Puis elle se rappela la façon brusque dont il s'était arrêté devant elle, en posant son regard sur elle pour la première fois. Brusquement il avait oublié ce qu'il allait lui dire... Charity revit le changement subit de son visage... sautant de son lit elle courut sur le plancher nu jusqu'à la commode, alluma une bougie et l'éleva à la hauteur du carré du miroir accroché au mur blanc. Sa figure, d'habitude si pâle, s'épanouissait comme une rose sous la lumière ; et sous sa chevelure en désordre ses yeux semblaient plus profonds et plus grands que dans le jour. Peut-être avait-elle tort de regretter qu'ils ne fussent pas bleus... Un col étroit fermé par un bouton serrait au cou sa chemise de nuit en coton écru. Elle l'ouvrit, mit à nu ses minces épaules, et se vit en robe de mariée, sortant du temple au bras de Lucius Harney. Sur le seuil de l'église il s'arrêtait et posait un baiser sur ses lèvres... Elle remit soudain la bougie sur la commode et se couvrit le visage avec les mains, comme pour y emprisonner le baiser rêvé. À ce moment, elle entendit le pas pesant de Mr Royall qui montait dans sa chambre. Une réaction violente la bouleversa toute. Jusqu'alors elle l'avait seulement méprisé ; maintenant une haine profonde emplissait son cœur. Il n'était plus pour elle qu'un vieillard grotesque et repoussant...

“Take a seat. We’ll begin shortly.”

I shuffle to the nearest chair and plop down into it. “Can you tell me what all of this is about?”

“Councillor Clements is just in another meeting. She’ll be joining us shortly,” she says before turning back to her screen, as though her momentary break in focusing on her laptop is too much.

Ice fills my veins. My stomach clenches and I clench stiff fingers into fists.

Councillor Clements. My mother.

This meeting is with my mother, who I haven’t spoken to in over a decade. Not since she organized my detention and sent me off to be executed.

We aren’t exactly close.

My stomach swirls and I think I might actually throw up all over the horrible carpet. I wonder exactly what the woman hiding behind her laptop would say if I did, whether she’d react at all or just sigh and add it to her to-do list. She certainly looks like someone who always has one. And if she works for my mother, she’ll have her work cut out for her. Nothing is ever organized enough. Nothing ever good enough to meet Cecilia Clements’ exacting standards.

I know I never was.

“I have another trade for you,” I tell her. “You need some fresh water?”

Her head cocks to one side and for a moment, I worry she doesn’t understand me. Barely a moment later, though, she nods jerkily and gestures to the containers.

This is something I can help with. It’s more useful and certainly way less creepy than chopping off pieces of me and handing them over.

I pull on my newest magic—Zeph’s storm powers and beg the sky for rain.

I’ve been doing the same thing over the past few days, ever since we first arrived down here. And I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t have survived without it.

The demon lady cocks her head to the side, wrapping the meat in paper and then tapping the top with one clawed fingertip.

A couple of long moments later and then the rainwater starts to trickle down the walls, dripping into the containers.

Fresh-ish water.

I’ll keep on pulling on my magic for a few minutes, just until the containers fill up, since we’re also at a risk of flooding down here.

I was lucky that no one cottoned on to where my true powers lie back when I was a kid, or they’d have kept a closer eye on me while I awaited my execution.

I can absorb the powers of almost any creature. So long as I witness them being used, I can draw the power into myself, into my already brimming toolbox of tricks.

Glamor, necromancy, telepathy, blowing stuff up with fireballs, to name just a few.

And still my magic craves more. I suck in others’ abilities without them realizing, without them losing anything, either.

It’s pretty neat, really.

Or it would be, if it hadn’t ruined my life. Destroyed my future, and meant I’ve had to hide my true nature or risk being disposed of.

"Blame is easy to pass around, but it’s also hard to get rid of."

I walk for five minutes and come to a wide locked gate. The walls on either side are covered in flowering yet thorny vines.

As per Ms. Dixon’s instructions, I open the envelope. I crack the wax seal open and wonder if they got the idea from Rowling or the other way around.

She isn’t a supe. Is she? Then my mind reels with the question of how many famous people are supernatural.

Shaking my head to remind myself that my whole freaking life is on the line, I pull the card from the envelope and focus on its contents.

Which is… nonsense. Great.

I can’t read a word of it. I recognize the letters, but that is about it.

It’s not Latin or any modern language that I can discern. Then I recognize it… It’s Elven.

I don’t understand Elven!

I’ve barely even heard it spoken. Sometimes my mother mumbles words of it when she is being particularly creative in her attacks, but I doubt my mother knows more than a few phrases.

I sound out the words, attempting to emulate the slithering, rolling vowels my mother used.

After a couple of attempts, I feel a buzzing sensation in the surrounding air. I’m close to getting it right. Then I intuit that I need to do something else. Letting my eyes fall shut, I focus on only what is now. My hand reaches out and swirls in the air as if I were suddenly blind and needed to know what was just ahead of me.

The air is thicker, and I wonder if this is the portal Myra mentioned. I set my intention to open the gateway, and I feel a breeze hitting my face. Opening my eyes, I see a circular opening wide enough for someone to drive through. Brighter colors than I’m used to seeing jar my senses. Blue is somehow bluer. Greens are more vibrant. Things feel… alive.

