Page 41 of Woven Souls

My eyes slide over Willow’s attire. She’s wearing a simple fitted tee shirt and pajama pants. Her hair has been twisted into a loose bun on top of her head, and her makeup has been wiped clean.

She’s still beautiful, even dressed down.

Kwil stands to give Jonah access to put Willow down where he’d been sitting.

“Someone must have told him how to find one.” Viktor shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls something out. He stands and walks over to me. “And that same someone must have given him these as proof of the Third Realm’s existence and the power it holds.”

He uncurls his fist, and in the middle of his palm is a stud earring made with a familiar purple quartz.

“Is that—?” I ask.

“Yup.” Viktor confirms with a sharp nod. “He was wearing them as buttons, too.”

“What is it?” Kwil asks, stepping forward to take a look. His eyes widen as they land on the piece of jewelry in Viktor’s hand. “Oh, shit.”

I stare at it, feeling sick.

“Rowan and his crew must have been mining with the intent to sell to people like Fredrick.” As the words slip past my lips, a ribbon of rage twists through me. How could our own people be involved in this? With a deep breath, I tamp down the anger and focus on the more pressing issues. “If Fredrick had access to two sources of power, how come he couldn’t access your power while you used it, Willow?”

Her lips press together, and I see her stubbornness flicker in the depths of those green eyes. Clearly, talking about her powers is a touchy subject. I’ve never pushed or asked about them before, which is probably why Willow could pretend to be a necromancer for longer than she should have been able to. A careless mistake on my part. But now, Willow’s power is the focal point of tonight’s discussion. I see it the moment she realizes this. Her face struggles to relax. A flicker of uncertainty flies across her face before it morphs into exasperation, then to contemplation, tofinallya reluctant acceptance.

I never realized just howexpressiveWillow is until now. I bite back the urge to smile.

“The living can’t use Death Magic. The magic here and the magic on the other side are polar opposites. You can’t use one without affecting the other, and usually, Death Magic will cancel out the ability to use any power found in the Realm of the Living.”

The living can’t use Death Magic. My amusement vanishes. She’d said the same thing to Fredrick. But what the hell does that mean? Had we not witnessed her terrifying display of Death Magic this evening? And I know she’s alive… Right? This can’t be some sort of undead situation here. Willow sleeps, eats… andbleeds.

Speaking of bleeding, my gaze drifts from her face downwards. Her injured foot is crossed over her leg as she avoids placing it on the floor.

Whatever questions I have will have to wait. Willow’s injury requires my immediate attention. I close the distance between us. As I do, Willow tenses. Her eyes widen in surprise before suspicion clouds them. I hate the reaction. Standing beside her, Kwil shifts just a little closer, and Jonah throws his arm around her shoulders. Each movement is casual, but I know they are ready to protect her if need be.

I’ll fix this, I vow as I come to a stop in front of her and sink to my knees.

“What are you doing?” Willow asks softly.

“I need to tend to your foot.”

Her brows come together in confusion. “You’re not going to ask any questions about what I said?”

I should. I have about a hundred now. But judging by the mounting tension in the room, it’s clear that everyone’s lack of trust in me extends to this delicate conversation. As I reach for her ankle, I choose my next words carefully.

“Rather than drawing on poorly made assumptions from what we’ve seen and what little we know about you, Willow, I feel it may be best if we just let you have the floor.”

She doesn’t recoil from my touch.

Heaving a mental sigh of relief, I add, “And while you share what you’re comfortable with, I’ll take care of your foot.”

Trying very hard not to caress Willow’s ankle, I lift it to find three large slices running down the middle of her foot. While they are shallow, there’s still glass wedged into one. I place her ankle on my shoulder while I grab the first aid kit. It’s silent while I open it and pull out tweezers, rubbing alcohol, and bandages. Willow’s gaze burns into my face as I set everything up. Before I begin, I look up and meet her eyes. The reluctance and worry there sickens me. They flicker away to look at everyone else as she sizes up the room.

“Willow.” I can’t stop the way my thumb caresses the inside of her ankle. Her shiver doesn’t go unnoticed when her gaze returns to my face. “You said you wanted to share details about yourself. We’re giving you the opportunity here and now to do so. While we listen, there will be no condemnation on our part, I promise.”

She huffs and rolls her eyes. It’s not at me. Her annoyance is directed inwards. She really needs to work on her poker face.

“I’m an anomaly, which is why I can use Death Magic,” she admits as she leans back against the couch cushion. “But my power doesn’t belong here. It disrupts the natural balance in this world. If I use it for anything other than contacting spirits for a brief chat, it throws things out of whack and anything other than humans can feel it. That’s why my parents made me promise to never use it, and tonevershare what I am with anyone else. If people found out what I was, they’d send me to the Realm of the Dead without a second thought because that’s technically where I belong.”

Setting her shoulders and taking a deep breath, Willow braces herself. While she tenses, I force myself to relax. No matter what Willow shares with us, I won’t react. I’m not a Ghost. I’m here as a friend, ready to be receptive and nonjudgmental.

“My name is Willow Maria Harvest. My mother is Flora Marianna Harvest, and my dad, well, you’ll know him as Death.”

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