Page 123 of First Ritual
Corentin blinked, and Sven sucked in a breath, glancing between us.
“Bronte…,” he said low.
I gripped the door in preparation of slamming it a third time. “I’ve tried my nice words, so here’s them dumbed down for you two. Fuck. Off. I don’t need your help, and I don’t want your help. You’re two people I’ve had to deal with lately. Huxley and Wild too. Don’t mistake that for anything else.”
“What about Rooke?’ Sven asked, still in that same quiet voice.
I stared at him defiantly, then didn’t deign to answer, instead—successfully—slamming the door this time.
Locked.
No knock came.
I released a breath that did nothing to abate the churning ugliness in my stomach and chest. My mind too. If they’d listened, I wouldn’t have spoken to them that way. If people kept pushing, then what did they expect when someone cracked?
They were better off without me.
Energy drained from me with each step as I trailed up the two levels to the bedroom. Washing my face and climbing into my pajamas, I dragged the sole rickety chair in the room over to where my quipu hung on the wall.
And I began.
30
Dawn was near when I tripped over the tray of food outside my door. I peered down at the cold meal, vaguely recalling the sound of a knock late last night. I’d been emptying information into my quipu, something that took until 2:00 a.m. to finish.
There was a note.
Me bringing you a tray of food won’t become a regular thing.
Huxley
P.S. I have some questions for you about supernatural species that you’ll need to make time for.
Yeah, right. I could imagine rattling off demon facts for him to connect the dots. I’d guess the only reason they hadn’t gleaned the truth from where I’d disappeared to during my journey was because they’d grown up in the coven and rarely—if ever—ventured out. I banished the tray and crumpled the note to shove in my foraging belt.
This was my first dawn walk since the journey, and my magic felt distant. I’d usually be in a half-trance by the time I got outside.
My magic didn’t want to lead me today.
Or—the thought struck me—I didn’t want to be led by my magic. I turned that thought over. Did I trust my power now?
The immediate, shocking answer was no. The mother’s gifts abandoned me during the journey to allow the demon to seize control. On the night of my family’s murder, my magic had departed to allow the demon to set up camp in my divination affinity. My power didn’t defend me during my affinity test, when I’d tried to push through the block.
How odd to lose trust in an infallible truth of life—a foundation of who you were.
Was that the crux of my heartache?
I feared the demon within. I feared others finding out and what that could mean for my future. I feared not trusting myself if someone pushed the wrong buttons. But the heartache… the majority of that stemmed from the betrayal of my magic. I’d always put such unshakeable trust in that aspect of myself—that the mother had gifted my ancestors power that had found its way to me. All my old-school ways. The dawn walks. Bringing along foraging supplies to enjoy the abundance of the mother. All those traditions stemmed from that which had been betrayed.
Trust in that integral part of myself had been robbed away when I most needed it.
Anger swilled in my bloodstream like a shot of tequila that could only lead to a night of bad decisions. That feeling surged when I exited the caves and found the knolls swimming with other magus. Over thirty of them. Mostly younger.
Just my luck.
I pivoted on my heel and made for the nearest forest, seeing that most of the magus had drifted to the lake. Forcing myself to obey old habits, I foraged as I went and tried my best to appreciate the gentle shine and hum of night giving way to day.
Maybe I could salvage this day.