Ben improved the farther we got from the château.
He kept to himself in the back seat, occasionally wincing and crying out as his bodies were subjected to partial changes. His form became more stable as we traveled toward the nearest city, Des Moines.
The plan was to fly out to Massachusetts in the interest of saving time and avoiding the cross-country road trip.
Grant drove, his knuckles tightening on the wheel every time Ben reminded him that he was there.
I wanted to soothe both of them, wanted to take Grant’s hand over the middle console of the truck, and wanted to hold Ben when he turned toward the window, sweat dousing his forehead and neck.
I remained rigid in my seat, unable to help either one of them as I tucked my hands underneath my thighs and gazed out the window.
What I had seen so far wasn’t much different from my home state. Mostly stretches of forest with tiny bursts of suburbia.
I heard Ben sigh in the back and peeked at him through the rearview mirror.
He had his head tipped back against the seat, the column of his throat glistening with sweat as he dragged in long gulps of air through his nose.
“Are you okay?” I asked him tentatively, aware that Grant turned his head to watch me.
Ben answered me through his teeth. “Dandy.”
“Is there anything we can do to help?” I inquired. “We can stop and get you water or—”
“You can be quiet,” Ben remarked snidely.
“Hey,” Grant snapped with a growl, “she’s trying to help.”
I watched Ben close his eyes and cringe. “I’m fine.”
We lapsed back into silence.
The drive to Des Moines was straightforward. Nothing pursued us. If the Daemon Hunters were still after me, they were unwilling to enter Iowa, and for that I was thankful.
Ben was breathing easy by the time we made it into the Des Moines International Airport.
He dragged behind Grant and me, exhausted from two days of partial shifting, but his body was no longer trying to evict him.
“I hate being around people,” Grant murmured as he eyed passing travelers with distaste.
Everyone seemed to be in a hurry as they tugged along suitcases and slung carry-ons over their shoulders. I watched as two young women ran after each other, about to miss their flight.
“I don’t blame you,” I said as we walked, my hands wrapped around the straps of my backpack.
Ben was tight-lipped, his tawny eyes growing wider the longer we walked and the farther we delved into the crowd.
My hand itched with the instinct to grab his, to guide him through the airport and assure him that he wasn’t alone. I felt a dull pulse at my neck and met his eye, knowing he wanted the same thing.
“The tickets are how much?” Grant murmured to me under his breath.
I elbowed him as we stood in line, the airline official eyeing us warily. “It’s cheap considering,” I whispered back, “it’s a last-minute flight, so we’ll pay whatever we have to.”
Not that money was an issue after Felix handed me his black credit card.
“How do vampires make money?” Grant whispered back, a smile coiling his lips. “Do you suppose they use the funds of the people they suck dry?”
I laughed at the awful joke. “Maybe they moonlight as crime scene cleaners,” I offered. “I’m sure they’d do a good job cleaning up blood stains.”
Grant snorted. “I know now why you rarely attempt to make a joke.”
I glared. “I’m funny,” I declared, “just not when I’m involved in supernatural adventures and forced to make life-altering decisions at every turn.”
When he didn’t laugh, I cleared my throat. “How do werewolves make money?”
He shrugged after a long pause. “You know, I never really considered. Funding the pack has always been the job of the alpha. I guess…well…
“Packs often own more land than they carve out for their territory. I think a large majority of alphas act as landlords and make money that way.
“Otherwise, pack funding comes from investments made by past alphas.”
I looked over at Ben in an attempt to include him. “Do you know how your old alpha made money?”
He gave me a dark look. “I was an omega. I had no part in pack business.”
“Not all omegas are treated poorly,” Grant rumbled.
“I was.”
That was the end of that.
Somehow, we made it through customs and past security to the loading gate.
The TSA agent basically snarled at us as we handed her our tickets, her eyes glazed over from too many customer complaints and long hours.
To my surprise, it was Grant who became a little shaky as we boarded the plane. I touched his arm, and he jumped, his pale eyes wide and nervous.
“I’ve never flown before,” he admitted under his breath. “I’ve always traveled by car or foot.”
“It’ll be fine,” I assured him, pointing toward two empty seats. “It’s easy.”
