Page 1

Chapter 1

T hat bitch had my prophecy, and tonight I would take it from her.

I stuck to the shadows of the crumbling stone walls, careful to avoid the glare of the full moon with each step. A sudden breeze bit at my cheeks and flung a thick strand of purple hair across my eyes. I seized it and wrenched it out of the way, the roots prickling on the top of my head.

The retreating back of Romilda Abagnale remained in my sights, half a street ahead in the tiny Italian village I had tracked her to. I had spent years attempting to corner her and confront her about the prophecy she had seen the day I was born; the prophecy that had caused my family to lock me up in the family home for most of my life. But Romilda had done everything in her power to avoid me, which was an easy task for someone who could see the future.

Whatever she had seen in my future, whether good, bad, or hideous , I had to know. Not just to ensure I lived out my best-case scenario, but to figure out why the people I had once called family had kept me as a prisoner and a slave for twenty long years.

I stepped over a cracked slab on the ancient pavement and pressed my hand to the gritty wall to steady myself. I had come close to confronting Romilda before, but often she disappeared in the time it took me to look over my shoulder and back again. This time, she wouldn't escape.

Romilda ducked underneath a low archway which cast a shadow over her for just a moment. My heart sputtered and I jerked into a quiet jog to quicken my pace. But the moonlight beamed down on her again as she emerged the other side. I breathed an annoyed sigh through my nose and reached for the cigarette packet wedged into my jacket pocket. Before I could slide it out, I curled my fingers into a fist and dropped my hands to my sides. Why could I never have a smoke when I really needed one?

I blinked furiously as I reached the archway and stopped in my tracks to scour the empty plaza. In the split second my mind had wandered to cigarettes, Romilda had vanished.

" No ," I muttered through gritted teeth.

Not again. Not after how long it had taken me to find her again.

The vintage-style electric street lights cast dim beams of light across the square; even the candles burning outside the church outshone them. A row of pillars ran along the outside of the plaza, holding up a stone roof that covered a long passageway. I dashed toward it, my footsteps silent thanks to the runic enchantment I had cobbled together earlier that day.

Sneaking up on Romilda required utter silence, but even that had done me no favours, apparently.

My foot caught on the small step between two of the pillars, and I stumbled against the opposite wall, throwing my hands out to catch myself.

"You must stop following me."

I turned my head and scraped yet more purple hair out of my face. Romilda stood at the end of the stone passage, her hands folded over a stomach more swollen than the last time I had seen her. She was pregnant? Since when?

I moved with deliberate caution as I straightened up and brought my hands to my sides. Romilda had the disposition of a fox; sly and likely to disappear if someone stepped on a twig too forcefully. The fact she could have fled without me noticing but had stayed behind was a rare opportunity I couldn't squander.

"You know I can't," I said.

"You don't understand the danger you're putting us both in. Us all in." Romilda rubbed a thumb up and down her stomach.

What did that mean? What harm could telling me my prophecy possibly do?

"You owe me an explanation." I took a cautious step toward her, taking so long to complete the action that I hoped it wouldn't draw her attention. "My entire life derailed because of the prophecy you saw, and I need to know what it is."

"I won't tell you," Romilda said, her tone frustratingly certain. "And you cannot know. Not now, anyway."

"Or what ? At least tell me that!" I took another, more sudden step toward her and immediately regretted it, as she took one back. "You can't control my future by keeping it from me."

She couldn't hide the truth from me. Whatever Romilda had seen had affected my life from day one. I deserved to know what future she had seen that had turned me into a prisoner for all those years.

The corners of Romilda's mouth tightened and something flashed behind her eyes. Something I knew well: anger.

"I am not responsible for what the Bishops did to you," she said. "But I am responsible for..." She silenced, swallowing whatever she had planned to say to me.

"Romilda, please ." I took another step closer, but this time she didn't move. "If I promise not to act on anything you tell me, or even acknowledge that I know...will you please reveal my prophecy? You can get rid of me for good if you just tell me. I'll never come near you again."

And I meant it. I would hold myself to whatever promises I made her if only she would finally speak the words I had dreamed of hearing.

Romilda's shoulders sagged and she gazed between the pillars at the church, her eyes glistening. "I will never be rid of you."

A flurry of white lights engulfed her and before I could take two strides toward her, Romilda vanished.

I cursed, loudly, hoping that whatever human god that watched over this place heard me. Romilda had never even set foot here, at least not tonight; she had only projected her image here. To think, I actually thought I had gotten close to the real Romilda to speak to her. But she had only placed her likeness in my path so she could try and convince me to stop following her.

I snatched the packet out of my pocket and shoved a cigarette between my lips, fumbling for the lighter in my back jeans pocket. Forget quitting. I would need to smoke the whole damn packet to lower my blood pressure after tonight.

At 3am, I had plenty of time to road rage in safety. A handful of cars traversed the motorways at speeds that would have gotten them into trouble during daylight hours. Mine would have landed me in prison if I had passed any speed cameras. I weaved from lane to lane on my black BMW S 1000, my pride and joy since getting it five months prior after a particularly hefty paycheque. That and a broken heart had created a perfect storm for impulse buying. But I hadn't regretted it for a moment.

Motorbikes had taken my fancy since the first time I had gotten into a car. Aside from being too big and clunky, they lacked any kind of adrenaline rush. Unless you counted the anxiety from squeezing past other cars on roads designed for carriages and the odd herd of cattle. I didn't.

That and the feeling of being locked in an enclosed metal cage set my claustrophobia off something awful.

