Page 10 of Wings of Lies (Daughter of the Seven Circles #1)

Chapter

Nine

I walked down a dim hallway lined with pictures of a woman and a little girl. Vertigo blurred my vision, and my stomach attempted to revolt. I stumbled into the wall and knocked a picture down.

Groaning, I steadied myself and picked it up. Two faces stared back at me. I scrunched my brows at the image of the woman.

No way.

Underneath thick eyelashes, staring at me, were my mom’s eyes, and around the picture rimmed a purple halo.

Or… I moved my head. No, around my vision.

A translucent purple screen crowded the edges of my sight.

I shook my head back and forth, blinked a few times, then immediately regretted it.

The purple tint stayed, like my last dream.

The one where I exploded with flames and burned down our house.

A rush of tingles sank into my gut, heavy and cold.

I pressed my right wrist into my side, trembling.

I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing they’d fuse together.

My left hand clutched at my neck, searching for the calm, hoping to shove away these feelings with my amulet. But I couldn’t hide from the truth.

My amulet, which I no longer had, was real.

Which meant—I lifted my wrist—the scrolling white scar wasn’t a scar but a powerless Binding Rune.

The inactive rune served as a permanent reminder of how dangerous I was.

It also underscored the risk that, without control, my powers could lead him to me.

But I didn’t know who he was anymore. My last memory didn’t give me those specifics. I bet my mom would have an idea.

So if my last purple dream was a memory I relived, then this one was too. But as I brushed the yellowing bruise peeking from the sleeve of the green shirt Oliver had bought me, I knew this purple dream was different from my last.

I didn’t invade a past version of myself, puking was a strong possibility, and I seemed to be able to roam freely instead of being a part of the events unfolding. Plus, I had an odd sense of being in two places at once, which explained the vertigo.

I analyzed my mom and the little girl beside her.

It was me , around two years old, wearing a sparkly red and brown dress—no, a red chocolate-smeared dress.

With my lighter hair color and chubby cheeks, I hardly recognized myself at first, but my eyes gave me away.

My mom’s dimples betrayed her restrained laughter, matching my toothy chocolate grin.

An ache built in my chest as I placed the frame back on its hook and continued down the hall.

Picture after picture lined the walls of only me and my mom.

One with me covered by a basket on a picnic blanket, looking like a little turtle trying to crawl away.

Another with me cuddled against my mom, sitting next to a Christmas tree.

She smiled down at me like I was the only star to matter in the heavens.

On and on they went until I found one that included a man.

He stared into the camera straight-faced while my mom angled her face away, smiling without her dimples.

The only one flashing their pearly whites was the little polka-dotted toddler in the middle.

I snorted, embarrassed for myself. At least chocolate didn’t smear my face.

But that dress. Someone decided to puke rainbow ruffles, sparkles, and unicorns all over me.

I stared a little longer at the man. Unsure of who he was. If I was some type of angel, he couldn’t be my father, nor could my mother be my mother. But if I was a Nephilim, why did my mom have powers? What did that make her? An angel, Fallen, or Nephilim? Or something else entirely?

I turned from the picture and looked at the last of the captured memories I couldn’t remember.

Every time I gained a year, my mom took a picture of me next to a chocolate birthday cake.

But they stopped when I reached five. So, either my mom no longer continued the tradition, or this memory took place when I was about five.

Shouting startled me out of my musings. I pressed against the wall. Recognizing my mom’s voice, I crept toward the soft glow at the end of the hall and peered around the corner.

The man from the picture and my mom were in a screaming match.

They stood between the living room’s opening and a chicken-themed kitchen. The kitchen looked rather comical. Thinking back to my few memories, I think my mom had a chicken obsession. It would’ve made me laugh if not for the tears streaming down the pale skin of my mom’s face .

“You’re lying to me,” he said, crossing his thick arms over his chest. His spotless white long-sleeve bunched at his waist, showing a belt with a dagger and a feather.

The dagger was odd enough, but a feather?

“We’ve been over this!” she cried. “You drilled me and drilled me the moment I brought her home. I told you the truth. You know I told you the truth. She’s just—” My mom glanced back at the hallway, and I ducked behind the wall.

