I close my eyes, remembering each harrowing second of the attack. I touch the wound with my fingers, not daring to stray too close. Still, a jolt of terror rises in my chest—but not because of what happened. Because of the startling truth, because of what this wound represents.
I did not heal.
“What did they do to you?” Holland asks. His voice is a hush, but in the silent manor, his words echo all around me, growing louder with each passing second.
Unable to face the darkness any longer, I stare into Holland’s brown eyes. His skin is pale and sunken. His eyes outlined by deep divots, betraying his many sleepless nights since he arrived at the manor. He came to aid me many moons ago, and he simply never left. He spends his days researching my condition, and he spends his nights training with me. In all that time, I never wondered how—or when—he finds time for himself.
His hair is a floppy, tangled mess. He must catch me staring at it, because he runs a hand through his soft curls, attempting to smooth their frizzy edges. He does not succeed.
I pull him into a tight embrace, never feeling quite so emotional before. I was eager to escape the witches, and in doing so, I claimed a vampire nest as my home. The thought that this might not be the safest place for a newly mortal creature did not occur to me. But with Holland here, I remember that these vampires have no interest in hurting the living. They just want to be, to exist in peace. I am overrun with guilt as I hold on to Holland, squeezing him until he grunts.
By the time I release him, I realize we are not alone. Amicia is standing beside me, her crimson eyes sparkling as she stares at me. Her shiny black hair is sleek and brushed back. Her lacy gown hides her smooth dark skin. When she smiles, she bares two fangs. I stare at them as I smile back at her.
Silently, I apologize for everything I have put her through. During a time in my life when I was ousted by my very family, she took me in. And I have been nothing but a problem ever since.
“Is it…okay if I stay here?” I ask her.
She sighs. “Oh, Ava. I expect nothing else.”
Her admission relieves my anxiety, but the truth of my situation is that this is only the beginning. I have a lot of explaining to do, and I have a lot of research ahead of me. I might have been lost before, but now I have no idea where to start. How do I find a book on ancient spells? How do I find information on cursing a creature I never knew existed?
“Where are the others? Hikari? Jeremiah?” Amicia asks. Her gaze diverts from me to the vampires behind me, and I cower.
“We were separated,” Malik explains. “They…”
Amicia stiffens as Malik trails off. Her face pales, and her jaw clenches. I see the fear in her eyes, but in a blink, it is gone. Her worry over her vampires is replaced by something I know all too well.
Rage.
If her vampires do not return home safely, I can assume Amicia will bring her anger to the witches, and she will stop at nothing to enact her revenge.
“Tell me everything,” she says.
Her voice is strained. Her words are needle sharp, and they dig their way into my muscles. I shake away the feeling, but it never truly leaves me. Amicia has always had a way about her. She is strong, defiant, and unusually patient with me. If the others do not make it back, she will ask me to make one final choice, and I will. I will avenge our fallen even if it means laying down my own life. I owe them that.
We find our way into the adjoining parlor while Malik explains the events that led us to this moment. Amicia does not speak as she silently absorbs every detail Malik recites. I sense her ever-growing fury, and I keep my gaze averted from hers.
Instead, I focus on Holland, who is paler than usual. He listens on, and each passing second, he visibly grows sicker. I remind myself that Jeremiah is his ex-boyfriend, and the two have made it clear they still harbor feelings for each other. Their breakup was over a disagreement—probably something trivial—and they never made amends. Now, he might not get the chance.
I know how that feels. That same agony washed over me when I thought Liv was taken by a rogue vampire. I blamed myself, for I did not believe she would have been in the crosshairs of a rogue vampire if not for my constant nagging. I wanted her to become a strong fire witch, regardless of the costs. I did not know she would become a pawn in my mother’s twisted games.
I look away from Holland, not able to bear the truth of his pain any longer. I have only been gone for a day, and I did not believe the manor to have changed in that short amount of time, but it has. It is as if I see everything with new eyes. I do not smell the drying pages on the first-edition books that line the walls. I do not feel the heat of the fire as it roars in the fireplace. I do not see the layer of dust coating the game of chess Malik and Jasik refuse to finish. The house feels as dank and empty as my soul.
“Ava?” Amicia says.
“Hmm,” I say.
I glance at the vampires, noticing everyone is looking at me with curious gazes. Once again, I was lost in thought, too busy worrying about my own problems to care about the chaos tearing apart Amicia’s nest. I hate what I have become. What happened to that selfless girl? Where did she go?
“What did you say?” I ask, embarrassed.
“Do you know anything about this spell?” Amicia asks.
I shake my head, defeated.
“Holland?” Amicia says.
He is silent for a moment. His eyes are glossy, distant as he searches the depths of his mind. I pray he will uncover some hidden meaning, some unconventional truth to what has happened to me. Maybe together we can defeat the witches for good.
Amicia clears her throat, and Holland blinks away his memories.
“No, I do not know this spell, but it sounds a lot like the black arts,” Holland says.
My breath catches, and I sit in silence until my lungs burn. When I cannot take it anymore, I gasp for breath, quickly catching the attention of everyone in the room. But I do not move. I do not speak. I am focused solely on Holland’s words, praying he has the knowledge to help me, for I know nothing about black magic.
“Can you reverse it?” Amicia asks.
He glances at his hands, fidgeting with his cuticles. It seems like hours—days even—pass before he finally looks up at me. When he does, I want him to look away. I want to smack the darkness from his eyes and replace it with the embers still burning within my soul. Mamá’s spell might have extinguished my fire, but it is still there. It still flickers in the dank depths, waiting for one final burst of air to light it aflame once again.
“I am sorry, Ava, but black magic…” Holland says, shaking his head. He swallows hard, and I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.
“What are you saying?” Jasik asks. “What does this mean for her?”
Holland exhales sharply. “Black magic is almost always irreversible.”
Irreversible. The word sinks into me, like a dagger to my belly. It roots itself deeply, and I know it will never wiggle free.
“How can that be?” Amicia asks.
“Magic comes from the earth, and in order to do something truly dark, there is a cost,” Holland explains. “Witches cannot simply snap their fingers and make their wishes become reality. We have limits.”
“And in order to bypass these limits, a witch might turn to black magic?” Malik asks.
“Yes, but there is always a cost,” Holland says.