With a grumble, Grant slid into the window seat and tried to relax, his eyes darting out the window and over the other passengers.
I shoved my bag into the overhead compartment and turned to sit with him when I noticed Ben watching us with bright eyes.
Before I could say anything, he mumbled, “I’ll sit somewhere else.”
“Ben—” I cut myself off as he disappeared to the back of the plane.
Grant was looking at me as I sat beside him, buckling my seatbelt and grabbing the in-flight magazine.
I felt his hand on my knee and bit my lip as tears welled. I wasn’t sure if they were out of guilt or rejection.
“I haven’t gotten the chance to speak with him,” I murmured, paranoid he could hear me from the back of the plane despite the engines whirring and the idle chatter.
“The last time we saw each other we were at the ball, and we were…together. Then he started to change, and I danced with you and…” I closed my eyes.
“It was never going to be easy,” Grant said. “He knows that.”
I sighed. “Yes, but after everything he endured—he came through on the other side, and I was suddenly with you. To him…he must be… I’m not surprised he hates me.”
“He doesn’t,” Grant rumbled.
“He does,” I argued.
Grant shook his head. “Trust me, he loves you.”
“That’s worse,” I said, dropping my head into my hands. “He thought I was going to be the one to break his curse,” I admitted.
“And until I got close with you, I thought the same thing. I thought—that I could make him happy, despite our conflicting mythologies.”
“You can only do your best, witch,” Grant said, taking my hand. His fingers were warm and strong. I grasped onto our enclosed hands with my free one, leeching on to the security he offered me.
It was my strength Grant needed as we headed for takeoff, his teeth grinding together and his eyes wide as we were catapulted into the sky.
He grabbed my hand every time turbulence struck and the plane wobbled, which it did frequently over the four-and-a-half-hour flight.
He was even more distraught on the landing, one hand squeezing mine and the other braced against the window as he leaned back in his seat, almost as if he himself could slow the plane’s descent.
We met Ben in the airport, his face slightly pale as he approached us. It was near sundown, and the stress of flying had taken its toll on the three of us.
We agreed to sleep before we tried to find Ruth in the morning.
“And how many rooms?” the pretty concierge asked, batting her thick eyelashes at me.
I hesitated, Felix’s credit card in hand as I turned to look at Grant and then at Ben. It was the tightness in Ben’s jaw that made me ask for three.
The concierge handed us our card keys, and we departed with a smile. I gave one to Grant with a stern look and then the other to Ben.
The three of us lingered for a moment in the lobby, unsure of what to say to each other.
“What time in the morning?” Ben finally asked, his golden eyes jumping up to mine and then drifting away.
“Early,” I answered. “I want to give us enough time to get there, convince her to come with us, and fly back.”
“We’ll check out at six thirty,” Grant decided, unable to shake the small frown that had appeared on his face when I asked for separate rooms.
Ben nodded.
I stopped him by the elevators, grabbing his hand. I jumped when he pulled away, his eyes immediately freezing. I lost my words for a moment, my mouth gaping like an idiot as I tried to collect myself.
I closed my eyes and opened them. “I was wondering if you wanted to come to my room.” He raised an eyebrow. “To talk,” I amended, “about everything that’s happened since the ball.”
I saw a brief spike of panic. “No.”
“Please,” I tried, my throat dry. “I—I need to explain and—”
“Explain what?” he asked, drawing in a savage breath through his teeth.
“I felt everything, Morda, felt everything you did during the ball, during the change. I have a pretty good idea of what happened between you and Grant.”
“Nothing,” I rasped, not caring that people were now glaring at us as we blocked the doors to the elevator. “Nothing happened between us, Ben. I would never—”
I stopped myself because it hadn’t been me to resist that night, it had been Grant who exercised self-control.
He shook his head sharply.
“Not that. But I felt a—an overwhelming sense of love that wasn’t for me. I know you chose him. I know you made your decision while I was locked in a cell, screaming for you while—”
He choked himself off.
I reached for him again. “Ben, can we please talk?”
“And then you came back,” he said, lifting his eyes to mine.
