Page 39

“I am a seer.” She looked up. “And I have predicted a calamity over this house.”

Edward’s face had grown pale, and he stepped back. “Why you—”

“The methods for your success aren’t sustainable—each generation requires more magic. Eventually, your family will collapse.” Rosalie’s words echoed loudly as she spoke this in a trance-like manner, and the air in the room seemed to stifle.

But she wasn’t done. She lifted her face from her arms, her burning eyes fixated on Edward.

“One day, one of your successors will target the wrong person. She’ll hold a power you cannot hope to control.

And with that, all future hope for your line will die.

You will fail, and the Cole family will fade into obscurity. ”

“Shut up!”

The scene fell back into darkness as Edward moved to kick her in the head.

It felt like I’d been drifting for longer this time, but soon, the ground abruptly rose to my feet. There was no slow awareness, no time to adjust, before the echoing sounds of screaming rang through my head.

I looked up, heart pounding, when a kitchen—the one I’d seen before—swam into view. Rosalie was tied to the wooden table with her head awkwardly extended over the edge. She was fighting to break free as a handful of men conversed with each other. They didn’t even seem to notice her.

The floor was covered with hand-drawn symbols, barely visible in the dim lighting. Yet, somehow, they stood out regardless.

James was the only person who noticed Rosalie’s struggles. He stood in a corner of the room, glancing between the girl and his father. And as she bled from where the ropes had rubbed her skin raw, his focus lingered there.

Edward said something indiscernible before turning back to Rosalie. Alongside her, another table held an assortment of cutlery, and my attention drifted to a large pot awaiting over the hearth.

I was numb with disbelief. Surely, they wouldn’t…

“Shit!” Anthony, who’d been on his knees beside me, realized it the same instant I did, and he turned to me, pulling me to him. I froze from the horror of what was happening outside this space and his sudden attention.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he continued, squeezing me tighter, and an intruding sense of numbness that began to overtake my senses. “Come on, work!”

I gripped his sleeve, trying not to give in to the buzzing sensation in my ears.

What was he talking about?

I peeked past him to witness Edward slicing the front of Rosalie’s throat, and my skin burned in response. My neck prickled with a dull pain even as Rosalie’s broken scream rang through the room.

A bowl was on the floor, and I could only stare as a line of crimson dripped from Rosalie’s wound as it filled the container. The room sang with a deep, murmuring hum of chanting that I couldn’t make out.

A numb shock radiated through me from where Anthony held me against him, and I could feel the hum of cold, ancient magic moving across my feet and up through my body.

My skin tingled, barely registering the pain beyond the breathtaking pressure, as I watched Edward take a second blade to the still-conscious girl and carve her directly down the middle of her chest.

Blackness swam along the outside of my vision, and my stomach roiled.

I couldn’t look away, even though I wanted to so very badly. But then, as if my unspoken plea was heard, darkness covered my vision.

“Don’t look.” Anthony pressed his palm over my eyes. My heart was stuttering wildly in my chest, and his grip tightened painfully. “It’ll be over soon.”

The screaming had begun to quiet, but the chanting grew louder. Finally, I looked out from under Anthony’s hand to notice that Rosalie’s form had turned very, very still.

The scene faded, and the world moved once more as I was suddenly thrust back into the night.

“Bianca!” Miles’s urgent tones reverberated through me as he shook my shoulders. I’d fallen to my knees, and the scratchy grass felt rough under the tops of my feet. I was still struggling to breathe as an ache faded from my chest. I didn’t fight as he pulled me against him.

Anthony was sitting on the ground. His elbow was braced over his knee as he held his head.

“I’m sorry,” the necromancer said, no longer sounding so carefree. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I didn’t expect that.”

“What did you see?” Miles asked him.

“I—” I frowned and touched the front of my neck. “Those were Rosalie’s memories?” I asked Anthony.

“Yes,” he responded.

“You were able to see memories before,” Finn cut in. He pushed his glasses up his nose as he looked past us. “When you first found the ring.”

“If a ghost’s emotions are especially strong, an empath can sometimes capture a glimpse of a memory,” Brayden said, tapping his chin.

“It could be that,” Anthony replied. “I don’t know. We saw Rosalie murdered.” He glanced at me, and the guilt was strong in his expression. “But it wasn’t only seeing; she could feel everything too. I did my best to block it, but…”

Brayden lowered his hand, looking sharply at me. “You felt her die?”

“It’s…” I pressed my wrist against my lips as I sought to regain my bearings. “Y-yes.” Brayden and Miles had dark expressions, and even Finn looked mildly disturbed.

My heart was thundering, and my stomach churned with nausea.

Her terror had been a tangible thing that I would surely never forget, and even though Anthony had done something to prevent me from feeling much of the pain of her death, there was no way to erase the numb pressure against my chest and throat.

However, outside of Rosalie’s terror, other emotions were present in that room—guilt, horror, and fear. I grasped at my chest as the echoing emotions radiated through me.

Helplessness and regret.

I shook my head. That wasn’t right. He’d let her die. He didn’t deserve any pity.

“Bianca?” Miles called my name, touching my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“James…” I whispered. What was this? I shouldn’t feel sorry for him—but I did.

Why? My palm was pressed against the ground, and the wind began to shriek as the stones under my fingers trembled.

The salt circle began to glow a soft yellow, and, before me, the spectral form of James Cole began to materialize.