We all stand in silence, waiting, until the elevator dings down the hall and the Alpha says, “Jake, go escort Mr. Matisse back here.”

Jake dips his head, then runs off to do his Alpha’s bidding. A few moments later, the most gorgeous man I have ever seen walks into the room. Jake’s probably back too, but I can’t see anyone else but the new arrival.

He’s somewhere in his mid-twenties and clearly related to Remy with that same angelic beauty, but where Remy has the cute cherubic thing, this guy—Remy’s brother Julien, I assume—is more like a deadly archangel. His hair is blond, a few shades darker than Remy’s, and it falls in artfully messy waves to his lightly stubbled chin. He has the same bright blue eyes as his brother, but the similarities end there. Julien’s features are sharper, giving that prettiness a more severe edge, and he’s at least six four with broad shoulders and muscled arms.

Julien Matisse reminds me of a young Brad Pitt mixed with a bit of Thor.

“Helm. You’re up.” I’m out of my chair before Maverick finishes calling my name. “While the rest of you wait for your turn, break out your textbooks and start refreshing your memory on each of the eleven planets. What do each of them represent? Which sounds the most like you? Which one are you most drawn to?”

I take Jack’s place with Mav at the front of the class and the energy signature of his wolf washes over me in an instant.

His teal eyes sparkle with affection as he gestures toward the telescope.

I wish we could speak freely. Most of the class is focused on their textbooks, worried more about their own Patron Planet than what we’re up to.

It’s about as good as it’s going to get.

I open my mouth to say something, and he shakes his head. Right. I know. At least he’s here with me as I make my connection.

It’s a big moment in a magi’s life.

“Ready?”

I nod, my excitement nearly bursting out of me. “Hells yeah. Let’s do this.”

I place my hands on the viewfinder of the telescope, hoping the physical contact will ground me. The telescope swings, searching out my Patron Planet the moment I make the connection.

It lurches back and forth in a series of random jerking motions that can’t be normal.

Focus, Jess, he urges across our mating bond. We don’t need to draw unnecessary attention your way.

I am focusing.

Glancing over his shoulder, he checks that Instructor Branston hasn’t taken notice yet. He hasn’t, but with the way the telescope looks like it’s learning how to tap dance, he will soon.

Shit. And now I’m getting my glow on.

The golden aura is working its way from the tips of my fingers and spreading up my arms, getting brighter as it travels.

Great, because that won’t draw attention.

But it’s not the glowing that scatters my mind, nor the closeness to my wolf, nor the hostile presence of multiple Branstons in the room.

It’s the image projected in front of me now that the telescope has concluded its dance.

RIVER

I turn my attention towards the thick conifer trees and brush that make up the lush forest encasing Helm House. Drawing a deep breath, I inhale the fresh pine of the outdoors, centering myself as I expand my consciousness. The forest teems with energy, calling to me, and I greet it eagerly.

I clear my throat and try to remember the words Auntie said when she addressed the elemental spirits. Communicating with the spirits is more about the druid’s intentions rather than the actual words anyway—kind of like magi magik.

Drawing one more breath into my lungs, I go with what feels right and throw my voice to reach the line of the trees. “Hear me, elemental spirits of this forest. I call to greet you properly. I am River Moongaze of the Silver Birch Forest. My mother is Catori of the Swift Current Clan, Watcher of the Rising Sun. We are honored by your presence and ask for your protection, guidance, knowledge, and blessing while we reside here. We promise the same in return.”

When we head toward the back of the building, I catch sight of the Genesis tree and suck in a breath.

Ohmygoodness.

Since the first time I saw the enchanted tree growing up through the old stone floor of the castle four months ago, I thought it was breathtaking.

Now, it’s freaking unbelievable.

It looks Photoshopped… as if Monet spent the past week adding in forgotten details. The giant tree, which was jaw-droppingly impressive before, has grown taller and fuller, the glass ceiling rising higher to accommodate the stretching limbs.

Maybe it’s the way the sun streams in from the glass ceiling, spotlighting the tree as if from the heavens. Or how the thick, lush foliage is spattered with a multitude of colorful blooms floating above our heads. Or maybe it’s the succulence of the fragrant air as I pull it into my lungs.

The atrium is alive and heaving with the emotional essence of joyous activity. Birds and butterflies dance and swoop happily above, too many to count. Beetles and bumblebees buzz in the mix as well, and I wonder where they all came from.

A brilliantly colored butterfly glides down from the lower branches of the tree towards us, swooping in the air once almost playfully. As it comes closer, I realize it isn’t a butterfly at all.

It’s… well, I’m not sure what it is.

I put my hand out for the creature, and it lands on me with fuzzy little legs. It has a nest of tangled twigs as hair piled above a little face with large eyes, no nose, and tiny little lips. Sprouting from its back are three pairs of delicate, purple iridescent wings that flap gently, tickling against my fingertips.

When it settles, it peers up at me and blinks.

“Hello there.” I look to River, the six-winged creature still perched on my hand. “What are they?”

“Sprites.” River watches with amusement as Wyatt and I interact with the sprites. A few more of them swoop lower to observe us until we’re surrounded by a huddle of tiny, winged creatures.