Page 86 of Her Dreadful Will
“I see you, sister,” said Sharee quietly. “We see you, and we accept you.”
She released Soleil’s chin, and Soleil bowed over, lost in a torrent of tears.
A pair of hands gripped her shoulders. Another rested on her head, and another on her knee—more hands touched her back, curled around her wrists. Like Achan, surrounded and supported in the center of the moonlit field, she was pressed on every side by palms and fingers. The hand on her knee was blurred by tears, but she recognized the rings—Delaney’s toothy skulls and Gothic crosses. The fragile, wrinkled hand around her wrist belonged to Florence.
These were her people, her family. Not the thankless humans of this wretched little town. Not the cold, calculating professors of the Institute, who viewed her as an odd case, potentially dangerous, a prize to collect or a rogue to control. Not even her parents, who despite their affection could never know what she truly was.
No. Her real family consisted of these women, beautiful and bold, courageous enough to face her power without running away. Brave enough to give her their trust.
Soleil felt a tightness in her chest, at her core, a glowing knot of gratitude begging for release. She unbound it, and warm golden energy flowed outward, surging into each person who touched her. Sharee inhaled sharply, her dark fingers tightening on Soleil’s shoulders; and Angelou made a soft sound, like a kitten. “Damn,” said Delaney, and Florence whispered, “What is that? Is that magic?”
“The good kind,” Angelou’s tone was soft and reverent. “We’re bound now, the five of us.”
“What does that mean?” Soleil asked. She’d never felt such a thing—never knew it was possible. This kind of magic wasn’t taught at the Institute, wasn’t permitted by the Convocation.
“I’m not sure,” said Sharee. “But I feel it too.”
Delaney laughed, short and harsh and triumphant. “Didn’t ask for this, but it’s pretty damn great. Screw the Convocation. Who needs them when we have this?”
Even after they each broke physical contact with Soleil, she could still feel them, connected to her by golden lines, like tethers, slender as thread and strong as steel. From the way the other four women looked at her, and at each other, she knew they could feel the connection too.
Her gut knotted with nerves, a twist of nausea threatening the dumplings and Hunan beef in her stomach. It was one thing to meet with these women—have a girls’ night, some food, some nail art. It was quite another to enact an inadvertent magical bond with them. Nervously Soleil rubbed the oath ring on her finger. It hadn’t snapped, or tightened, or changed color. As Achan had said, it must be tied to her mind-flex affinity, and didn’t seem to react to other kinds of magic.
She’d broken the rules multiple times now. An illegal coven. Moonlight dances. Performing magic with other witches, unsanctioned, with no Highwitch present. She was even dabbling in chaos workings.
If anyone at the Institute or the Convocation found out, she’d be excommunicated, and probably fitted with a restraint bracelet or some other device, so she couldn’t use her powers. She’d be closely monitored for the rest of her life, and possibly executed if she poked a single toe out of line. She would never have a chance to become a Highwitch.
Ifthey found out.
But how would they know?
There was no one who would turn her in. Certainly not Achan, naughty secretive Achan with his motley coven and chaos racing through his blood.
Uzigoth and Lucibae had their own lives, their own worries, and she hadn’t spoken to them in what felt like forever. She hadn’t given them anything incriminating—not that she thought they’d tattle on her. Nearly three years of in-class chats and conversations through the Grimoire app had made her feel close to them— “best friends” close. When Tarek wasn’t available, Uzigoth had helped Soleil with tech issues or complex assignments. Institute classes were only available live, since the lectures were too sensitive to post anywhere online; so whenever Soleil couldn’t make a class, Luci had taken copious notes, including any tasty bits of gossip from the chat, and had sent them over so Soleil wouldn’t miss anything important.
No, Luci and Uzi wouldn’t snitch on her to the Convocation or the Institute, even if they had anything to tell.
Maybe, just maybe, she could get away with all of this—and a little more.
30
The strangest thing about the new five-pointed tether was not knowing how it worked. Soleil felt the low burn of anger against the Institute for not teaching her anything about cooperative magic, about covens and groups, the power of touch and emotion among fellow witches and sensitives. Surely this knowledge had once been common, passed from witch to witch by mouth or letter or song. And now it was lost. They would have to relearn it together.
But that would come later, because Angelou had captured Soleil’s fingertips and shellacked them in blood-red and night-black, and now she was tracing delicate symbols on them in white. Wonderfully illicit symbols, too—pleasure, lust, craving, seduction, and yoni, all on one hand. Sharee had called a ride and gone home due to an early work shift the next day, and Delaney was draped over the sofa watchingUmbrella Academywhile Florence dozed peacefully in a high-backed armchair.
“When I’m done here,” said Angelou, wiping off the toothpick she was using, “Soleil has a magical artifact she wants me to read.”
“Magical artifact?” Delaney’s gaze sharpened. “What is it?”
“Have you heard of Catherine Monvoisin?” Soleil asked.
“La Voisin? Um, yeah. I only studied her for weeks. Wrote like a month’s worth of blog posts about her.”
“Seriously? We might need to reference those. The artifact I have is one of La Voisin’s rings.”
Delaney surged forward to the edge of the sofa. “No fucking way. Which one?”
“Well, it has these twisted serpents, and four little skeleton hands around a wine-colored stone. And a couple fleurs-de-lis.”
