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sixteen

A s I stepped into the diner the next morning, the silence hit me first. No hum of conversation, no clatter of dishes, not even the comforting scent of bacon on the grill, just a quiet that didn’t belong. The truth I now carried seemed to settle into the room with me, heavy and inescapable, turning the familiar into something foreign.

Every corner felt off, every detail tinged with unease. My stomach twisted, and their betrayal settled over me like wet cement, making it hard to breathe. Nausea rose as the reality of their lies sank in—layered, deliberate, and all around me.

Sleazy Sal stood at the counter, a hand towel tossed over his shoulder and that same arrogant grin plastered on his face. “So, you’ve decided to come crawling back to work, huh?” He sneered. “You’re late.”

A flicker of amusement tugged at the corner of my mouth, and I offered a sharp, mocking smile. “Reggie told me you were so sorry for upsetting me,” I said, my hand rising to my chest in a fake gesture of sincerity. “That you were absolutely torn up over the whole thing…”

The darkness I had uncovered about him lingered in my thoughts, gnawing at me. Was it wise to poke the bear? Probably not. But Zeke had told me to keep things “business as usual,” so I played my part. It was second nature now, slipping into the mask of indifference, hiding my true feelings behind a practiced smile.

But I couldn’t stop myself. The need to test his limits, to push back against him, against all of them, was almost instinctual at this point.

I took it a step further. “And I’m late,” I continued, “because I stopped on the way here to get you a peace offering.” My smile stretched wider as I reached into my pocket. Slowly, deliberately, I raised my middle finger, holding it high with a smug, unrepentant grin.

His face twisted into a scowl, eyes raking over me with thinly veiled contempt. “Your dress looks like trash,” he spat, his voice thick with disdain. The insult was deliberate, aimed squarely at my pride as a designer. I had expected it, of course. With a dismissive snort, he spun on his heel and stalked away, leaving me to savor the small satisfaction of having provoked him.

Luckily, the diner was empty, just as it often was. The silence gave me a rare moment of peace, allowing me to focus on my next move. I needed to figure out what Sal knew, and the idea of sneaking into his office to find any clues about the ring, or anything else related to my situation, lingered in my mind. But there was a problem: Sal was meticulous about locking his office door whenever he wasn’t around. If I tried to break in, he’d catch me for sure.

As I considered my options, Sal suddenly emerged from the kitchen, muttering curses under his breath. A fresh stain had splattered across his already-greasy white shirt. Oh no, now it’s ruined, the sarcasm practically oozing from my mind.

His sharp gaze locked onto mine, his temper fraying even further. “What are you looking at?!” he barked, his tone barely restrained.

He was in one of his moods, loud and brash, even by his usual standards. The diner phone shrilled, slicing through the tension in the air. Sal snatched it up on the first ring, his response short and sharp. “Yeah?”

I could hear Reggie’s voice muffled on the other end, but the words remained indistinct. Sal stepped outside to continue the conversation in private, leaving me alone with my thoughts and a thousand questions about what they were discussing.

I had to act fast. Sal would be back in ten to fifteen minutes, tops. There was no time to waste. If I was going to make a move, it had to be now. Without a second thought, I peeked out the window to confirm he was still engrossed in his call, then bolted for his office.

When I reached the door, I paused, casting a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure I was alone. A deep breath steadied my nerves, and I turned the knob, easing it open. The office was a mess, papers strewn across the desk in a chaotic swirl, a reflection of its owner’s haphazard personality. I dove in, rifling through the clutter, careful not to disrupt the disarray. Invoices, financial reports, and miscellaneous documents stared back at me, but none held the answers I was looking for.

Just when I was about to give up, something caught my eye: a small, delicate silver pendant in the shape of a viper, nestled among the scattered papers. Its intricate design shimmered faintly in the dim light, the black onyx eyes gleaming with an otherworldly intensity. I felt an inexplicable pull toward the serpent, as if it were beckoning me to touch it. Before I could second-guess myself, my fingers brushed against the cool metal.

A surge of energy shot through me, like a spark of electricity crackling through my veins. The sensation was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying, leaving me breathless and unsure if I’d imagined it. I yanked my hand back, startled, and stared at my fingertips, half-expecting the pendant to have left a mark. My pulse quickened. Intrigue and dread twisted inside me, and the air seemed to hum with silence, as if its power was still echoing deep inside my mind.