“You came back, and you brought him with you, and I knew as soon as you were in the room that there was something different between you, that you had accepted each other as—”
A growl slipped from his teeth. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Please,” I insisted firmly.
“Ditra was right,” he said, his voice hollow. “She was right about you.”
I felt nothing as he slipped into the open elevator and disappeared.
“Morda,” Grant murmured as he came up behind me.
“Okay,” Grant relented, nodding his head. “Okay.”
I dragged myself up to my room, grateful for the empty elevator as I slid to the ground and rubbed my eyes with my fists, tears starting to fall as I fumbled for the door key and fell into my room.
I clawed at my chest, at the tightness of my lungs and the suffocating hole between them. There was nothing there anymore, no heart to steady me, to ground me.
Instead, I grieved recklessly, tears coming in forceful bursts followed by long periods where I lay on my bed, legs curled to my chest as I stared at the drawn curtains.
I missed my mother. Missed her with an ache that pulsed in my bones, in my skull.
I missed her so fiercely that my breath was stolen, that I was sure I would collapse around my empty chest, succumb to the void that had replaced that vital organ.
Ever since I left Roseburg, I had made mistake after mistake. Without her, I had no guide, no sense, no direction. I was reckless with my choices, reckless with the lives of others.
I was again a wildfire, burning others without provocation or care.
And I hated myself for it.
I sat up on the bed, my eyes puffy and sore, and caught my reflection in the mirror across the room. I glared at myself, narrowing my eyes as I scrutinized my face.
I picked up the long hair over my shoulder, glaring at it as I stood and padded to the bathroom.
I scoured the room for scissors, the best alternative a steak knife from the room service Grant had sent me hours before. I fisted the knife, laying it against a chunk of my hair and gritting my teeth.
I wanted to hack it all away, wanted to watch it fall into the sink. I wanted to shed it all and become a new person, become someone new, someone stronger who didn’t fall as much.
Someone I didn’t hate.
I readjusted my hold on the knife, my knuckles white as I grabbed my hair. “Fuck,” I murmured, my eyes once again burning.
And then I saw my mother.
I saw her in my deep-brown eyes, in the curve of my nose, in the tumbling dark hair I wanted rid of. I saw her in my frown, in the lines around my mouth, and in the freckles that dusted my face.
I saw myself beneath her, saw the rage that she could never own. The self-loathing she never showed. The insecurity she had long outgrown. The fire that she had tamed and that burned wild in me.
The knife clattered into the sink as I let go, my eyes once again burning as I realized that cutting my hair would never make me a different person.
It wouldn’t change anything, wouldn’t alter my identity, wouldn’t make me hate myself less.
And she was right. Perhaps I couldn’t fool witches the way I could others, perhaps they could see beneath the smile and the calm exterior I had been sculpting.
Perhaps Ditra had looked at me and seen the empty cavity, perhaps she had looked at me and known what I was.
Heat sparked in my veins and a moment later, I was burning with it. Burning with the pain of losing my mother and the agony I had forced on Ben and Grant.
I gritted my teeth as I doubled over, the flames raging out of my control as I lost whatever hold I had on my power.
The mirror in front of me seemed to glow red for a moment before it shattered completely, raining down shards of glass onto the counter, floor, and my outstretched arms.
I yelped and stepped back, shards of mirror embedding themselves into the soft skin of my feet.
I fell back against the bath, sitting on the ledge of the tub as I lifted my foot into my hands.
I folded my lip into my mouth as I ogled the thin streams of blood leaking from where the glass had wriggled into my supple flesh.
I picked out the pieces and flung them across the room before I slipped backward into the tub, drawing my heavy skirt around my legs and tucking my hands underneath my arms as I leaned back against the tile.
“I need you,” I whispered, imagining her kind face. “I need you back.”
With my foot, I turned on the tap and let the water run over the wounds in my feet. I watched the pale blood swirl down the drain, leaving tiny streaks on the white porcelain.
My long skirt became heavy with water, clinging to my legs.
I turned the water off and shivered, focusing completely on the stinging in the soles of my feet as I closed my eyes and sobbed.
I shivered as the cool air clung to my soaked clothing, pebbling my skin and causing my body to tremble.
