled from home to home in a new world with no knowledge of heractualhome. “Who knows… He did send me away.”
“Are you saying you would have been better off growing up in Andarre? Knowing exactly who you were and what fate awaited you with the prince across the sea?”
A spark of anger ignited inside Bridget. “Is that why he sent me away? My familyknew?”
Alexia paused, then slowly said, “I can’t be certain. I was never privy to the conversations between your father and Cora, and she certainly kept most of the details to herself. But looking back… I believe they did. Why else would he do it? Why else would he threaten innocent families just to ensure your return?”
“If my father wanted me back, why even send me to the human realm in the first place?” Bridget’s voice cracked, despite her angered resolve. The question reminded her too much of her childhood, the one she did remember. The one where she’d obsessed over that question until she’d finally learned and accepted there would never be an answer.
“Unfortunately, the person who would know the answer to that question is dead. So you can take that up with him when we get to Andarre.” Alexia’s face darkened as she glared at Stellan through the window. “If we ever get there…”
Bridget glanced at Nylah’s sleeping form. Theywouldget there. She still had to be cured. Then, almost like she knew Bridget was watching her, Nylah sleepily rubbed her eyes before burrowing further into Archer’s side on the couch. The heat that had been building inside Bridget’s chest dissolved. If growing up in Andarre and knowing about her past meantgiving up her sister, she wouldn’t do it. Not for anything. Not even for one less scar on her body. Bridget traced the outline of the Virgo symbol on her hand. “How did it start?” she asked. “Cora and the blood magic?”
Alexia stilled. A heavy silence surrounded them as the other girl got lost in a memory. Just when Bridget thought Alexia wouldn’t answer, she whispered, “It started small... A blood spell here or there to keep us hidden from the prince. But then… she started to talk to someone. Sometimes in a mirror… or a pond. Sometimes to midair. Like there was a ghost in the room only she could see. That’s when it got worse. That’s when it consumed her.”
Bridget’s throat tightened. Panic flared in her stomach. A ghost.The girl. Appearing to her like one. Like a vision from her nightmares, so real that she’d attacked it. “Was it Vega?”
Eyeing Bridget up and down, Alexia frowned. “She never said.”
It couldn’t be Vega. Vega wore a mask. And claws. And dripped blood. Bridget scrunched her eyes closed. It was the dreams. They’d become so realistic, it was getting to her. If someone from Iegorus was using magic to communicate with her, she’dfeelit. Pay the price for it. Still, she didn’t want to look in any dark corner in the room, afraid of what she would see. Grabbing her leather jacket, Bridget darted for the door. “I’m going to talk to Stellan.”
“Whatever hallucination you’re seeing…” Alexia said. The warning in her voice stopped Bridget dead in her tracks, the door handle like ice on her fingertips. “Don’t listen to it. Hearing voices is never a good sign. In any realm.”
Without looking back, Bridget thrust open the cabin door and slammed it shut. Thick blinds rattled behind her and she darted over to the porch ledge and leaned over the railing. The cool air stung her flushed cheeks as she took a deep breath. No one was using magic on her. No one wasusingher.
And shewasn’tcrazy.
“Having a nice chat?”
Bridget jumped. She’d almost forgotten Stellan’s presence. Behind her, he propped himself against the cabin, one boot flat against the wood. A puff of smoke disintegrated around him, the red glow from the cigarette hanging from his mouth barely visible in the moonlight.
Shivering, Bridget crossed her arms. “I don’t know if you could call it that.”
Taking the shortened, white stem between his fingers, Stellan offered it to her. When she shook her head, he shrugged. Only in a dark blue flannel shirt and jeans, he seemed unbothered by the cold.
“A bad habit I picked up here.” Moving next to her, he flicked the cigarette into the snow below them. “I guess I’ll have to stop now.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Bridget watched him take off his ball cap and shake out his blond hair, revealing the tips of arched ears. “And this,” he said, holding up the hat. He ran his fingers through the straight locks until they finally held in place off his forehead. “I guess there’s no use trying to hide once we’re in Elyria.”
How was he so old, but still soyoung? If she didn’t know better, Bridget would have guessed they were the same age. There was barely a wrinkle around his blue eyes. Or an ounce of trepidation in their silence. Mirroring her stance, he stood next to her, completely comfortable in it.
They’d known each other. Once upon a time. How was she supposed to talk to him?
But how could she not?
