I shuddered. The voice that surrounded me was so unfamiliar. It took me moments to realize it wasn’t mine, though it came from me. The
husky, feminine sound that clawed its way up my throat wasn’t mine. I pressed a hand to my throat, attempting to trap the foreign sound there; to keep it from making the air around me feel as if it burned with the fires of Hell itself.
A woman wandered the halls, her deep ebony hair flowing to her waist as she moved as if in slow motion. She held a piece of onyx in her palm, her fingers wrapped so tightly around it that I thought it might pierce her skin. I recognized her from the photos my father had shown me, from the portraits he’d commissioned in her memory. His home hadn’t been much, a cabin hidden in the woods to help protect him from the prying eyes of the Coven that would kill him if they found out he existed. But what little money he’d had, he spent on those portraits, on preserving the memory of the sister he loved more than anything.
Her eyes sparkled in a light blue. The color was unnatural, making me think of the coldest ice on the lake when it shimmered in the moonlight. There was an almost purple tint to it, the same way my one eye tended toward the color of lilac. Her forehead was twisted into a frown, her lips parting on a silent scream. She turned to look over her shoulder, dropping the onyx at whatever she saw behind her.
I saw nothing, stepping into the darkness of the hallway in an attempt to reach her. I followed after her as she curved around the corner, glancing
over her shoulder as if she were being chased. I couldn’t see anything, but I
felt it.
The growl that shook the floor, that made the windows rattle in the walls.
Loralei clutched something at her hip, and it was only then that I realized what the small, black pouch must have been. It was only then that I heard the call of the bones, heard them whispering at me to come closer.
To take what was mine.
It was unassuming, looking like any tarot bag or a bag of stones and bones used for scrying. The chain that wrapped around her hip was a bright, shimmering gold that sparkled against the black of her school uniform.
“I don’t have what you seek,” she said into the nothingness. Her stare remained fixed at the end of the hall, her body flinching with each step that invisible force took.
I faltered, only barely catching myself with a hand pressed against the wall. The next step closer nearly took me off my feet. The air around me plunged into cold so harsh it burned my heated skin, and it was then that I could see the breath before my face.
I gasped, my breath rattling in my chest. I couldn’t even see what was coming for her, could do nothing to stop it from happening all over again.
“Loralei!” I called in my panic. Her head snapped to the side sharply, that eerie blue stare landing on mine. Her eyes widened, as if she recognized me. She dropped her hand away from the bones that gave her power, standing still as she held my gaze.
“Run, Charlotte. Run!” she screamed as I stepped toward her.
It was just a dream, I reminded myself. I wasn’t in my body, not truly.
A burst of red filled my vision as whatever it was that I couldn’t see struck. Her chest exploded with three deep slash marks, her blood splattering all over my face. Her hand touched my arm, the warmth of her seeping out from me. Her face fell as she stared at me, as horror filled her vision. She dropped to her knees as the ground beneath her shook, as the thing came a step closer.
“Wake up, Willow,” she said, her voice soft as her eyes rolled back.
Pain tore through my back, setting my skin on fire as I fought to pull her to her feet.
“Wake up!” she screamed.
The windows at the end of the hall shattered with her voice. Her panic took me, claiming me for itself. I fell as the ground shook once more, waiting for the impact on my knees.
But it never came.
I woke, gasping for breath. I bolted out of bed, barely making it to the bathroom before my stomach purged. My back burned as I shoved my hair back out of my face, the skin splitting as I curled forward. Clutching the edge of the toilet, I waited for the heaves to end.
As soon as I could, I pushed to my feet and went for the mirror above the sink. Rinsing out my mouth, I hesitated to turn to look at my spine. It had only been a dream, and the pain I felt surely had to be a figment of the fear I felt upon waking.
But my shirt clung to my skin, feeling wet as it shifted. I pulled it over my head, moving slowly as I twisted to look at it in the mirror.
Three slash marks in the odd shape of a triangle marred the ink of my tattoo, cutting through the black shading of the curving branches of the tree tattoo that crawled up my spine. Blood trickled down from them, sliding down the back of my ribcage.
I pressed my hands into the countertop, curling my fingers around the edge as I stared at the frenzied look on my face. I’d dreamt of my aunt, and she’d known my name.
Not at first, having somehow confused me for the witch who’d died centuries before she was born. I clutched my head in my hands, bending over the sink as my stomach pitched once again. It didn’t make any sense. There was no logic to anything like this.
