At last, Charity says in a small voice, “That bad, huh?”
My jaw feels almost too stiff to reply. “Yes. That bad.”
IT’S NO SURPRISE THAT I don’t sleep well that night. My nightmares switch between Charity’s bloodied face, Vanessa’s cut wrists, Seff’s unconscious body, and Jean’s beasty red eyes. When I wake up in the darkness before dawn, my nerves already stretched and unruly emotions flooding through the links, all I want to do is call Mason. No, I want him to be here, nuzzling my neck, letting me lean back in his strong embrace.
But instead, I have to go on to another day, another box, another vision.
Because I know better than to question the visions. They’re going to happen. And the hope that, as usual, I’m interpreting what I see in the worst possible way, is so slim that I need us to go through with undoing the joint spell now, before it’s dwindled out of existence.
When I meet up with the others after our self-paced training session on Monday, Jean doesn’t show up. Again. She texted that she wanted to spend her time with Bryar before she has to leave, but it’s hard for me not to take it personally. Still, I lock my phone and slip it into my pocket, trying to brace myself for what awaits us in the lions’ room.
Charity is mildly shaken from her own adventure, but she keeps her shoulders squared with that signature royal grace of hers. Like in the wolves’ room, everyone but Awan stays by the door, lined up alongside the wall.
The lions’ room looks like a playground for cats. Awan calls forth the protector, who promptly leaps up from one level to the next, walking down the pipes connecting one platform to the other. But it hadn’t occurred to me that lions in their human form also take advantage of that jungle gym until Awan starts climbing after the bronze cat.
When we almost lose sight of him, our gazes meet, and we wordlessly decide to go after him. It no longer surprises me that the training rooms extend for what feels like a mile. We follow Awan and his protector from afar, just in case, but when they finally halt next to an elaborate marble statue of a mountain lion, we stop short.
Awan triggers the statue with Fowler’s blood, and we all gape. Him included. Even the protector’s beefy tail freezes, pointing up.
With a scraping sound, the statue moves to one side, revealing a small opening. Awan leans over, hesitates for a second, then reaches down with one hand. We don’t dare breathe too loudly for a second, but then Awan straightens up, clutching his box.
“That’s it?” Vanessa balks with eyes so wide it’s almost comical.
“Don’t be jealous,” Seff interjects. “If we’re talking worst box-retrievals, yours is an undisputed number one.”
“Yes, thankss to your heroic lack of foresight!” she snaps back.
“Stop it,” I breathe, still staring at Awan, but they’re right. Even Charity’s test was dangerous, not to mention Seff’s and probably Jean’s, although none of us saw it. I don’t want to be negative, but something must be wrong. Things don’t ever go that smoothly, not for us.
Awan hops from platform to platform and lands at our level. The protector leaps down with a light step a moment later, circles and stretches before he jumps back into Awan.
“Was that really it?” Charity can’t seem to make sense of this either.
Awan shrugs. “Maybe my kind are just nice people, not in the mood to torture one of their own.”
“Okay, why are you looking at me when you ssay that?” Vanessa hisses. “Seff screwed up the whole thing in my room.”
“Just once, it would be nice to hear a ‘thanks for bravely rushing to my rescue’,” Seff moans.
“Enough,” Charity scolds them this time. Her gaze follows Awan as he pries the box open.
Inside it, though, there’s no sachet, no new ingredient. Only a faded note.
I fight the tightness in my throat, silently begging for it not to be a premonition. Awan unrolls the tiny scroll and reads it silently, his dark eyebrows furrowed. It may be just me, but his naturally healthy complexion seems to turn ashen.
“What does it say?” Charity’s voice rings and echoes in the empty room.
Awan clears his throat and quickly folds up the paper before sticking it in his pocket. “Just says what a lion has to do to break the joint spell, like all of yours.”
“Which is?” Seff’s nostrils wiggle like they do every time he’s picking up on people’s emotions through his heightened sense of smell.
“Not sure exactly, but I guess it will make sense in the right moment.” Awan sighs like reading the note has been exhausting.
My premonition picks up the weird vibe in the air, like Seff’s wolf senses, but when I open my mouth, Awan cuts me off.
“Don’t fret about it. It’s not like we know what to do with the stuff Seff found either, right?”
“I suppose,” Charity says, confused.
“Great.” Awan’s jaw sets as he swallows. “Let’s go home then.”
He gestures for the others to return to the door but hangs back himself. I nod at Charity, who peeks over her shoulder, concerned. Whatever that message said, I’m the one who can help him now.
“You don’t have to tell the circle,” I say once I’m sure the others are out of earshot. “You don’t even have to tell me, if you don’t want to, but whatever the note says, we can try to help figure it out.”
He just sighs, lips pressed together. A very unlike Awan gesture.
“Thanks,” he says it more out of politeness.
I sense he’s not going to take me up on the offer, but I’m not new to friendships that need a nudge. As we head back to the entrance of the room, still lagging behind the others, I keep to the wall and stop in front of the next candle we walk by. But before I’ve leveled my gaze for a premonition, Awan grabs me from behind. His forearm cuts right under my ribs as he lifts me, easily whirling me around with a hand over my eyes.
