Page 5 of Dark Flame
“Wait. I never told you my name.”
“I’m aware.” Freya smiles sweetly and bats her lashes theatrically. “I also know all. Remember who I work for? You’re really not that smart, are you?” She circles her finger towards the sky. “I know who you are, what you’ve done to Harlow’s entire family, and what you plan to do to her starting today. But don’t worry, ’cause I can’t interfere. Not allowed. Orders from the boss lady.”
I stare at her. She stares back. Never have I been so wordless until now.
“You’re a very strange being,” I finally manage.
“Right back at ya, Your Majesty. Blessed Be.”
“Fuck off with the witchy bullshit.” She doesn’t seem fazed by my insult, her expression unwavering. But if she insists on staying, then she can give me more than whatever unhelpful drivel she’s spouted so far. “What did you mean by that last part? That she’ll make me wish I had luck.”
Freya’s mouth stretches into a large, knowing smile seconds before she disappears in a blink, the faint whiff of nature lingering where she last was, leaving my hand gripping nothing but air.
Fucking witches.I shake my head and turn back to the house across the street. Without the barrier spell up, more of my kind is bound to descend soon, so I hop from the roof to the ground, landing near my recent kill.
You’re mine, Sinclair.
Two
HARLOW
“Mommy,help me! It’s dark…so dark. Help!”
As quickly as the thought passes through my nightmares, it shifts to something more recent. Something more painful. The recurring memories that plague me so often since two months ago.
“Mom! Dad!” But the fire blazes on. It’s too much. Too?—
No!
I rip myself from that memory, clawing at the blankets constricting my legs like a snake swallowing its prey. They’re too much, too tight, too unforgiving, and panic rises, my heart hammering until it’s painful enough to rip me from sleep and away from the cavern of hell I find myself continuously tripping down: the memories ofthatnight and the earlier childhood screams for my mother.
Fucking claustrophobia, a fear plaguing me since I was a kid. Makes sleeping impossible when the blankets continuously tighten around my body, resulting in a sensation of being enclosed somewhere inescapable.
My eyes open, mind repeating the four little words that try to convince my mental state it’s all okay.
I didn’t mean to.
I didn’t mean to.
I didn’t mean to.
It’s a stupid attempt and something the internet suggested. That therapist’s website was so full of bullshit. Nothing changes what happened weeks ago, and nothing ever will.
Nothing chases away the shadows that have consumed me. Literally, not the metaphorical ones. The literal shadows that bend, shielding my bedroom into near obscurity. The slithery voice—nothing decipherable—snakes through my mind, like a barely there caress that taunts me with both heartbreak and desire. With endless power while being powerless.
They won’t go away. They’ve been a part of me since the accident. Every day, they’rehere, trailing me throughout the house. No matter how much sunlight I allow in, the shadows bend, shutting it all out while keeping me captive. I have no control over them, no way to make them go away. They’re suffocating, making the walls feel that much closer, playing on my claustrophobia.
I’m positive it’s punishment from Hecate. She’s chosen the one thing that makes the world feel smaller, the one thing that could affect me so much. It’s the most logical explanation as to why shadows are tormenting a witch without magick. Why they won’t go away—because they’re here onHerorders. Which is contradictory, considering shadows represent Darkness, while the Goddess is everything Light, good, and natural.
This is Her cruel reprimand for accidentally killing two of her children, a witch and warlock: my parents. Murder is one of the wickedest things a witch could do to another. Mom and Dad taught me that early on, which is so ironic, it’s nearly laughable.
If laughing is even possible for me anymore.
Not only are the shadows punishment, but they hold an allure I find concerning. For a few moments every day, when they’re at their strongest, the slithery sensation feels like a hug rather than a threat. They make me feel just a bit better. At peace, though not a comfortable, calm serenity. More like I’m on edge, faced with a threat I’ll need to react to. But there’s a strength in that too. They tease me with the desire to leave this house and prove to every immortal around why I’m no longer the same witch I was and why they shouldn’t fuck with me.
I don’t listen to that random urge because, for one, I’m still partially convinced the shadows are solely in my imagination and I’m making all this up, which suggests I’m nuts. And two, I’m nuts.
I mean, a slithery sensation, physical shadows that taunt me, a voice in my head. What else could it be other than my parents’ deaths have made me clinically insane?