But before I could process what had happened, the sound of Sal’s boots hitting the floor outside sent a jolt of panic through me. I whipped around and knocked over a stack of papers, sending them fluttering to the ground in a noisy cascade.

“No!” I hissed, breath catching in my throat.

My hands trembled as I shoved everything back onto the desk, praying he wouldn’t notice. One last glance, and I bolted for the door. It clicked shut behind me, soft but final.

Sal had his back to me, but the moment he heard my footsteps, he spun around, suspicion tightening his features. “What are you doing?” he demanded, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

I forced a nonchalant tone, hoping to throw him off. “Do I need to start asking permission to use the restroom now?” I shot back, feigning innocence.

He blinked slowly, the silence stretching tight between us. His expression shifted, but he said nothing. Instead, his jaw tensed and his nostrils flared, subtle but telling. I flashed him a sweet smile before turning on my heel, heading back to the front to restock the napkins and condiments.

As my shift wound down, I left the diner with a false sense of normalcy. But the moment I passed the windows, I pivoted sharply and slipped across the street to the convenience store, keeping low and quick. I scanned the parking lot, careful not to draw attention.

A sharp whistle cut through the air. I turned to see Zeke’s car tucked away in a corner. I returned a subtle wave, then jogged over, careful to keep my movements low-key. Sliding into the passenger seat, I shut the door quickly, hoping we hadn’t been noticed. With a smooth shift, Zeke pulled out of the lot, leaving the diner and its watchful eyes behind us.

As we drove off, Zeke’s gaze lingered on me, his eyes sweeping over my dress. “This is my favorite one yet.”

The compliment stirred a warm flutter in my stomach, and a genuine smile spread across my face. “Thanks!” But then, Sal’s words echoed in my mind: Your dress looks like trash. Trash my ass.

He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, his fingers tapping a relaxed rhythm on the steering wheel. “So,” he said, his voice casual yet laced with something warmer, something inviting. “How do you feel about heading to my place to go over our plans?”

A spark of excitement flickered to life inside me. “Yeah, of course,” I replied, my words tinged with anticipation. “As long as I’m home by eight, we can go anywhere.”

Then, as my gaze drifted back to the road ahead, something clicked. “Wait—are you staying at an Airbnb or a hotel?”

I had to be careful. I couldn’t risk Reggie seeing me walk into some seedy hotel with a strange man. That would set off all kinds of alarms.

He paused for a moment, then gave a casual shrug. “I actually bought a house. Didn’t want to risk anyone coming in and out.”

Of course he did.

A mental picture formed as I imagined his house. I pictured a grand estate, with immaculate lawns stretching out and a sprawling mansion that would make my farmhouse look like a shack by comparison. Maybe a team of servants scurrying around, and Zeke referring to his bedroom as a “chamber” in a way that was equal parts aristocratic and absurd.

But when we pulled into the driveway, I gasped. “Your house is…really charming,” I blurted out, feeling sheepish about having imagined something entirely different.

His eyes narrowed into thin slits, full of suspicion. “What were you expecting, exactly?”

I shifted, a flicker of embarrassment creeping in. “At this point? Honestly?” I let out a breath, lifting my hands in exasperation. “A castle with a dragon. ”

His laughter came instantly, rich and full, wrapping around me like a familiar melody. He tipped his head back, the sound filling the space, warm and unguarded.

The car rolled to a standstill, and the driver's seat was empty. Zeke had vanished in the blink of an eye. Before I could even process it, he was already outside, swinging my door open with a flourish.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” I mumbled, my mind struggling to catch up.

He extended his hand to me. “You will,” he said with a grin. “It’s pretty useful—well, when I can actually do it, anyway. Can’t exactly go around fading in front of mortals. They’d freak out.” His expression shifted to one of amusement. “Can you imagine?”

As we walked inside, the familiar scent of cedar and pine filled the air, sharp and fresh, like the forest itself had followed us in. The house was pristine. Everything in its place, with no dust, no clutter, just an almost clinical order. The hardwood floors gleamed under the soft light of a single lamp in the corner, casting long shadows on the walls lined with polished wood and minimalist décor.