“Oh, no, you’d better not.” He puts me down, away from the candle, and removes his hand from my eyes. “Trust me, you don’t want to see that.”
“You realize I need to, right?” I gape at him.
He makes a face, growling. “All you need to know is that you’ll sleep better if you don’t peek into that particular future.”
“You don’t know half the horrors I’ve seen.” I shrug, trying not to think how sad that sounds.
“Yes?” He pushes me back in motion with a blank expression. “Well, let me save you from this one.”
JUDGING BY THE CAUTIOUS looks the others throw at Awan on the way back home from Elmwick Academy, I’m not the only one who worries about him. He’s the first to leave, as if sensing all eyes on him, and the rest of us have no reason to hang around once he’s gone.
Instead of going home, though, I push the gate to the Giannis’ house open. Under the ominous calls of the ravens perched on the roof of the house, I approach, mustering every ounce of determination I possess. This spat between me and Jean has lasted too long. I miss her and I need her, especially now.
I knock on the door three times, then wait for the sound of footsteps. Mrs. Gianni opens the door with the kind smile of a lady who’s just finished baking a pie for the neighbors.
“Here to see Jean?” she guesses. “Come in, come in, Camelia. You’ll find her and Bryar in the living room.”
Mrs. Gianni gestures with a hand down the corridor and to the left but doesn’t join me. The Giannis’ living room is aesthetically pleasing, like something you’d see photographed in interior design magazines, but it’s so minimalistic that it gives off a cold vibe. I guess that’s what cold ones enjoy.
The piano looks untouched, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard them play it. Jean sits on the dark gray couch, cradling Bryar’s head in her lap as her girlfriend stretches down the length of the couch.
“Hey,” I greet quietly.
Jean twirls a lock of Bryar’s reddish hair around her finger. “Well, this is a surprise.”
I collapse on the ottoman that’s conveniently p
ositioned in front of them. “Jean, I’ll be the first to say it, all right? I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t trust your judgment in the cold one’s training room. I’m sorry you felt the need to go behind my back. And I’m sorry I told you what I’ve seen about Bryar and you. It looked like you were about to choke her, but I’ve been wrong about visions before. You and I should know that best of all.”
I think back to a time when I was terrified Jean would bite me. It was all so scary, but when the moment came, I knew it was the right thing to do. It’s hard to imagine a moment when choking Bryar will be the right thing for Jean to do, but we need to take this one step at a time.
And remember, a banshee only sees the darkness, the worst. There’s still hope. There has to be.
Jean untangles her hand from Bryar’s hair, then smooths it. “Okay, I’m sorry, too. I was nervous about Bryar leaving and I took it out on you. It wasn’t fair of me.”
If Bryar is bothered by the statement, she doesn’t show it. Her expression is almost bored. That’s why the energetic way she rises into a sitting position, gaze locked onto mine, surprises me a little.
“Have you gathered all the ingredients?”
“Almost,” I say. “We’ve got the five, but I sense there’s something hidden in the banshee room. We’ll check it out next.”
My gaze darts to Jean’s face, waiting for her reaction, but her features remain calm and she says nothing. At last, she arches a blond eyebrow to get me to continue.
“I need you there, Jean.”
That makes the tension in her gray eyes dissipate. Her composure softens as she stands. “Of course I’ll be there.”
“Count me in too,” Bryar says with a devious smile. “Daddy says we need to leave any day now, so let’s get that box and be on our way.”
I bite a lip, looking from Bryar to Jean and back. “I have another task for you.”
Bryar tilts her head slightly to the side, suspicions rising.
“I hope that once we get this final clue, we’ll be ready to undo the joint spell.” I take a deep breath, forcing myself to utter the next words. “There’s no more time. We need to find Mason now.”
It’s evident how much Bryar has matured these past few months. She doesn’t sulk or tease me, but only shrugs apologetically. “I told you he hasn’t been in touch much, and he never lets it slip where he is.”
“That’s why your task is so important. Find him, even if he doesn’t want to be found.”
Chapter 10. Cami
The circle’s group chat blows up with messages once I share with them that there might be a sixth clue. I set my phone on silent to get any sleep at all, then toss in bed all night only to wake up to dozens of messages to catch up on.
As much as I just want this hunt for clues about the joint spell to be over, the day after I talk to Jean and Bryar feels awfully soon to go for the box in the banshee training room. I stare at the pink mirror in the girls’ restroom for so long that Vanessa comes to get me. I tear my eyes from the mirror, which shows my face as frosty as I feel.
White snowflakes cover my lashes, my skin shimmers like I’ve used a sparkling powder, and my eyes are contoured with a smooth silver liner. I guess the pink mirror is trying to turn the chill I feel inside into something gasp-worthy. And it’s succeeded.
“All right, beauty queen,” Vanessa mocks me, her gaze moving between my reflection in the mirror and my normal, duller self. “Time to pull up your sleeves and get this done.”
