Page 43 of Torn Ivy
“No. She’s just gotten control of her power. She doesn’t need to worry about this, too.”
“She’ll notice eventually,” Bram points out. “Especially if you keep warping reality every time you try to use magick.”
He’s right, of course. Ivy’s too observant not to notice something’s wrong, especially now that her power has settled. But the thought of adding to her burden makes me sick.
“Look,” I say, forcing myself to stand despite the room’s tendency to tilt sideways, “I just need to adjust. Figure out how to handle this new, whatever this is.”
As if to prove my point, my magick flares again. This time, instead of creating portals or transforming objects, it reaches out and connects with the traces of Ivy’s power still lingering in the air. The resulting feedback loop sends me to my knees.
“Tate!” Torin catches me before I faceplant. “That’s it. We’re calling Ivy.”
“No,” I gasp, fighting through the kaleidoscope of sensations flooding my system. “Just... give me a minute.”
Bram crouches beside me, his Fae magick probing gently at whatever’s happening to mine. “This isn’t just adaptation,” he says grimly. “Your magick is being fundamentally altered by exposure to her chaos.”
“Is that bad?” I manage to ask as another wave hits.
“No idea. Your bloodline may be meant to anchor chaos magick, but this level of power is changing you on a cellular level.”
“Fucking hell,” Torin mutters. “Can we stop it?”
“Only by stopping the anchoring entirely,” Bram says. “But that would leave Ivy without stability again.”
“Not an option,” I growl, finally getting my feet under me. The room has mostly stopped spinning, but my magick feels like it’s trying to rewrite itself from the inside out.
“Then we need to find a way to manage it,” Torin says practically. “Because you can’t go on like this.”
He’s right. Every time I anchor Ivy’s power, every time our magick mingles, the changes become more pronounced. I can feel it now in the way my naturally structured magick is being infected with chaos, creating something hybrid and unpredictable.
“The Well bloodline,” I say suddenly, remembering something from the grimoire. “It’s supposed to be able to handle this. My ancestors did it.”
“Your ancestors didn’t deal with power like Ivy’s,” Bram points out. “This is evolution, remember? New territory.”
Another bolt hits, but this time, I’m ready for it. Instead of fighting the chaos and trying to integrate it with my magick, I let it flow, just like we told Ivy to do. The sensation is bizarre, like having a second heartbeat, a rhythm of power that doesn’t quite match my own frequency.
“Oh,” I breathe as something shifts inside me. “That’s different.”
“What?” Torin demands. “What’s happening?”
I hold up my hands, watching as my black magick now streams with permanent threads of pink. “I think I’m adapting.”
Bram moves closer, studying the change. “It’s not just affecting your magick anymore,” he says. “It’s becoming part of it.”
“Is that supposed to happen?” Torin asks, genuine fear tinging his tone. That is not good.
“Who knows?” I let out a slightly hysterical laugh. “None of this is supposed to happen. We’re literally making this up as we go.”
The front door opens, and Ivy’s voice calls out, “You guys will not believe what I just did!”
Panic flashes across Torin’s face, but I shake my head sharply. We need more time to understand what’s happening before we tell her.
Ivy bounces into the kitchen, practically glowing with controlled power. She stops short when she sees us all clustered together. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly, forcing a smile. “Just discussing the clean-up.”
Her eyes narrow suspiciously, tracking over each of us before settling on me. “You’re lying.”
“Ivy—”