I raised a brow, my gaze sweeping the room. “You could perform surgery in here,” I said, my voice tinged with genuine surprise. “Do you even live here?” I took in the immaculate space, my eyes lingering on every detail. “This place is so clean, you could eat off the floor.”

He shut the door behind us with a soft click, then threw his hand up in an offhand shrug. “I like things clean. So sue me.”

I stood frozen, unwilling to touch anything. Zeke chuckled at my reluctance, sidling up beside me, his posture relaxed but playful. Without missing a beat, he strolled over to a bookshelf and, with a sweeping motion of his arm, sent half the books tumbling to the floor with a thunderous boom.

I gasped, my eyes widening as the heavy volumes hit the ground with a resounding thud. The noise jolted me. But Zeke? He only wiggled his eyebrows, unfazed, and snapped his fingers. In an instant, the books sprang back into place, aligning themselves neatly as if they’d never been disturbed at all.

My jaw went slack. “I could really use that ability,” I said, the awe slipping out before I could reel it in.

He waved his hand casually, the motion effortless. “See? No worries. You can ‘mess up’ anything you’d like, and I’ll fix it.”

He then led me into his dining room, where, with a flick of his wrist, a mountain of papers and research materials appeared as if conjured from thin air.

“So, this is everything I’ve gathered so far,” he said, surveying the sprawling mess of documents. “Feel free to look through whatever you like, but fair warning—most of it’s in Latin. ”

I made a show of being unimpressed, snapping my fingers with exaggerated flair. “Dang, left my Latin translator in my other purse.”

A sly smirk played at the corners of his mouth as he smoothly pulled out my chair, his movements deliberate, with an easy, fluid grace. “Lucky for you,” he said, “I speak Latin. Consider me at your service.”

“How convenient,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. But as I sank into the chair, a question stirred within me, shifting the mood. “So...is everyone in our realm immortal?”

Zeke’s gaze flickered toward me as he lowered into his seat, his expression pensive. “For the most part, yes. Magic is bound to bloodlines. Anyone with even a hint of pure-blooded witch’s blood is immortal; all witches trace their ancestry to a pure-blood somewhere down the line,” he said evenly. “But not all immortals are equal.” His tone grew flat, almost clinical. “The purer the bloodline, the greater the power.”

He reclined slightly, his eyes clouding over as if carefully selecting his next words. “Pure-blood witches are rare, also known as sorcerers or sorceresses, and their magic is raw, instinctive, overwhelmingly potent. Most witches spend years studying, practicing, and mastering spells through trial and error. But pure-bloods are different. Their power isn’t something they need to learn; it’s ingrained in them, channeled by a deep, natural source. ”

His focus sharpened, locking onto mine. “For me, that source is the weather. I draw my strength from the turbulence and energy of storms.”

I took a moment to absorb the information, my mind racing with the ramifications. “So, does that mean you need a storm to be present to fully access your magic?” I asked, unable to silence the questions swirling in my head.

His face broke into a gentle smile, and a low, husky laugh escaped his lips. “No. I don’t need thunder to summon my power. The storm is a part of me, a constant presence I can tap into whenever I need it.”

A tremor, both unsettling and fascinating, whispered through me as the true extent of Zeke’s abilities sank in. But it also sparked a new question, one that had been lingering in the back of my mind. “What about me?” I asked, my voice soft as a breath. “What do I channel to harness my power?”

His gaze grew intense, as though he were calibrating his words before releasing them. “You don’t just have pure blood,” he said, his eyes tracing my face with a mixture of awe and reverence. “You carry something older—the blood of the ancients.” His voice deepened, filled with quiet wonder. “Your control is effortless. While others rely on incantations, rituals, or external sources to channel power, you summon it with nothing more than a thought. Your destruction isn’t a byproduct of magic; it’s an extension of your will. And you have immense healing. Your body repairs itself almost instantaneously, as if the very essence of life bends to your command.”

