Page 127 of At the Mercy of Midnight
“You used me!” Amelia cried, unable to keep the hurt from leaking into the words.
Her mother ignored that. “We have not even thought of runing us or others,” she said, glancing at her fingernails as though this were an average conversation one might have over a tea and a scone. “The magic is far too unstable these days. All the more reason why we need to fix it.”
“You selfish bi—”
Before she could get the words out, a sudden surge of emotion broke through the siphon's dampening effect and a strange gust of wind blew through the sitting room. Amelia gasped at the sudden tugging sensation, and before she could even think on what was happening, magic swirled in the spaces around them, and there he was, standing next to her, panting, and looking around at them all with furious, blue eyes.
Silas.
Silas sighed, closing yet another book.
Nothing was proving helpful in this sinister position they had found themselves ensconced in. The more tangled the knots became, the more he was certain it would never unravel.
He sat back against the wall, his head thunking painfully on the edge of the windowsill. The sun had sunk beyond the horizon, the small, cluttered library in Brinkley’s cottage now illuminated by a few candles he had lit hastily to read by.
He lifted his hand, rubbing at the centre of his chest. He had been feeling an odd sensation there, almost since entering the library. He could picture Amelia in the common room, or in her bedroom, frustrated and upset. Just as he was.
His hand dropped back to his lap, determined to ignore the sensation, the bond. There was work to do.
Silas stood, moving for the shelves. He tilted his head to read the spines of the upturned and sideways books that Brinkley had clearly shoved away without thought for any form of organisation.
He reached for one just as it slammed into him with a force that knocked the breath from his lungs, his hand flinching mid-air.
Fear.
Unadulterated, primal fear.
Mixed with anger so potent he could taste it.
Amelia.
Silas gasped in a choked breath, wanting to keel over and cry out. He stumbled from the library.
“Amelia?” he gritted out, finding the sitting room empty, the spaces dark and barren of life. He moved unsteadily down the hallway, gripping the doorframe of her bedroom and finding it just as dark and cold. His eyes moved to the dresser, mind begging to find the pendant sitting there untouched.
It was gone.
“Amelia!” he shouted, fear mixing with the emotions she shared with him. He swore as he fell to a knee, unable to reconcile which were his, and which were hers. It was a maelstrom of feeling that buckled him.
The tether, the one that bound them, he could feel it, taut and trembling between them.
Silas clenched his eyes, trying to recall what Amelia had told him about using the bond to follow him south.
He reached out through the bond, reaching for her.
She was there, at the end of it.
His desire made it easy.
Body jerking forwards, wind swirled around him before he was somewhere else entirely.
Silas stood in the middle of a handsome and lavishly decorated sitting room, bathed in the soft glow of arcane lamps. The first person he saw was Amelia’s mother, the cold and stern expression smoothed out by shock at the appearance of him. He turned his head, and there she was beside him, looking equally startled. And to the side of the room, was her father, holding a book in front of him like a shield.
His angry gaze went to Amelia.
“Did they hurt you?”
She opened her mouth, but it wasn’t Amelia who spoke.