I bit down on my fist in my mouth, stopping myself from sobbing out her name, from begging whatever goddess cared enough to listen.
Sleep drifted past me, coming close once or twice as I lay there, the fluorescent lights buzzing over me. My feet pulsed and stung, still bleeding slowly.
I just curled my knees to my chest, my wet skirt coiling around my skin.
At some point, Grant lifted me to my bed, laid me there, and tucked me underneath the warm blankets.
He turned off the lights and curled his body into mine, bracing my waist with his hand and kissing my hair. I took a deep breath and caved into the pillow.
“And you,” he whispered into my hair, his hand hovering over my body, “I see a happy past and a sad future.”
I rolled over, frowning at him as he smiled, pale eyes searching. “What?” I whispered back, fatigue making my words sloppy.
“You damned me to hell,” he whispered sweetly, kissing my cheek. “I spent two decades as a prisoner because of you.”
“Grant—what—”
He shushed me, cupping my face. “You’re heartless,” he murmured against my skin as he kissed my jaw, “leave me the fuck alone.”
I jerked back.
“Scream for him to come and save you. Scream as loud as you fucking want, bitch. No one is going to hear, and no one is going to care. This is what you deserve.”
I tried to pull away, but he held tight. “I want you to feel the weight of this, Morda. I want you to know that you’ve played a heavy hand in what’s happened to your mother.”
Grant kissed me lightly and smiled. “This is your fault.”
I sat up and stared in horror as the room was filled with a terrible squawking, the floor of my room now covered in earth and debris.
I watched, silent and horrified, as wings burst from the dirt around my bed, cracked and caked in mud.
The first bird appeared, its oil-slick feathers streaked with dirt and blood as it fought to tear itself from the mud. Its eye rolled and then focused, piercing me to the bed as it stared and stared.
The creature shuddered, freeing both broken wings before it squawked and cawed.
The other birds shrieked in turn, batting their ruined wings and trying to stand on bent legs.
I scrambled to the edge of my bed, my hands going to my head as I watched hundreds of birds try to free themselves from their earthbound tombs.
“Goddess—” I choked, bile rising.
A bird dragged itself toward me, its eyes wild and rolling. I leaned over the bed, my long hair tickling my bare arms as I scooped it up in my hand and brought it close to my face.
It squawked and beat its wings, spraying my hand with a fine layer of blood. I gasped as it bit me, the bird tumbling from my hands.
I lay back, my breath racing as I curled into Grant and closed my eyes, wishing the dream away.
My hands reached for him, but it wasn’t his strong chest I felt, wasn’t his T-shirt. My hands were filled with crushed petals, their vibrant colors staining my skin.
When I sat up, the birds were gone, and I was lying beside my mother, flowers covering everything but her neck and head.
My throat closed when I saw her, joy springing tears to my eyes as I reached for her.
But her eyes were open.
Her mouth was filled with dirt.
She was dead.
“No,” I sobbed, dragging her to me. Flowers fell and turned to water, soaking the bed and dampening the sheets, my clothes, the mattress beneath us. “No, please.”
I shook her lightly at first, watching as more flowers fell from her long hair. “No, Mom,” I sobbed, “not you, not now, not ever.”
More water splashed over my legs, coming to cover my waist. When I looked around, the room was flooded, the windows cracking with the force of the water.
I didn’t care as I sloshed around, grasping onto my mother’s body.
“Wake up,” I yelled, “wake up.”
Water was now at my neck, and I struggled to lift my heavy limbs, struggling to keep her upright.
Her eyes were still open, still staring at something no one could see until their hearts ceased in their chests.
“Mom,” I begged with my last breath of air.
My ears popped as I succumbed to the water, my hair lifting around me as I looked to the surface and saw it on fire.
I grabbed my mother’s cold body and tried to kick upward, but my feet were stuck in the sheets, my ankles trapped.
“Goddess,” I heard and looked for her. But she wasn’t there, not in that forgotten place, not underneath the cold water that blazed with fire.
I kicked hard, fought to free my legs, and lost my grip on my mother. I screamed, bubbles erupting from my lips as I reached out to grab her.
