Page 17 of Unhinged Magic (Cutters Cove Witches #2)

Wesley

Every fiber in me threatened to combust.

Those fucking words.

' Whispered ‘mate’ in my ear. '

I had never come so close to losing my shit in my life. If I was a mage with an affinity for fire, I would have burned this manor to the ground. Instead, I sat there, stuck in my head, my own thoughts threatening to swallow me whole. Feeling pathetic. Useless. This couldn’t be possible.

I had wondered if Skye seeing Landon’s spirit had something to do with our bond’s problem. But I hadn’t considered the thought Landon thought she was his mate.

It made no sense. I hadn’t heard of anything like this before. But I knew this could not be dismissed so easily. Something was clearly wrong with the bond between us, and, so far, this was the only lead we had.

So here I was, sitting in a fucking abandoned manor in the middle of the forest, one I wasn’t one hundred percent sure I would return from alive, about to conjure my brother’s ghost, who apparently thought my mate was his.

This was so fucked up.

I sat silently as Skye reached for her bag, pulling out a wooden board that I instantly recognized as something I had only ever seen in the movies, an Ouija board.

She shuffled back to create a space between us, and I did the same.

The room dipped to an eerie quiet as she placed the board between us, its presence a heavy pressure stifling the calm I so desperately tried to exude.

Against the flicker of lit candles, our shadows danced across the bare walls of the room, like ghostly branches swaying, pushing against a nonexistent breeze.

When Skye stilled in front of me, our eyes locked, unspoken words passing between us.

“We need to place our fingers on this.” She held up what looked like a wooden triangle. “In the movies, it moves on its own as the spirit speaks to us.” She set it on the board, placing her index finger on top of it.

I did the same, drawing my gaze back up to meet hers. “I guess we’re about to find out if this is all bullshit or not.”

Skye’s forehead furrowed into subtle ripples, her brows pulling together. She adjusted her sweater with her free hand, tucked a stray hair behind her ear. Drawing in a steady breath, our eyes fell to the small triangle underneath the tips of our fingers, questions pursed on both our lips.

Would this work? Could we really bring Landon forward and sort this mess?

Skye’s voice broke through my thoughts, an unnatural caution edging her tone. “I call on the spirit of Landon to speak with us,” she said lowly.

We stared around the room, expecting something to happen. A gust of wind, a flicker of a candle.

I arched a skeptic brow at the eerie quiet. Silence dominated the room, like it had taken up residence, seeped into every wall, buried itself into the very essence of this manor. When nothing happened, I wound my gaze back to Skye. She straightened, shoulders pushed back further now.

“I call on Landon to speak with us. We mean no harm. Please .”

The last word fractured as it left her, like the force of it could collect his soul and summon him on a single breath. I knew little about 'the other side' or even if one existed. I was a 'life’s a bitch and then you die' type of guy and had never been proven otherwise.

Suddenly, I lost all doubt. The candles burned brighter, lifting higher by at least two inches.

Skye’s eyes blew wide, as did my own, darting around the circle of candles currently questioning my theory of the afterlife.

An unknown intensity pushed against every fucking reason I had for this shit to not be real.

It was one thing to hear about it, read about ghostly tales. But this was next fucking level.

Suddenly, the candles dimmed again, until every single one was barely an ember, causing the house to dive into an unnatural light, even in the late-afternoon dusk. I didn’t know if it was nerves or fear. But whatever it was wanted to exit from my stomach immediately.

I slammed my fist to my mouth, swallowing a deep breath, but it was no good.

Rising to my feet, I bolted for the front door, sure I was about to empty my stomach onto the porch outside.

Fresh air engulfed me as I remained bent over, clutching my knees, willing the nausea to just exit my fucking body, but it never came.

The silence seemed to follow me as I grappled with my lack of bodily function, until a loud smash sounded from back inside.

Suddenly, my inner quiet turned to chaos.