Page 21 of Inked & Bloodbound

The matter-of-fact way she says it sends ice through my veins. “That’s…that’s not possible.”

“Close your eyes,” she says instead of arguing. “It is better if I show you.”

“I don’t think?—”

“Close your eyes, Lily.”

The room goes dark behind my eyelids, but I can still smell the incense and essential oils, still feel her warm hands holding mine. A bell rings through the room and reverberates through my body. Rearranging my molecules and tingling all over my scalp.

“Con permiso, espíritus de luz,” she says, her voice soft andhypnotic. “Picture yourself in an empty room with a single window. Can you see it?”

I nod. Yes, I do. Despite myself, I can. In my mind’s eye, there’s a large window with old-fashioned panes, and beyond it…something. Not darkness, exactly, but something vast and shimmering.

“Good. Now you’re going to walk toward the window. Place your hands on the glass.”

I do as she says and I’m surprised when I can feel my hands pushing against the cool surface of the window.

“Put your ear against the glass and listen. Go on. Tell me what you can hear.”

At first, there’s nothing. Then, faint as a whisper, a voice, far away but clear and resonant.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

“Hello.”

My heart speeds up. I can’t believe it’s actually working. Paloma’s voice drifts in too, but it’s muffled, like she’s trapped underwater. I can feel her right next to me, but her words are slippery. Bouncing off the walls and dancing in the distance.

“Concentrate. Take it slow. All you have to do is listen,” she encourages from somewhere far away.

I lean in and try again.

“Hello?”

“Liliput.”

My breath catches. I know that voice.

I try to focus, but a searing pain shoots through my head, like someone driving a stake into my eye socket. I gasp and jerk my hands away from the imaginary window, and my eyes fly open as I’m metaphysically catapulted back to Paloma’s room. I blink, adjusting my eyes to the light, and wipe the tears from my cheeks with the sleeve of my cardigan.

“What the hell just happened to me?”

“Shhh,” she soothes. “It’s okay. Don’t be scared. I am told it can be very intense the first time.”

“I can’t believe I just?—”

“With practice,” Paloma continues as if I haven’t spoken, “you’ll be able to open the window when you need to and close it when you don’t. You must learn to maintain the balance between the worlds.”

The crystal ball’s light dims rapidly, and we watch the white smoke darken to deep red tendrils that thrash so violently against the glass the ball rocks in its cradle.

Paloma’s face betrays a flash of fear before she composes herself.

“That can’t be good?” I say, transfixed.

“No. It’s not good. It means that someone already knows about this.”

“Who?” I ask.

“No one good.”