The mention of the ancients sent a shockwave through me. A rush of excitement bloomed within, tempered by a healthy dose of skepticism. The idea that I could wield magic with merely a thought was both thrilling and unnerving, especially since I had no powers to speak of…or so I believed. But as I listened to Zeke’s words, something inside me stirred. It was as though a long-dormant spark had been fanned into a flame, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that this power, this legacy, was mine to claim.

It felt…right.

He leaned forward, his eyes burning with intensity. “Your power just is ,” he said, the notion hanging in the air like an unspoken promise. “It’s a part of you—a fundamental aspect of your being. You don’t need to learn spells or call upon the skies. All you have to do is tap into the depths of your own potential.”

What did it mean to possess this kind of power? And what were the true limits of my abilities?

After hours of poring over the ancient texts and dusty tomes, frustration was beginning to set in. “There’s nothing here about breaking the curse without separating the rings. This is starting to feel impossible.”

Then, in a flash of desperation, something ridiculous sparked in my brain. I bolted upright. “We could cut off my finger!”

Zeke’s expression hardened, disbelief written across his face. “We are not doing that,” he said firmly, his voice steady but incredulous. “That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.”

He adjusted his cuffs, avoiding my eyes. “Besides, I may or may not have already considered it. Let’s just say…it’s not a viable option.”

My jaw dropped. “You were actually considering cutting my finger off?!”

He rolled his shoulders, eyes glinting. “Desperate times.”

I stared at him, too dumbfounded to speak, but he just grinned, slow and sly.

“Although…” he said, tapping his chin with exaggerated gravity. “I hadn’t thought about cutting off the entire arm.” He raised an eyebrow, eyes twinkling. “Now that’s an idea. You could definitely rock the one-arm look.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re sick, you know that?”

He chuckled softly, clearly enjoying himself, but then his expression turned serious. He refocused on the text in front of him, the playful mood giving way to the gravity of our situation .

As I flipped to the final pages of the book I was holding, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. There, staring back at me, was an illustration of a pendant, its intricate curves and symbols identical to the one I’d seen on Sal’s desk.

I reached out, tracing the image’s outline, half-expecting to feel that same strange energy from the real pendant.

“What is this?” I asked, holding the page out to him.

He leaned in, eyes narrowing as he studied the Latin text beneath the picture.

“It’s an amulet,” he said, low and rough. “Hexed. Meant to grant dark magic…curses, even death itself. But it comes at a terrible price.”

His gaze sharpened as he read further, words tightening with restrained urgency. “The cost isn’t just paid by the wearer...it ripples out, touching everything around them.”

I couldn’t look away from the serpent, my fingers still grazing the page. “Sal…he had this on his desk. I snuck into his office today and found it.”

His head snapped up, eyes wide. “You snuck into his office?!”

The outburst broke my trance. “Yeah…” I admitted quietly. “I had to. If all of this is real, I couldn’t just sit back and let you do everything.”

I hadn’t told him earlier because part of me was afraid—afraid he’d be angry, or worse, disappointed. I was so used to Reggie’s sharp reprimands that I couldn’t shake the fear that Zeke might feel the same way. Reggie always made me feel small, like I’d crossed a line I didn’t even know existed. That fear of acting without permission was ingrained in me.

But something had shifted. I wasn’t going to sit back and wait for someone else to fix it, not with stakes like these. So I took the chance, even with that familiar worry nipping at my heels.

Zeke’s features eased, the tension fading from his face. “I understand,” he said gently. “And I admire your bravery.”

He paused, his expression darkening again. “But you need to be careful. If Sal has that pendant, he can kill our kind. And he might already be planning to.”

I nodded, the enormity of his words sinking in. “You’re right. Reggie and Sal wouldn’t hesitate to kill me if they thought it was necessary.”

He inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling as he steadied himself. “No,” he said, firm. “Reggie won’t kill you. You’re too valuable to him. Your magic is the key to his plan to take over our kingdom. If you die, your power dies with you.”

He looked away, his jaw tight. “Unfortunately…I’m not as integral to his scheme.”

A chill ran down my spine. My heart skipped. Panic flared beneath my ribs. Zeke had always seemed invincible. But now…everything had shifted .

The truth landed hard: he could die because of me.

I couldn’t even begin to accept it.

He must have noticed the shift in my expression, the concern creeping into my eyes. His hand reached out, warm against my skin, gently tucking a stray curl behind my ear. His smile was small but steady, carrying a quiet strength that anchored me.

