Page 11 of Brave Spirit (Bound Spirit #6)

Mr. Mischief nods his head in agreement. “Yes, but that truth was lost in time, and that ignorance was used to paint the high priestesses as villains and something to be feared. The masses were convinced that beings with such power were too dangerous to exist.”

“And the shifters? What about the call?” I ask, all the pieces that led to the spirit witches’ eventual end not quite fitting.

“The natural borns did their best to protect their high priestesses, but those who were not born of the blood of the first high priestesses were convinced that if they were ever to gain true freedom, it would require the end of all spirit witches and those of their packs compelled to serve,” he explains, shaking his head as his long fingers curl into fists.

“Explains why turned shifters aren’t as well trusted within their packs,” my nan observes, her new understanding of what the shifter wars was actually about seeming to bring her some peace.

I imagine the truth is very validating, considering how she was discredited for insisting that my mother was murdered for being a spirit witch.

The war proves that it’s always been the council’s intent to make sure spirit witches could never return and retake their place.

The more I know of my ancient ancestors, the more I wonder if there was some merit to wanting another way of being governed.

Regardless of how my powers make me equipped to rule, it doesn’t mean it should be my innate right.

Yeah, the revolution was started by some power hungry supercharged witches, but their words resonated with people because there was some truth to it.

No one should be destined to rule by birthright.

They should be chosen by those who would be governed.

I keep my radical thoughts to myself as I try to puzzle out how to balance my purpose with what I know is the right thing to do.

Also, not being murdered for my power would be nice too.

Unable to take any more depressing history lessons, I get up from the couch and head toward the stairs.

“My brain is in overload. I’m going to bed.

Goodnight, Nan. Goodnight, Mr. —” I stop at the base of the stairs and look back into the living room.

“What is your name? It seems rude to keep calling you Mr. Mischief.”

He cracks an amused smile, which is a nice contrast to his previous solemn expression. “I like Mischief. For now, feel free to keep using it.”

I’m unsure I like the insinuation of wanting to keep the name Mischief, but I’m too tired to make a fuss. “Well, goodnight… Mischief.”

“Goodnight, High Priestess,” he responds.

I huff. “You can call me Callie.”

“Very well.” He dips his head in a small bow. “Goodnight, High Priestess Callie.”

“Just Callie,” I correct, but when he simply smirks, I decide it isn’t worth fighting over and climb the stairs.

As I go, I overhear Mildred offer to make up the guest bedroom for him.

Mischief rejects the idea, preferring to return to his cat form.

Apparently, the pillows on my nan’s bed are particularly comfortable.

In a tone that implies something I definitely don’t want to think about my nearly two-hundred-year-old grandmother needing, he asks if she has any use of his current form before he shifts.

Deciding I really don’t want to know the answer, I hurry to my bedroom and close the door.

Already dressed in pj’s, I flop onto my bed and pull the covers over me.

I expect my swirling thoughts to keep me awake, but within a few minutes, I’m fast asleep.

∞∞∞

Before my nightmares can take hold, I’m pulled into another dream, except it’s not quite a dream.

I’m in a small courtyard in the middle of a lush garden filled with exotic flora.

It feels too vibrant to be real. There’s the scent of jasmine and green things in the air, and the soft trickling of water flowing over moss-covered rocks in the center of the courtyard.

I’m more lucid in this dream, similar to the sleeping hours I spent with Felix when he was a ghost, and he saved me from my nightmares. It isn’t Felix, however, who waits for me in this nature rich wonderland that feels like a soothing balm to my mending soul.

A woman with waist-length, straight black hair, hooded brown eyes, and soft features stands at the far end of the courtyard.

Her expression is kind and welcoming as she raises her hand to invite me closer.

Her clothing is of a simple pattern, a long white tunic closed down the front by strings tied into bows and a matching long white skirt.

A thick belt of golden fabric is tied into a large bow around her waist. All are practical garments of a time long since past.

“Who are you?” I ask, approaching with caution despite her serene demeanor. Wherever this is, it’s clear I wasn’t the one who made it.

She smiles at me as a mother would while looking at one of her children, and her voice has a melodious quality when she answers, “I have many names among my children, but you would know me best simply as the goddess.”

I stagger over to a nearby stone bench that has moss growing around its base and collapse onto it as my brain melts. The goddess of all creation is standing mere feet from me. If I wasn’t so damn lucid, I’d believe my brain was making the whole thing up.

“You’re the goddess, here, in my dream—I am dreaming, right?” I ask, trying not to hyperventilate. Can I pass out in a dream?

She glides over to me, her sandaled feet peeking out from under her long skirt. Sitting down next to me, she gently rubs my back, and it has an instant calming effect. “It’s okay, my child. You are safe here.”

“Where is here?” I croak, looking at the ground between my bare feet. It feels way too weird to look at her directly.

“This is a safe place I created so I may guide you,” she answers, placing her hands in her lap now that I appear calmer. “I find that dream spaces are much easier on the mind when I need to converse with my chosen.”

“Guide me?” Frustration simmers deep within me, but it feels muffled, as if it’s locked in a place beyond my reach.

I stand up and stride over to the fountain, suddenly needing some space.

My thoughts pick at old memories, tearing into the wounds of the past that have only started to heal.

“Now you’re here to guide me? Where were you when my mother died?

Where were you when my father tortured me for his own selfish gains?

Where were you while I suffered alone and felt confused, not understanding why I kept healing, why my body kept betraying me to give the bastard a fresh canvas to mutilate?