The wind beat against my leathers as I swerved this way and that, hoping the rush would burn off the adrenaline that had accumulated within. All thanks to Romilda and her dastardly tactics. But all my manoeuvres did was thrum my heart rate so fast that I could feel every pulse beating in harmony.

Experiencing weather signified freedom in its most exhilarating form. The smallest gust of wind or the beating of golden sunrays had my soul swelling with an addictive hybrid sensation of joy and escape.

By the time I pulled into the street I lived on, I desperately needed another cigarette. I slowed outside the three storey Georgian house I called home, careful to keep the engine at a low hum as I pulled up to the garage. I didn't want to wake anyone up.

White paint peeled off the walls off the house, and one of the front steps had smashed in half from when Edward had fallen on his ass after drinking too much one night. Much to Priya's annoyance. Her goal to get the entire deposit back if we ever moved on from this place had slid into the gutter along with the cheap watch Edward had lost that night.

Chichester wasn't a cheap city to live in, even if we were tucked away toward the outskirts. Money had a habit of draining away in the south of England.

I threw open the garage door and drove the bike in. Once I killed the engine, I grabbed another cigarette out of my pocket and yanked my helmet off my head. Locks of purple hair cascaded down my shoulders, my loose curls bouncing a little. I could never go back to my old mousey brown colouring. That belonged to someone who didn't exist anymore.

I lit up my cigarette and leaned on my handlebars to take a deep puff. Priya hated my smoking habit and was hypersensitive to the smell. She had relegated me to smoking outside, though I tested my luck by smoking in the garage and out of my bedroom window.

The nicotine did little to temper my dark mood, but I still smoked it down to the stub and put it out on the workshop tabletop. We weren't getting our deposit back anyway.

Someone had kicked their shoes off in the hallway and I picked my way over them before sliding my own off. I stacked them inside the shoe cubby with the two other pairs. Where they were supposed to go. According to Priya.

I hitched my shoulder back up and made my way down the corridor into a pool of light spilling through the kitchen door. Priya sat at the kitchen table, holding a steaming cup of something. She had put her silky black hair up in a bun for the night, but I didn't know how anyone could sleep in rainbow pyjamas that bright.

Her Cheshire cat grin found me over the top of her cup. "Sneaking around in the shadows again. What did you do this time? Steal another power?"

The truth sat on my tongue, waiting its turn. But I couldn't spit it out.

"Not tonight. Just fancied a drive," I said.

Ever since I had decided to pursue Romilda, I had kept the plans to myself. Priya, Edward, and Laura were my family, and I trusted them. But for whatever reason, I couldn't open up.

Maybe I feared they would try and talk me out of searching for my prophecy when everyone and everything associated with seemed to want to keep me in the dark. Maybe I worried they would try and help. This was my journey after all, and it felt too personal to have anyone else along with me.

"Do you have a minute?" Priya patted the tabletop.

"That sounds serious." I edged into the kitchen, unsure if I wanted to sit down with her or not. "What's up?"

Priya pumped her eyebrows at me as if to tease me, but she avoided my gaze as I pulled out a chair to sit.

"Just checking in," she said, sliding a packet of Oreos across the table to me.

I snatched one up and shovelled it into my mouth. After all the sleuthing that night, I hadn't even registered I was hungry. Nothing hit the spot quite like an Oreo.

"You've been pretty quiet lately and I wanted to make sure you're doing okay." Priya cupped her chin in her hand.

I stopped mid chomp and met her gaze. Uh oh. Was she about to talk about feelings ?

"Yeah," I said. "I'm fine."

"Nothing you want to talk about? Not even-?"

"No." I crammed another Oreo into my mouth, my words barely making it out. "I don't."

"Bea." Priya rubbed a hand over her face. "I know you prefer to deal with your own problems, but we're all worried you're isolating yourself. Poor Laura is losing sleep over it."

I licked my lips, a smidgen of guilt joining the cookies in the pit of my stomach.

As Asher's younger sister, Laura had taken our breakup pretty hard. She had become my sister over the past several years, same as Priya. While I had avoided her a little to try and heal the wounds I had suffered thanks to her no good brother, I didn't want her to think it was because I didn't want to be her friend anymore.

"I'll talk to her," I promised. "Just...I'm not ready to talk about this yet, okay?"

"That I understand." Priya took a sip from her mug. "But I'm starting to think that you going quiet isn't just about Asher."

The hairs on my arms bristled. She was certainly the sharpest knife in our kitchen drawer.

"What are you up to?" she asked. "Hecate isn't exactly spilling the beans, either."

Priya had grilled Hecate, too? My grimalkin familiar kept tighter lips than I did. Hopefully, whatever Priya had bribed her with hadn't been enough to make her crack.

I got up from the table and exaggerated a sigh, complete with a big shoulder gesture. "I wonder what it's like to live with people who have faith in you?"

"Oh, you're such a drama queen-" Priya flinched as an envelope materialised with a crack only a foot above our heads, and it drifted its way onto the table between us.

The muscles in my jaw tightened, sending a ripple of tension all the way down my neck to my shoulders as I registered the words Beatrix Bishop on the front. I hated everything about that name; the way it looked, sounded, the works.

The moment I left their house, I committed to purge the name Bishop from every facet of my life. I changed my name from Bishop to Silver as soon as I could, with the help of my new housemates. Even the sight of a chess set had me breaking out in shivers.

I turned the letter over in my hands. I would have recognised that handwriting from the other side of the room. That was the work of my grandmother: Pearl Bishop, the woman who had locked me up for the first twenty years of my life.