“Hey,” he said softly, covering my hand with his. “Don’t be upset. I promise, I’m way scarier than I look. I can handle Sally.”

I tried to smile, but it felt like glass—thin, ready to break with the slightest movement. “Yeah…” I murmured, the words echoing emptily. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

Fine . The word barely registered anymore. It was hollow, detached, like it didn’t even belong to me.

Zeke straightened in his chair, glancing at his watch with a flicker of reluctance. He sighed, then gestured toward the door with a subtle tilt of his head. “It’s getting late,” he said. “I should get you home.”

I reached out instinctively, my fingers curling around his wrist as I studied the dials on his watch. “Yeah, you’re right,” I said, feeling his gaze on me, a small smile pulling at his lips.

A wave of disappointment washed over me as the weight of the moment settled in. I wasn’t ready to leave, not yet. I didn’t want to acknowledge that our time together was so fleeting, so precious. But I could feel the inevitability of it, the end of our evening drawing near. I echoed his sentiment softly, my voice tinged with a touch of wistfulness. “Let’s go.”

The drive to my house was thick with a silence that hummed with unspoken words. Then, unexpectedly, Zeke spoke. “I’m heading into town tomorrow.”

“What’s in town?” I turned to him, anxiously waiting for his answer.

He hesitated, his eyes flicking toward me before returning to the road. “I’m…looking for a witch,” he said, each word slow, measured. “She’s a prisoner here. From what I’ve gathered, she might know something about the rings. More than we do.”

Questions flooded my mind, but I held them back, waiting for him to continue.

“I wasn’t sure if I should tell you about her,” he admitted, his voice guarded yet edged with apology. “Her husband’s high-ranking in the Shadowweavers, the guild of impure-blooded warlocks I told you about. They’ll destroy anything to gain power. I didn’t want to drag you into any more danger, especially if she’s tied to Reggie.”

The words settled over me like a storm cloud, heavy with meaning I wasn’t ready to face. The air between us thickened, the silence stretching.

“She’s the reason I came to this realm in the first place,” Zeke said, his voice dropping into something almost fragile. “I’ve been here almost a year now, but it’s only been a few months since I started tracking her down in the States. I only just found out she’s in this small town. I know she works at a shop here, but finding her has been…tricky.”

I stared at him, stunned. A year? He’d been here much longer than I’d imagined.

“Okay. I’m coming with you,” I said, my voice steady with resolve.

He let out a low chuckle, like he’d expected it. “I figured as much,” he murmured, a knowing grin tugging at his lips. He gave a brief nod, fingers tapping lightly on the wheel, eyes still fixed on the road.

As I thought about driving around town in Zeke’s car, a nervous twinge crept in. My hands tightened around the edge of the seat, and my stomach fluttered with unease. What if Reggie or Sal saw us? Especially if we were hopping in and out of stores, our chances of being spotted would skyrocket.

I hesitated, barely believing I was about to suggest this. But it felt safer.

“We should take my car instead of yours,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Just in case Reggie sees us. The BMW isn’t exactly subtle.”

Zeke’s face twisted in horror, eyes going wide. “The minivan?!” he exclaimed, like I’d just said something unholy. His fingers froze on the wheel.

I raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by his reaction. “Is there anything you don’t know about me?” I shot back. But before he could answer, his words sank in, and my jaw dropped. “And hey, what’s wrong with my minivan?” I demanded, planting a hand on my hip.

Zeke’s face smoothed over, an impassive mask settling in. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It’s…a great car,” he said with a forced smile, clearly struggling to hide his true feelings.

I grinned, satisfied with his discomfort, and gave him a playful wink. “Good. Be at my house at 8:00. I’ll be waiting by the van.”

“I’ll be there,” he said, his tone thick with reluctant resignation.

As I pictured Zeke cruising around in the minivan all day, a soft laugh escaped me. It was the perfect way to knock him down a peg. He’d been getting a little too cocky lately. But beneath the humor, something else stirred. A flicker of excitement bubbled up. This could be the breakthrough we’d been waiting for. As ridiculous as it sounded, this plan might actually lead us right where we needed to go.