” I spin around to face her, a fiery rage burning away whatever held my emotions at bay.

“Where the fuck were you when I erased a man from existence, leaving me stuck with a lifetime of his cruel memories?” Angry tears fall down my cheeks, and I sob, “Why now? Why did you leave me to suffer for so long?”

The goddess looks at me with unwavering tenderness throughout my entire tirade, then she stands and opens her arms, offering a comfort that would immediately soothe the jagged bitterness and heartbreak ripping me apart.

“I’m sorry, my child, that I couldn’t reach you sooner.

The path you’ve walked is not one I wanted for you.

Sadly, when your magic was bound, it cut you off from me, lost and hidden within the noise of all creation. ”

I wipe at my tears, not quite ready to let an all-powerful goddess off the hook. “My magic hasn’t been bound for months. Why now? I really could have used some guidance while I watched Nolan wither and nearly die.”

Her arms remain open and welcoming, her expression a steady promise of patience and empathy. “You needed to fully claim the power that is your birthright. Without it, visiting you in any way would have shattered your mind. Even now, I can’t stay for long without harming you.”

Despite her compassionate delivery, her last statement heightens a sense of urgency within me.

I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the fragrant air, and release it, allowing the oasis around me to steal my rage.

It’s at this moment that I realize two things.

One, I just yelled at the goddess, and instead of smiting me, she’s offering me a hug, and two, I was angry, and nothing exploded.

I look around the little courtyard with a new sense of wonder. Every tree, every plant, and every stone are perfect and serene. For once, my rage was mine to feel without any magical consequences. “How is nothing on fire?”

“You are safe here,” the goddess reiterates with a gentle smile, somehow understanding without me explaining why I’m surprised everything around me isn’t engulfed in a fiery inferno. “In this space of my creation, no harm may come to you, nor can you cause any harm.”

Feeling staggered and weak-kneed as the weight of my constant potential destruction is lifted, I fall into her welcoming embrace.

New tears drip down my cheeks while I’m safely enveloped within the goddess’s steady warmth and protection.

She doesn’t interrupt or hurry me through the stages of my emotional breakdown, giving me the catharsis I so desperately need.

Once I’ve fully cried myself out, she leads me back to the stone bench and offers me a linen handkerchief embroidered with pink lotuses to dry my eyes.

Sitting down next to me, she waits until I appear steady before she gets to the crux of her visit.

“I gave you the reasons I couldn’t come to you sooner, but there is a purpose for coming now.

It is time for my chosen to take their place as guardians of this realm once more, but they need to be shown the way to reclaim their full power.

” She reaches out with a consoling squeeze to my free hand.

“I’m sorry to place this burden on you, but as the direct descendant of two powerful high priestesses, you are the only one I can trust with this mission.

Find the other five destined to become the next high priestesses and show them the way to harness their full power. ”

“Five?” I echo, forcing myself to be calm and clearheaded, and not freak out that the goddess is handing me what amounts to a holy quest. “I thought there were supposed to be seven. If I’m one, shouldn’t there be six more?”

“You are the high priestess for both the Volkov and Lyncas bloodlines,” she explains, her voice never changing from a gentle, soothing tone. “You are the first of your kind, but it was necessary so you may be strong enough to do what is required and create balance once more.”

I’m back on my feet, this time pacing the length of the courtyard while taking controlled breaths.

So much for not freaking out. “How exactly am I supposed to ‘create balance.’” I use finger quotes, because apparently I’m a lot more flippant when I’m losing my mind under the weight of world changing levels of responsibility.

“Also, how am I supposed to show them the way to harness their full power? I don’t even know how I did it. ”

“When the time comes, I’ll return to you to guide the next step of your journey.

” She continues to sit on the bench, her patience with me far exceeding what one would expect of a goddess who can smack me down like a bug.

She gestures toward my necklace that has glowed a soft blue since the night I killed the old alpha.

“The blood of the potential is key. Each high priestess was gifted a stone that, when activated, is both a well for their magic and the safe conduit to access their full power. Dormant, it appears as a stone threaded with many colors and has a carving representing the bloodline that they watch over. Once the potential’s blood coats the stone, it is activated, and they will reach their full potential. ”

“The blood of a spirit wolf meets the source of where her power flows.” I smack my hand against my forehead, feeling like a complete idiot.

“I’m the Volkov spirit witch. The blood of a spirit wolf is my blood.

I got hurt that night and must have bled on the family arcane focus.

Seriously, my ancestor could have worded that much better. ”

“It was a tumultuous time. I imagine she chose her words carefully in case they fell into the wrong hands,” the goddess responds, sounding almost defensive of the previous Volkov high priestess. Maybe she was one of her favorite chosen.

I stop pacing and gather the courage to look directly at her, my arms crossed over my chest. “Okay, let’s say I follow my destiny. How exactly am I supposed to find the other potential high priestesses?”

“You will know them when you find them. You are all my chosen, sisters of my creation. Each are direct descendants of the high priestesses who came before,” she shares, which is not super helpful since said high priestesses died two thousand years ago and were wiped from recorded history.

Her expression turns apologetic as she rises from the bench and walks over to me.

She takes my hands into her warm ones. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay any longer without beginning to harm you in the waking world.

Please, find my lost chosen and help them find their way.

” She presses a kiss to my forehead. “Be brave, my child.”

Instantly, the goddess and garden are gone, and I’m awake, staring up at my ceiling. Soft light pours in through the French doors that lead to my small balcony. It’s morning.

What a way to start my senior year.