My bedroom door slammed as I spun to face the bathroom door, grabbing the stone soap dispenser in hand and preparing to use it as a makeshift weapon. There were no plants in the bathroom, something I would need to remedy immediately.
The hulking form of a male filled the doorway between the bedroom and the bathroom. His face was shadowed, his back cutting off all traces of the light coming from the windows behind him. My body hummed with energy, preparing for a fight.
“You’re bleeding,” Gray said finally, stepping forward.
Dropping the soap dispenser, I hurried to grab a towel off the rack. I wrapped it around my torso, shielding my breasts from view as he found the light switch with familiar ease.
“It’s nothing. Just my period,” I lied, deciding that the humiliation of openly discussing such a thing would be far better than admitting what I’d seen. There were some things that were just not normal for a witch. Being harmed by a dream was one of them. Only the Whites and Purples had the gift of sight within their bloodline.
“How am I supposed to uphold my end of the bargain if you aren’t honest with me, Witchling?” he said, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air.
“As you can see, I’m perfectly fine. Get out,” I snapped, keeping my back turned away from him. I didn’t want him to see the marks, not understanding what they meant. How could a dream hurt me? How could it mark me in my waking body?
“I can smell your blood. Show me,” Gray ordered, stepping forward. His fingers grasped the top of the towel, as if he meant to pull it away from my body. I didn’t know if the thought of being half-naked in front of him was worse than revealing the twisted injury on my back.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.
I let go of the towel, anyway, feeling it fall around my skin. Only his fingers grasping it held it aloft as it parted to reveal my breasts. His gaze dropped to them as his face stilled, taking in the swell of them. I felt the moment that gaze shifted slightly lower, grazing over my nipples and moving to my stomach. It was like a tangible thing, slithering over me like the serpent in the Garden of Eden.
“I can think of far more interesting ways to spend the night,” I murmured, stepping forward.
His eyes darted to my face; his breathing carefully controlled as I touched my finger to his chest. His shirt was partially unbuttoned, revealing a thin line of skin at the top. He wore no tie, no suit jacket. Only the thin white fabric of his shirt separated me from getting to his bare skin.
I slid a single finger into the gap, brushing it over his cool flesh.
“You’re playing a very dangerous game, little witch,” he muttered, his face tense as he stared down at me.
I pursed my lips into a pout, a slow breath leaving me. “Promises, promises, Demon,” I argued.
He moved quickly, grasping me by the elbow and turning me forward so suddenly I barely had time to catch myself on the vanity. The harshness in the movement stole the breath from my lungs, leaving me panting as I
leaned forward over the sink. He shifted behind me, placing a single hand to my uninjured shoulder. He gripped it, holding me still as I fought to push back against him.
That other hand brushed my hair over my shoulder. The tenderness of the motion made my heart clench, and I bared my teeth like a hissing wildcat. I’d rather he be rough and brutal as he inspected my injury.
I’d rather outright hatred than false affection.
His hand stilled on my flesh, making goosebumps rise to the surface. “Where did you get this?” he asked. His fingers resumed their motion, touching the wounds gently and sending a flame of agony through me.
I whimpered, grasping the edge of the sink more firmly.
“In a dream,” I admitted, huffing a laugh. Certain he wouldn’t believe me, that he’d think I’d been attacked while I slept and was too oblivious to realize it.
“Tell me,” he said instead, reaching around me to grab a clean washcloth off the counter. He ran it under warm water, wringing it mostly dry before he stood beside me and gently wiped the blood away from the wound.
I explained what I remembered, the vision of my aunt. I refused to mention the name she’d called me first, knowing that any connection to Charlotte would only call attention to myself. I lied, telling him I’d never seen the woman before in my life. I’d left off the details of the bones strapped to her hip, but I told him the truth of the creature who’d been stalking her.
Of the fact that he remained entirely unseen.
“You’ve seen it before,” I said, turning my head to look at him.
He nodded solemnly, turning me so that I could watch as his fingers traced the marks. They’d already healed into old wounds somehow, the skin scarred instead of raw. The pain still pulsed through me as if the wounds were fresh, sensitive to the touch despite how gentle he tried to be.
“It’s called the devil’s eye,” he explained, his voice solemn as he said the words. “It enables Him to watch you more closely.”
I swallowed, looking at him over my shoulder once more as I tore my gaze away from the rough slash marks. “Well, get rid of it!”
He chuckled, but the sound held no humor whatsoever. “A Vessel cannot undo His actions,” he explained, grasping my chin and turning me to
face him. “But perhaps you can explain exactly what He would want with you, Witchling.”
