Page 35 of Quiet Burn

“There’s no upside to it,” I reply stubbornly. “If it says I’m truly a peasant, it gives Prince Dingleberry another excuse to look down his perfect nose at me. And the opposite holds true, too. In some weird-ass quirk of Fate, if it says I’m special somehow, then it will either be a secret we have to keep or something we have to tell, which will make me even more appealing to people who want to take me down.”

Anton finally speaks, his expression thoughtful. “He’s right about that. Should we risk the knowledge? There are downsides on both ends of the equation.”

“See?” I shake my head. “No way I’m touching that thing.”

The shark shifter moves closer until Oriel and Salem let go of me, leaving me to look up at the hulking general defiantly. He sighs, rolling his eyes upward then back to me. I suppose he’s frustrated that I’m going to make him elucidate in front of everyone else, but I don’t feel bad about it. “Little demon, this is something you will find out whether it is convenient or not. It would be prudent to knownowand have time to strategize around the answer. The ensuing irritations will be manageable, whereas finding out in the middle of a battle would be less so.”

Okay,nowI see the value of his suggestion to feel up the magic tree.

“Fine.” I clench my fists as anxiety races through me. This is a lot of pressure for a day already filled with bullshit and pain. I’m regretting my agreement and I haven’t even stepped a millimeter closer to their stupid soothsayer tree.

“I will escort you; do not be afraid.”

Glaring at Slash as I take his arm, I grumble, “I’m notafraidof your damn psychic bush. I’m concerned about the ramifications of its fucking prediction. There’s a big difference.”

He chuckles, the sound deep and soothing as he slowly walks me over to the stupid thing. It’s not even impressive; in fact, it looks like some cheap overseas knock-off in a craft store Halloween collection. But as we approach, I canfeel thepower radiating from it—this damn thing practically assaults you with its presence so you know it’s important.

“Is this rare? Like, do these things grow everywhere in Hell?”

Slash shakes his head. “They are rare and difficult to cultivate outside of the wild. Professor Cedar likely used Fae magic to assist with this one. There are thousands of Bone Trees hidden around Hell, Faerie, the Mounts, and on Earth. They have been used for millennia to help identify special supes, but their locations are kept secret by the Society to prevent mass pilgrimages to their locations. It might cause them to go extinct.”

“Would it work on humans?” I ask curiously, trying not to get even more nervous as we stand in front of the magic tree.

Oriel snickers, giving me an amused look. “Over the many years, a few have stumbled upon greatness by finding one. They all have legends associated with them—you definitely know the ones who clumsily bumped the wrong tree and went on to be royals and great people because they were told they should be.”

“I’m going to leave that list for later, thanks. I really need to stop asking these kinds of questions when I’m not ready to have my world shattered again.” The demons waiting patiently for me to get my shit together and touch a branch laugh, though the longer I stall, the more tense the room gets. “You guys need to calm down, though, or I’ll never be able to make myself do this. I don’t know if it’s that magic of the caliphate thingy or what, but your emotions are kind of crushing me.”

Zavida’s tails pop out and his face turns bright red before he hides behind them. That makes Anton and O smirk, then it spreads to Salem. A swift change in the vibe in the classroom skates over my skin and I shiver. This shit is weird and there’s way too much of it happening at once for me to handle it.

“Okay, here it goes,” I mutter as I let go of the big guy and stand directly in front of the weird, gnarled tree. Reaching out, I touch a branch lightly, waiting for something to happen. I lick my lips nervously, waiting. “What is it supposed to do? Am I doing it?—”

A blast of bright light fills the room, and it feels like I’m being zapped with a million volts of electricity by this damn thing. I can hear the guys yelling, but something seems to be preventing me from moving and them from getting near me.

Whatever is going on… it can’t be good.

My eyesopen to five faces peering down at me from amuchtoo close distance and I scream. My brain immediately registers howgirly it was and I flail a bit to get them to back off. It doesn’t matter that they’re all handsome as fuck and look worried. What matters is that I’m flat on my back on the ground, awakening from something that definitely knocked me out. Panic grips me and all that helpful logic flees as my breathing increases to short pants and my chest tightens.

Damn, damn, damn… I’m slipping.

It’s a cruel reality that I can be aware that I’m about to have a flashback and lose my shit, but not be able to stop it once I’m aware. That only happens when my vision is already tunneling and I’m too far to consciously put the brakes on. Pulling my arms into my chest, I hug myself tightly and rock back and forth as tears fall from my eyes. The images are coming; I know it to the marrow of my bones.

My jaw locks as the fast, black and white movie of my assault comes back to me in abrupt flashes of pain and helplessness. The heat of his breath, the pinch of his fingers, the sound of the ripped fabric and the smell… the smell of stale beer, sweat, and someone’s stinky Swisher Sweets in the backroom of the loft. I squeeze my eyes closed and grit my teeth harder so I don’t make a sound—no, he won’t get my pleas for help or my outraged attacks on his pathetic technique that lead to the beat down afterward.

Goddamn it, why can’t I ever get this shit to go away and stay gone?

“Kit.”

A soft voice invades the fog in my mind and I try to follow it back out of the hole. The memory of the iron grasp and heavy weighton me push the sound away, and I continue fighting the insistent tug of my trauma.

“Kit Kat.”

The next voice is just as soft, but a warm hand lands on my shoulder. I’m surprised when I don’t jerk away with a wail; that happened even when my shrink tried hypnotherapy and the purveyor touched me. In fact, I literally scrambled into a corner and hid. But this touch feels familiar… and safe, unlike the imagery in my mind.

“Little demon.”

Another hand, followed by more voices and more gentle anchors placed carefully on my arms, until I can breathe again. My eyes pry open and the blood racing through my veins slows just a tiny bit as the sparkling sensation in my limbs fades.

“Holy shit… sorry,” I croak, feeling awful about yet again forcing these guys to clean me up when I’m a fucking mess.

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