Page 38 of Loving Amari

“Wait,” he says, blood still trickling from his nose.

I stop, my magic still crackling around my fingers. I look over at the boy who’s unconscious in Kade’s arms. His small chest rises and falls with normal breath now, the possession broken. He looks so young, so innocent. Just a child who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Kade adjusts her hold on him, her face a mixture of rage and relief. The other students are starting to peek out of their dorm rooms, drawn by the commotion.

“This is far worse than we thought,” I say, the weight of it all crashing down on me.

13

AMARI

Ipace the nurses’ ward, thinking about Nathaniel’s words to me in the possessed boy. He knows me somehow, but I can’t place it. It’s been so long since I watched my people fall in Granada, and not once did I think my silence and lack of action created enemies from my fallen people. Is all this happening because of me?

Angie uses her magic to scan the unconscious boy, blue and gold threads flowing from her fingers as they hover over his small form. The magical energy creates a soft humming sound, like distant wind chimes. She looks back at Kade and Carla. “He’s fine, just the aftereffects of teleportation. He’ll feel the usual sickness when he wakes up.”

“Have you been able to find out anything about Nathaniel and Henry?” Carla asks, unable to hide her concern.

“A little,” Angie admits, her magical threads dissipating.

“Come with me,” she says, already moving toward the door.

Carla looks at the little boy, guilt written across her face. The weight of what just happened—an innocent child used as a weapon—presses down on all of us.

“Go,” Kade tells her, sitting down to take the young boy’s hand. “I’ll stay with him.”

We walk down the quiet halls of the academy in silence. Angie walks over to a table covered in books that are open. She stops in front of them, her expression grave. The room smells of old parchment and herbs—sage, rosemary, and something darker I can’t identify.

Carla smiles at me when I start looking over the text.

Angie looks at me. “They are of your Moorish culture.”

She points to names in the text, her finger hovering just above the delicate pages. “Ibrahim al-Qurtubi. Nasir al-Qurtubi. Brothers from Córdoba.”

“Hmm.” I study the names, something tugging at my memory. “It sounds familiar, scholarly, but I can’t place it.”

“I’ll look into my journals,” I tell her, making a mental note to dig through my extensive records.

Angie uses her magic, the blue hues and gold creating a hologram above the books. The projection shimmers into existence, showing a weathered spellbook, its cover adorned with symbols I recognize as Blackwood markings. The hologram rotates slowly, revealing intricate binding work and what appears to be locks made of pure magical energy.

“The first Blackwood spellbook,” she explains, her voice reverent. “Henry has it in his possession. Tabatha’s coven gave it to him to protect it from Aya Bailey.”

Carla looks up at Angie in shock. “Oh no.”

“We are bound by the laws of Mother Fate,” Angie says. “We cannot just take the book back. It has to be given to us.”

“This is the mission Damon and Selene have been working on quietly for you,” I say, the pieces clicking into place.

Angie nods, her shoulders sagging slightly under invisible weight.

Carla looks at her cousin with sad eyes. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Angie just shrugs, but I can see the weight she’s been carrying alone.

“Be serious right now,” she says, defensive. “You were dealing with limbo, and Anora is a walking time bomb.”

Angie’s face falls, vulnerability cracking through her usual confidence. “It felt like this mission was sent to me by Mother Fate. That I needed to handle it, no matter how much I yearned for a simple life. I was going to have to use the power I was blessed with.”

Carla comes around the table to her. “Oh, Angie, you don’t have to feel that way.”