Page 72

Angie walks past us, flicking her fingers in a casual gesture that reveals her deep connection to her magic. I marvel at the ease with which she commands her power—the subtle blue-green glow at her fingertips, the way the air seems to ripple around her hands.

Carla leans into me. “Angie is very in touch with her magic, more than all of us Blackwoods. It just seems to come to her naturally.”

I smile down at her, staying close as we watch Angie work.

Blue-green hues of magic flow from her fingertips like ribbons of liquid light, wrapping around a large book on a distant shelf.

The tome lifts into the air, surrounded by a soft glow, and floats toward us.

As it approaches, the book opens on its own, pages flipping quickly until it settles on what must be the desired section.

Carla walks around me to look inside, and I follow, peering over her shoulder at the revealed pages.

The book is magnificent—bound in leather so ancient it’s cracked and worn at the edges, its pages yellowed with age.

The text is written in an elegant script that seems to shift and move, as if the letters themselves are alive.

Intricate illustrations border each page, depicting creatures of myth and magic in painstaking detail.

What strikes me most is the occasional glint of the ink, flecked with gold and silver that seems far too vivid to be ordinary pigment.

“I know I’m not supposed to know what’s inside of a spellbook,” I say, “but I can see the text.”

Angie looks up at me with a glare, then shifts her gaze to Carla’s neck. “It’s because you claimed her,” she says, pointing at the mark on Carla’s throat. “Just like Jacob has with me, you’ve taken some of her magic, unknowingly.”

I smile at that, proud that I have a piece of my mate living inside of me.

Angie begins explaining about Tabatha, running her finger across a particular passage.

The book reveals a detailed drawing of a woman with deep brown skin and startling blue eyes, her hair twisted into elaborate braids adorned with gold threads.

She wears strange earrings that seem to pulse with light, and her expression is both fierce and knowing.

“I know Tabatha,” I say, recognizing her immediately from the vision the children showed us. “But only briefly.”

Angie huffs, crossing her arms. “Please don’t say one of my descendants is on your dick roster.”

I glare at her, my amusement fading. “Absolutely not. What do you take me for?”

Kade laughs from across the room, and I shoot her a warning look.

Anora approaches, her elegant gown rustling softly against the floor. The fabric seems to shift between shades of green with every movement, creating a mesmerizing, fluid effect.

“We’ve been doing some studying,” Carla says, her fingers tracing the illustration of Tabatha. “Tabatha apparently was a key holder to limbo.”

“We sort of got that part,” I reply, remembering the vision.

Carla nods, explaining what we learned from the children’s memories—how she was killed, how Tabatha visited them in the cave and revived her under the condition that her children would protect both Carla and limbo.

“The key you’re speaking about disappeared into me and my children,” she concludes, looking up at Angie.

Angie’s eyes narrow as she studies Carla’s face. “Tabatha made you the doorway to limbo.”

She begins scanning the text again, her finger moving rapidly across the page. “It says limbo was put in jeopardy when Aya cast the curse on supernaturals. It threw many things off balance, and limbo was one of them.”

She looks up, her expression grave. “Tabatha feared that Aya would get access to the key if she caught up with her. Aya was hunting all Blackwoods and killing them because she knew we were the reset to the Bailey witches.”

“I remember that,” I say softly, the memories of that dark time surfacing. I look to Damon, who nods solemnly.

“We encountered a few Blackwood witches,” Damon confirms, “and we did what we could to help. But Aya was a force—she wanted them dead and made it so.”

Angie turns back to the book, frustration evident in her voice. “It doesn’t say anything about Carla or the deal she made with the children. It just speaks of the prayer to Fate for a savior and the sacrifice the Blackwood witches made for the prayer.”

Carla sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Maybe it was kept out to keep me safe.” She looks down at the book, her expression troubled. “In the memories, Tabatha made it explicitly clear not to lift the veil until they knew I was safe. But I don’t understand my purpose for limbo.”

