Page 23

Chapter 23

Tully

C yrus, Rustion, Romulus, and Laini wave encouragement before they brick up the door of the room. The place is pitch black. I know the mirror is in the center of the structure and the stones are now in my pockets, but I can’t see them at all.

“Is the darkness a problem?” Argos asks.

“No, I’ll use my witch’s third eye.”

“Can you, uh, keep me updated? Because I won’t be able to tell if you need catching or support unless you let me know.”

“The magic will be bright. You’ll see it all.”

“How do you know?” It’s not a condescending question; his tone is pure curiosity again. “Also, are you feeling good about the stones drawing from the mirror?”

“You’re never going to stop studying me, are you?”

He chuckles. “If I get my way, no.”

“Magic almost always produces light. It’s pure energy. And yes, I feel good about it. Like calls to like , as I have told you. They’re both made of the same rare material. My first spell will attempt to link them more fully than they would find one another naturally. To speed up that process and help us, well, keep us alive. The second is a complicated spell to work the power through the stones. Now, hush. I’m beginning.”

“All right. I’m here.”

It’s strange how comforting it is to have Argos beside me. He can’t do anything really to help me, so I’m not sure why I feel so very glad he’s here.

I pull the khymeia from my pockets and begin the incantation. My wand heats at my belt, wishing I would use her instead of the stones.

Blessed Stones, this is so very dangerous. We could both die right here, right now.

I just hope the potion I gave Argos—the same stuff I eventually downed too—works to keep us safe from these abominable objects and their dark power. I hope the dill jewelry does its thing as well. I feel nauseated just messing with them, but it must be done.

The incantation becomes a chant that I can repeat over and over easily, the syllables falling from my lips. They feel cold as icicles and sharp as knives. This is difficult magic. My blood sings with power though and I feel pleasantly warm all over. The chant grows in power as I repeat it faster and faster, and soon the light from the khymeia combines with the words to create pulsing spheres of green and gold illumination. I flick the stones in a whipping motion like I would my wand, cease the chant, and cast the spell.

To get the khymeia to drain the mirror in full, I had to think of a pretty complicated spell. If it isn’t layered enough, the stones might only partially drain the mirror and I have no idea what would happen at that point. The mirror is sentient. It might lash out once I stop hindering its power with the khymeia’s draining. So the spell has to completely drain the mirror once I start.

I go quiet to focus. The chant has done its linking work, so now it is simply time to cast my main spell.

I imagine the forest hut where I grew up. The tall pines swaying in the wind. A white buck watching the meadow beyond our garden. My grandwitch bespelling the front steps to keep mice and ants away. In my mind, it’s harvest time, and the whole place smells of wishberry jam. It’s a tart sort of sweetness and we always mixed it with a dash of magic—just some sage-scented daydream encouragement.

Magic sparks from the stones to the mirror and then to a spot between them where it forms the images in my mind. Grandwitch is smoking her old witch’s pipe and the scent of Longway Leaf hits my nose.

Argos makes a small noise of surprise and appreciation.

“It doesn’t escape me that I’m creating illusions like you did in the market when you stole my customers,” I whisper. I shouldn’t talk, but my mouth seems to have a mind of its own at the moment. Probably because I’m opening my memory; such work tends to make people emotionally unstable. “I suppose I was wrong about this magic being false in some way. The power feels clean in my veins. This memory is real and well-rendered. I feel the dark power of the strange material in the artifacts. It is tainting this lovely magic a bit, but it’s not as dark as I had estimated.”

“Hmm. Thank you for telling me that,” Argos whispers, his tone genuine.

I’m once again struck by the content feeling I have with him beside me. “I don’t need anyone. Never will. But this… Well, this is nice, Argos. Thank you for being brave enough to stand here with me.”

“It’s very nice. Aside from the possible death part, of course.”

I snort. “Aside from that.”

My spell is finished and the illusion grows nearly opaque, a feat Argos never managed. The colors deepen to their true shades.

“How do you feel?” I ask him quietly as the illusion shimmers like a wave of magic is rolling through it, keeping it strong, feeding from the mirror.

“Just fine. Scared shitless, but fine.”

I smile at his honesty. “I can feel the stones tugging energy from the mirror. It is working.”

“So far.”

Breathing slowly, I urge a little more power into the spell. The stones vibrate against my fingers. The mirror creaks like an old door and the scent of ash rises, overtaking the pleasant aromas of the illusion.

“It’s happening, isn’t it?” Argos says, his voice closer now.

I want to turn and see the wonder in his face, but I must remain focused. “I need to cast more. It’s not drained.”

“You have enough in you for that?” he asks.

“I think so.”

I release another cluster of magical energy, a wash of heat from my sacral center. My illusion begins to alter into something decidedly not from my time as a youngling in the woods.

The house falls away, and the trees follow. My grandwitch spins and the light that created her becomes a version of me. I am reaching for someone. The pipe smoke, river, and sunlight from the first illusion morph into Argos, leaning forward to take me into his arms.

“Wait,” he whispers. “Is that me? Shirtless?”

I can’t help but laugh a little. “This is a dream I had.”

My pulse rate ramps up. I don’t love telling him that I’ve had him on my mind at night, but I do feel safe with him. Despite our being rivals, I truly believe he wouldn’t use my vulnerable moment here to hurt me. I trust him.

“I hope it doesn’t bother you,” I say, raising my chin.

“Definitely not. I adore the fact that you dreamt of this. It’s an honor.”

I look at him then, just a glance. The illusion’s light flickers gold and blue over his sharp cheekbones and square jaw. His luminous brown eyes will never fade from my memory.

“You amaze me, Tully.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

I pour the last of my magical energy into the illusion and the dream version of Argos sweeps a hand down dream Tully until his hand cups her arse.

Argos hums approval.

Our illusion doubles deepen their kiss. Argos’s horns dip to one side as he grips my jaw and drags his parted lips over mine. I can almost feel their movements. My breath catches as dream Argos slips the shoulder of my dress down.

The scent of ash increases suddenly and it’s nearly unbearable. I’m shaking and it’s not from arousal now. The magic of the mirror is running low.

“Almost complete,” I say, my words trembling from my efforts.

The stones are hot in my hands. I’ll have burns after this. If I survive.

The real Argos sets a hand on my back and I take a deep breath. Magic prickles along my arms and forehead and the stones grow even hotter. I grit my teeth, and then all at once, the room goes dark.