I watched her float away, watched as water sprites came and grabbed her, their eyes glazing over when they saw me trapped and suffering.
I felt a jolt in my neck, and my eyes flew open, water splashing onto the floor as I pulled myself upward in the overflowing tub.
I dragged in a shuddering breath, cold water spilling over my lips as my body convulsed.
“Morda,” Ben cried, “fuck.” He was soaked, his entire body dripping wet. His gold eyes were frantic and bloodshot, completely trained on my face as I blinked away the nightmare and looked around.
Grant had never lifted me into my bed. That had never happened. I looked at the tub and the floor of the bathroom. Apparently, I had never turned off the water either.
“Are you okay?” Ben asked, his hands at my wrists, my neck, my face.
I shivered and shook my head. He reached into the tub, pushing more water onto the floor as he slipped a hand underneath my knees and behind my back.
He lifted me out, my heavy skirt weighing us both down as he lowered me gently onto the floor beside him, pushing away shards of glass.
I laid my head on his shoulder as he rubbed my arms, trying to warm my icy skin. He didn’t ask me what had happened, didn’t ask what I had been doing, didn’t question my sanity.
He just sat beside me, his arm firm around my trembling body.
“I felt it,” he whispered, “your fear.”
I choked off in a sob, my body shaking as that same fear resurfaced followed closely by its companion, grief.
“I’m sorry,” I cried, digging my face into his chest. He folded his arms around me stiffly. “I’m so sorry.”
“I am too,” he whispered, letting me go.
I shivered deeply, my teeth rattling together as I pushed my soaked hair from my face.
He stood and looked around at the ruined bathroom, his brow dipping slightly before he looked back at me curled up on the floor.
He took a deep breath then, closing his eyes for a moment before he left.
I sat there until the door to my room closed and then picked myself up off the ground, shedding my soaked clothes before I returned to the fluffy, white hotel bed.
I dragged the covers off the mattress and curled up under the window in nothing but my damp undergarments.
I pressed my back firmly to the wall, watching the bare mattress, waiting for my mother to appear on top of it.
I didn’t move until the light from the window changed, becoming the pale, watery sun of the early morning.
I set the blankets back on the bed and dressed, collecting my still-damp clothes from the night before and stuffing them into my bag.
The carnelian crystal from my aunt sat snugly between my breasts as I took the time to put on the other gifts my aunt had given me on the day of my Power Ceremony.
I touched the ring on my index finger and felt a pulse of clarity to my mind, I grasped onto it, letting it brush away some of the fog that had settled from such a restless night.
I was relieved to be leaving hours before the forced checkout. It gave me enough time to put distance between myself and the mess I had made in the bathroom.
I left a sizable tip for whatever maid was unlucky enough to land my room on their rotation.
Ben didn’t look my way as I met him and Grant in the lobby, while the latter’s eyes were roaming my body, eyes dark and drawn. He knew something was off. I avoided Grant’s questioning look altogether.
“Ready?” I asked, using my brightest voice. I fooled neither man.
“Should we get breakfast?” Grant asked, his look still studying.
“No,” I answered, “I want to get going as soon as possible.”
The plan was to rent a car and drive the forty minutes from the outskirts of Boston to Salem. From there—we were relying on my magic to direct us to the exiled witches.
“I’m not hungry,” Ben declared, voice rough. From the sounds of it, he hadn’t slept much after leaving my room.
Resolved, we grabbed our things and checked out. All three of us were bleary-eyed as we stepped out of the hotel, forced to face the fresh sun.
I lifted my hand to cover my eyes, exhaustion hitting me in a wave.
“Morda Morano,” a high voice called. I blinked and saw a group of women standing by the curb.
A tall woman in the center of the group smiled. “Clan Mother of the Western Witches and the Usurper to Mayme’s throne.”
Grant and Ben took a step closer, Grant’s shoulder slipping in front of mine.
The tall woman smiled, her blonde hair long and tangled. It was shot through with a streak of jet-black.
“I’m Varley Gerrit, Clan Mother of the Eastern Witches.” The woman’s eyes sparkled. “We need to talk.”
