Landon approaches me and begins checking me methodically for injuries, his hands working from my scalp down to my shoulders. “I’m not a fragile flower anymore,” I joke dryly.
“Believe me,” the siren shifter says, planting a kiss on my forehead, “I never thought you were.”
“You were unbelievable back there, Boots,” Hunter says, his face lit up with admiration.
And at last, with the heat of battle finally dying down, I’m able to look around and see that he’s right. The carnage before us catches me off guard; while the room was mostly clear before, now it’s a veritable battlefield, with overturned potion bottles and destroyed books covering the floor, loose sheafs of paper fluttering down from where they were tossed up in the air. That’s all secondary to what my eyes settle on next, though: a large smear of blood on the far wall, right where I flung the wolf shifter who was going after Landon. Did I do that? some part of me wonders, almost afraid to take in the sight. I was so caught up in the heat of the moment; I wasn’t even paying attention to the damage I was doing.
That’s never happened before. Not when I was fighting for my life against humans and shifters alike, not even when I lost my powers and had to learn to do things the old-fashioned way. Never, in all my time as a shifter, have I been capable of this much fierce destruction in so little time, and never have I been less aware of my own strength. As I look around, I’m only greeted with more traces of the violence I’ve inflicted in the aftermath of Josie’s experiment, and for a few selfish moments, all thoughts of Silas’ parents go out the window.
The only thing that pulls my attention away is a groan from Josie, who has slid to the floor with her hand clamped to her side. “Shit,” I exclaim, and rush over to her, my angst momentarily forgotten. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” the witch shifter spits out through gritted teeth. “Got nicked, though.”
“Hang on,” Hunter says, crossing the room to the backpack where we stored the medical supplies we pilfered from the Academy and tossing it to me.
Without needing further instruction, I rummage in it for a moment before extracting a healing poultice and a compression bandage. “Will this do?” I ask, showing Josie the bottle.
“This looks like pure alchemy,” the witch shifter says wonderingly. “Where did you get this?”
“Best not to ask,” I reply as I dab a cloth with the solution and apply it to the wound in her side. To her credit, she doesn’t even flinch, not even when I begin to dress the cut. “What do we do now?” I’m not sure whom the question is directed towards.
“It wasn’t even like they didn’t recognise me,” Silas murmurs from his place on the floor. “They recognised me. They just didn’t care.”
“Just like Edith,” Hunter mutters, crossing his arms as he turns to Josie. “Any idea what could make them turn like that?”
“I’ve never heard of that kind of magic,” the witch shifter replies as I help her to her feet. “Brainwashing doesn’t require the supernatural, though. Ask any cult member.”
“Don’t say that,” Silas says, but without much aggression. “Please don’t say that.”
“I can do some research,” Josie says after a moment’s pause. “In the meantime, the five of you should plan on getting some rest. You’ll need to be back on the move soon; if I know the Academy, they aren’t going to stop at just one attack.”
“I guess we have our marching orders,” Landon says, without much humor.
I nod, but my mind is already elsewhere: namely, a certain witch shifter, dead by my hands, and the way I leapt back into violence just now without so much as a second thought. And something tells me, regardless of how much energy I just exerted, that I’m not going to sleep well tonight.
Chapter 2
And I don’t.
I wish I could say that having my powers back and getting a reprieve from the violence have chased off my anxiety for good, but they haven’t; if anything, the time spent alone with my thoughts only makes things worse these days. I can’t even remember the last time I didn’t have something to ruminate on, some immense worry that made me feel like the weight of the world was on my shoulders. Concern over the notion of what I’m now capable of battles in my mind with preoccupation with Edith, the role I played in her death, and whether or not the other shifters on Hawthorne’s side are somehow being mind-controlled. Josie, after we help her restore some kind of order to her living space, retreats to her study to research the issue, leaving the rest of us to wander about the village while we collectively catch our breaths. A pall of unease has descended over our little group, one that has little to do with the fight. The implications of Silas’ parents’ brainwashing aren’t lost on any of us.
If they, the key players in one of the shifter communities’ earlier revolts, can be swayed so much as to turn on their own flesh and blood, what hope is there for the rest of us?
Rather than impose further on Josie, we rent rooms at the inn down on Gloucestershire’s main drag (such as it is in a hamlet this small). As usual, we each get a space of our own; in addition to the beds being rather small, there’s the added, unpleasant possibility of the Academy’s hunters returning while we’re still here. They tracked us down once - there’s no reason they can’t do it again. It’s becoming clear to me as I stare out the window at the rapidly darkening sky that things are approaching a precipice: it’s a race against time now, and we can’t even be sure who our enemies are. Silas has kept to himself all day, and I can’t say I blame him. I wish I knew what to say to make it better, but what? I can’t even guarantee that it’s going to be okay; none of us can.
At last I pull myself away from the window, draw the drapes, and slump onto my bed. Part of me wants to practice my powers, to see just what my new limit is now that my full potential has been unleashed, but the other is scared shitless. As early as yesterday, I was desperate for my shifting abilities back, but now that I have them back I can’t even bring myself to use them, for fear of what I might bring out in myself. I don’t like what I did today, and it’s bothering me to no end that I could suddenly be capable of such carnage.
Eventually I heave a heavy sigh and crawl under the covers, willing myself to sleep, but it’s no use; anxiety about my future—our future—is coursing through me, and I can’t manage even the slightest bit of drowsiness. It’s going up on midnight and I’m on the verge of giving in and trying a sleep spell in my witch form when the door to my room flies open, exposing a figure in the darkened hallway. I nearly fly out of bed, heart racing, and throw my hands up, ready to conjure something deadly to use against this unknown intruder, only to relax when I’m greeted by Silas’ voice. “It’s me.”
My shoulders slump, and I immediately chastise myself for coming so close to hurting one of the men I love. How appropriate, a voice in my head chides. “I’m sorry,” I say as he steps into the room, closing the door behind him. “You startled me.”
“I’m sorry,” Silas echoes, running a hand through his dark hair. The room is dimly lit, but I can make out the shine of his chocolate-brown eyes. “I couldn’t sleep,” he explains, adding after a pause, “I wanted to see you.”