I wasn’t sure why. It was a memory. It wasn’t like it mattered if she saw me.

But maybe since I felt like I was eavesdropping, it was instinct. “A miracle,” she finished.

He grimaced, looking like he wanted to throttle her. “Then explain to me what I felt today. What I saw.”

Her black hair stuck to the tears on her cheeks. “She’s just growing into her power. We’ve never experienced someone like her. That’s probably why your senses were heightened today. That’s all,” she said with wide jade eyes, begging him to believe her.

“My senses are only heightened when I feel?—”

She grabbed his arm, pleading. “I know. But you know I’m telling the truth.”

“Or you think you are. She should be sent to the council.”

My mom’s arms fell away as she stepped back. “So, you’re going to turn in your family?” she spat, her eyes flashing purple.

He pursed his lips and raised a blonde brow. “Is that how you speak to me now?”

“Is that what you want for your daughter?” she countered.

He jerked as if she slapped him. “Quiet.” The veins in his arms popped as he made a fist. She flinched, closing her mouth, but continued to stare at him with a heat of a hundred flames.

“ I am willingly breaking the laws for you. I am allowing this on the grounds that it’s unheard of.

But if you cannot manage your part, I will turn her in and leave you here to live out your punishment. Alone,” he snapped back.

How could he talk to her like that?

A fierce flush hit her cheeks. She stood, lifting her chin in defiance. “Is that what you truly want? For us? For Lucille?” Her head shook like she couldn’t even comprehend the suggestion.

I almost stumbled out from my corner like a dimwit, not believing my ears. He was my father?

“They will always come first. Right?” she scoffed. “Or maybe turning us in would put you in their good graces so you could finally rule with your own law. Is that it?”

I admired how she held her shoulders back, acting like she had a foot on him when he stood two heads taller.

Her fists clenched, almost like she wanted to hit him.

The smoldering anger in her expression made me question why she didn’t, but I also noticed something broken and fragile holding her back.

He lifted his arm, and she flinched. “If that were true,” he smoothed down a piece of her inky hair, leaning forward so his bared teeth almost touched her ear. “She would already be there.”

She jerked away from his touch. He didn’t look so happy about that.

A new round of tears streamed down her face. “I won’t let you take her to them,” she said, stepping out of reach. “And if that’s the only reason you came, then maybe this visit should be your last.”

“Don’t say things you’ll regret, my love.”

The endearment sounded almost sweet if I ignored his foreboding tone and the tension in my mom’s shoulders .

“I want you to leave,” she said, turning her back on him to grab a washcloth and scrub the cleaned counters. So she never saw the flash of regret that interrupted the steel in his eyes or the split second of sadness as he glanced toward the hall, where I watched them.

His eyes narrowed before turning back to her. “Since I cannot sense any lies, we will keep our arrangement.”

My mom laughed humorlessly, staring at the ceiling, pausing her cleaning. “To continue to check if your precious wife and daughter haven’t become something you despise?”

“Wife?” he said with disbelief. And disgust?

I clenched my fist as the purple film hugging the edges of my vision covered the rest. My view of my father’s pristine white clothing was now a girly lavender. What a perfect color for the tiny man. My mom’s clothing remained black.

“That term and any term like it is not allowed to grace your beautiful lips.”

She said nothing in response, turning to the stove and wiping the rag across the shiny surface.

He took another step, lifting both his arms, then stopped, dropping them to his sides.

“You better train her and keep her pure. I’ll see you next year,” he commanded, then turned to me, sending me a suspicious glare.

Oh shit.

The funny feeling of being in two places at once increased. My stomach contents hit the back of my throat. I gagged them back down.

He shouldn’t be able to see me. This was a memory.

Or maybe this was a well-crafted dream, and the purple tint was just a coincidence. I’d wake up to find I didn’t burn down my house, there wasn’t a rune on my wrist, and my mind was playing severely deranged games with me.

He stepped away from her scrubbing and toward the hall. Jerking his head to the side, he motioned for me to follow him.

The fluttering of butterflies and hovering wasps kept my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as I followed him outside the house. We walked off the front porch and into the shadows of the night. Once we were far enough away from the house, he stopped and turned.

His eyes panned up and down my body, lingering on my face. “Who are you? What time did you come from?”