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There were entire courses on the subject of signifier acquisition, and she hadn’t completed any of them. All she knew, based on the location of the signifier, was that this one represented spirits.

“I didn’t call on a spirit.” Her voice was breathless. Panicked. “I don’t know how to.”

Dawson stepped closer and placed his hand on hers, covering the Shadowflame and her signifiers. “It’s okay. Let’s get you back to my place.”

“No, it’s not okay. I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want this. What spirit would I have even called? I don’t know their names. I haven’t gotten that far in signifier class.”

He took a deep breath. “Based on the design of your signifier, you called upon Bageya.”

“No, I don’t know who that is. I can’t call upon some spirit I don’t know.”

His eyes were soft, but concern was written across his face. “Bageya is the spirit of vengeance.”

Her breath shuddered, and she remembered the second string of power that had appeared in her mind when she tried to gather strength to use the relic. In her plea, vengeance had answered.

Silent tears streamed down her face, and Dawson gently moved a strand of her wet curls behind her ear.

“You need rest and replenishing potions, so let’s get you back. Can you walk?”

She nodded and stumbled down the streets. Her wet dress clung to her. When her teeth began to chatter, she spoke a warming spell that felt like a cocoon.

They didn’t say anything as they walked down narrow alleys, past closed shops and taverns. Every muscle in her body ached, and she still felt a slight tingle in her fingertips from the remnants of Dark Magic.

And then Mira froze. At the end of a little alleyway stood a man in tattered clothes. His hooded cape hid most of his features from view, but in the glow of the streetlight, she saw the shape of his beak-like mask.

This isn’t real, she told herself, staring at Rakkley.

He took a wheezing breath she felt in her bones.

Poor little Caster, out of her element. She heard his voice in her mind.

You’re not real. She pushed back.

Are you sure?

She wasn’t. Her right arm trembled when she lifted it, pointing it straight at him. He only laughed. Mira tried to focus on her powers, call on her spirit of vengeance, but she was too weak.

“Winters?” Dawson’s voice broke through the haze.

“I can’t do it,” she whispered in terror.

Dawson was unreasonably calm. “You don’t have to do anything. Just lower your arm.”

“Kill him,” she pleaded in a weak voice. “Please.”

“Kill who?”

Just then, Rakkley disappeared, like ashes blowing in the wind.

She was going insane.

She stumbled backward, and Dawson held out a hand. But she didn’t take it. She was too embarrassed by what had just happened. The last thing she wanted was for him to treat her like she was fragile. Weak. Insane.

—

When they finally made it back to Dawson’s house, he handed her a vial of potion to steady her magic levels and keep them from spiking and crashing. Something that happened often to new Wielders unfamiliar with how to use their powers.

With shaking hands, she took it. He studied her closely. What did he see? A mess? A woman who was losing her mind?