Page 41 of Torn Ivy
Tate kneels in front of me, taking my hands in his. “Let me try. I’m supposed to be your anchor, right?”
I nod, unable to speak, as another tide of power rips through me. His magick wraps around mine, trying to contain the chaos, but something’s different this time. Instead of helping, it again feels like his power is being consumed by mine.
“Fuck!” Tate yanks his hands away, his skin smoking slightly where we touched. “That’s not working either.”
“No shit,” I manage to say before doubling over as my insides feel like they’re rearranging themselves. “Oh, god, what’shappening to me? Is this the tearing me apart stage? I thought I had more time.”
“No, I don’t think so. Your power is trying to settle,” Bram says, watching me carefully. “The witch side of you and the Fae-type chaos magick aren’t just merging, they’re creating something entirely new. Again.”
“Again?” I grit out. The windows rattle ominously.
He nods. “Evolving, like Death said, but I’m starting to think this was the fine print. It’s continuous.”
“We need help,” Torin says firmly. “This is beyond us.”
“Who?” Tate demands. “Death? The Resistance? We don’t know who to trust.”
Another wave of pain hits, and this time, I scream. Pink energy explodes outward, shattering every window in the house. Reality bends around us, and suddenly, the kitchen is filled with various versions of me. Some Ivy, some Poison, some strange combinations of both.
“Oh, that’s new,” one of my duplicates says before flickering out of existence.
“Focus,” Bram commands, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Ivy, look at me.”
I force my eyes to meet his, trying to ignore the way my duplicates are starting to affect the physical world around us. One of them has turned the refrigerator into a fountain of starlight, and then Aspen shows up, startling the guys into inaction for a second.
“The power isn’t fighting itself,” Bram says intently, the first to come back to his senses. “It’s fighting you. You’re still trying to keep Ivy and Poison, and Aspen separate, still trying to maintain the division between the shifts. Badass assassin…s and normal shifter trying to go to classes and live a normal life. But they’re not separate, Ivy. They’re you. All of you.”
“How very fucking philosophical,Bram,” I snarl as another duplicate appears, this one crackling with pure chaos energy. “But how does that help me right now?”
“Stop fighting it,” he insists. “Stop trying to be either Ivy or Poison. Be both. Be neither. Be whatever this power is making you become.”
“He’s right,” Tate says, his burned hands now healed. “You’ve been trying to control it, to keep it contained in neat little boxes. But that’s not how evolution works.”
A particularly violent stream of power sends me into the foetal position. The duplicates flicker and multiply, each one showing a different aspect of who I am and who I could be.
“I don’t know how,” I admit through tears of pain. “I don’t know how to be both.”
“Yes, you do,” Torin says quietly. “You do it every time you’re with us. Every time you let yourself just be, without labels or expectations.”
The pain reaches a crescendo, and I feel something inside me start to break. But maybe it needs to break. Maybe that’s the point.
Taking a shuddering breath, I close my eyes and stop fighting. Stop trying to be Ivy or Poison, witch or chaos wielder. I just... am.
The power whirls one final time, but this time, it doesn’t hurt. It feels like something clicking into place, like puzzle pieces finally finding their proper alignment.
When I open my eyes, the duplicates are gone. The kitchen is a disaster zone, but the pain has subsided. Looking down at my hands, I see the pink energy still flowing through my veins, but it’s different now - more integrated, less like it’s trying to escape.
“Your aura is whole again,” Bram says. “But a vibrant purple. You have combined your personas.”
“For how long?” I ask weakly.
He presses his lips together before answering, “That’s what we will have to figure out.”
I stand carefully, testing this new equilibrium. My power still snaps beneath my skin, but it no longer feels like it’s trying to tear me apart. Instead, it feels right. For now.
“Well,” I say, looking around at the destruction my transformation has caused and rubbing my chest, which has healed of the three-pronged attack, “that was fun.”
Tate snorts, examining his healing hands. “That’s one word for it.”