She moves toward the book, running her fingers over the text. As she does, something strange happens—her fingertips begin to glow with a soft pink light. Angie’s eyes widen, and she leans forward, staring at the phenomenon.

“Wait a minute,” Angie says, excitement creeping into her voice. “There’s a special coding in the text.”

She runs her own fingers over the page, and Anora approaches as well. The queen looks at Carla and Angie, then mimics their gesture, running her fingers across the book. The moment all three touch the page, the book begins to glow, the light intensifying until it’s almost painful to look at.

Suddenly, the tome starts to shake violently. They snatch their fingers back as magic erupts from the pages—not the blue-green of Angie’s power or the black and emerald of Anora’s, but a vivid, pulsing pink that reminds me of the magic Tabatha used in the vision.

The magic shoots out like living silk, wrapping around Carla in an intricate web of light.

Strands of pink energy weave around her arms, her legs, her torso, creating a cocoon that lifts her slowly into the air.

The threads pulse with a heartbeat-like rhythm, each one glowing with a soft inner light.

“Amari!” Carla cries out, panic evident in her voice as her feet leave the floor. Her eyes are wide with fear as the magical web continues to envelop her, lifting her higher.

I reach for her immediately, my fingers just brushing the cocoon before a searing pain shoots up my arm. “Fuck!” I yank my hand back, wincing as blisters form where I touched the magical web.

“Just wait, Amari,” Angie says, placing a hand on my arm. “It’s Tabatha, giving Carla a message, possibly lifting the veil.”

“What if she’s taking Carla away from me?” I demand, unable to mask the fear in my voice. “What if she’s in pain?”

Angie looks at me, her expression softening for the first time. “I know it’s hard, Amari, but have faith in Fate. Let Carla find out who she is.”

“So what are we supposed to do?” I snap, watching helplessly as Carla floats several feet above us, completely encased in the pulsing pink cocoon. “Just leave her in this magical web for who knows how long? We know nothing about what’s going on.”

I run a handover my face, my voice breaking slightly. “I cannot lose her.”

Angie studies me carefully. “Do you think Fate will take her from you?”

I go quiet at that, the question hitting deeper than I expected.

“I don’t deserve her, and I know it,” I admit softly. “But I’m working to change. I will do anything.”

Angie sighs, a smile forming on her lips. “Maybe I was wrong about you, then.”

I look up at Carla, floating in her magical prison, when I notice something on the wall behind her.

Moria and Kemnebi cling to the ceiling, watching quietly.

Kemnebi catches my eye and sends me an image: the word “wait” spelled out clearly in my mind.

Something about his calm assurance soothes me enough to pause.

Anora lifts her hands, and black and green magic streams from her fingertips, curling around the pink cocoon in twisting tendrils. But as soon as her magic makes contact with Tabatha’s, it recoils sharply, snapping back and sending Anora stumbling backward.

She glares up at the cocoon, rubbing her hands together. “This magic is powerful, more powerful than mine. But Carla’s fine. It’s just a messaging spell. We just have to wait until the message is received.”

Anora looks down at her hands, clearly bothered by the fact that her magic doesn’t work, but she quickly composes herself.

Selene approaches, holding several journals. Damon meets her halfway, taking the books from her hands.

“Let’s all go sit down and wait for the spell to pass,” he suggests, his voice calm and practical. “We won’t know anything until it does.”

Everyone moves toward the seating area, but Anora and I remain, watching Carla float encased in the magical web cocoon. The pink strands continue to pulse with that strange heartbeat rhythm, occasionally sending out smaller threads that reach toward the ceiling before retracting.

Anora stares up at it, her brow furrowed in concentration. “This magic is more powerful than dark magic,” she murmurs. “What the fuck is this?”

I grin at that, amused by her frustration but unable to share it. Whatever’s happening, Kemnebi seemed unconcerned. And if anyone would know if Carla was in danger, it would be her children.

All I can do now is wait—and hope that whatever message Tabatha has for my mate, it brings us closer rather than driving us apart.