I exhale with what I can only hope comes across as determination. I’ve spent countless hours in the banshee training room, but unlike the others, I have little idea which spot I should dab with Mr. Fowler’s blood.
The members of my circle, Jean included, give me time to work out a strategy as the intense silence in the training room presses heavily on us. The corridor is full of mirrors, lined up on both walls. I remember the spot where my banshee senses started whispering to me of a hidden clue, but my intuition tells me the lock that opens the hidden compartment I sensed is closer to the entrance of the room.
“Maybe we should undo the measures and lighten your load a bit first?” Charity suggests, each word quiet and measured, anticipating my push back.
As soon as we get all the clues, the worst begins—our chase after Mason and my debate whether or not to tell them just how scary my latest visions have been. I need them calm now more than ever.
“I’ll manage,” I say.
I’ll have to.
I turn back to the table at the front of the room, which is covered in a thin layer of dust and multiple glasses and beakers. I’ve broken quite a few over the years, and Mrs. Gianni occasionally brings a new case and asks me to reload the table, so it always has plenty of material for me to play notes on...or break.
My eyes land on a big bowl at the center—older and dustier than most of the other items on the table. I follow my instincts and pick it up, or rather, I try to. The bowl doesn’t budge. My first thought, had this happened on a regular day, would have been that something yucky and ancient is keeping it glued to the table.
Today, I have a better idea. I can’t be sure if Mr. Fowler’s blood would manage to trigger the bowl through all the dust, and it doesn’t seem we’ll need his blood after today, so I tip the entire vial into the bowl.
The effect is instantaneous, like in all the other rooms, but it’s very subtle. A high-pitched note rings through the air, like the annoying sound one sometimes hears in one’s own head.
“I did it!” I gasp, unable to hide a smile, wide in awe.
But I’m met with blank, extremely confused looks from all around me.
“Say what now?” Awan blurts out.
I balk at him, but his dumbfounded expression makes me realize they can’t hear the note. Only a banshee could. This gives me an unexpected confidence boost. I part my lips only slightly, my jaw set and my tongue curving to the roof of my mouth. I pray this will work, and blow out a slow breath, reproducing the sound as best I can.
It takes me a few tries, some of which aren’t matching the high-pitched note I hear in the air, if the others’ sulks and sudden changes in expression are any indication. But same as I learned to play the glasses, with time, I match the note to perfection.
The others look around in confusion, trying to gauge if I’ve done it, but we don’t have to wonder for long. The acoustics in the room seem to pick up my note, which reinforces the original sound. On and on, the sonic wave bounces off one surface and onto the next. With my senses, I take it in clearly, almost as if it were a laser beam reflecting from surface to surface and creating a grid through the dome-like front part of the training room.
The last bounce leads the sonic wave out of the dome and to one of the first mirrors in the corridor. The crack is so loud, there’s no way the others have missed it, but I don’t look around at them. Instead, I run to the mirror, trusting they will follow.
There, right through the center of the full-length mirror, is a spiderweb crack in the glass. It’s an almost perfect replica of the emblem on the banshee room’s door.
“Wow,” Charity whispers behind me, but the adrenaline surge makes me not want to slow down and explain.
“You might want to cover your ears, guys,” I warn, then take a deep breath and scream my heart out at the mirror in front of me.
It shatters into pieces so small that some fall to the ground like dust long after the bigger shreds have clinked against the stone floor. I study the hidden compartment behind the broken mirror, heart thumping loud in my ears. There it is—my shiny box. My clue.
I still my hand as I reach out for it. It’s light, not that this should be surprising. I desperately struggle to pry it open.
Jean says, “Let me,” and with one smack of her strong-as-a-rock hand, she breaks the lock.
My heart’s nervous thumping seems louder with every passing second. I don’t know what, but something is wrong.
I remove the lid. Dust covers the velvet
inside the box, apart from a line at the very center. The object that must have been there is gone. My clue is gone.
“WHAT ARE WE SUPPOSED to do now?” Charity is brave enough to ask.
Seff counts on his fingers. “Between not knowing what the item I got does, not finding the banshee clue, and Awan being so secretive about his note, I’m not feeling confident about our chances to break the joint spell.”
“But Cami has seen us do it,” Jean interjects. “So it will happen. We have to believe we’ll figure it out, right?”
“Well, look who’s suddenly back into head cheerleader mode.”
Seff’s snide remark earns him a scalding glare from Jean. “Shame I forgot my pompoms at home. I have a brilliant idea where I could stuff them.”
Before Seff could snap back with a retort that would further escalate things, I shake my head with grim resignation.
“It doesn’t matter. We vowed to find all the boxes and we did.” My voice is croaky. “As long as we see a path forward, I know we should keep going, but I don’t see a path anymore.”
“I do,” Seff interjects.
The temporary relief dissolves like an ice cube in a steaming pot. Even though I know I can’t fight this, I was hoping to at least get a few calm days before our next self-imposed mission. Fat chance.
I turn to Seff with eyebrows raised in a silent question.
“The alphas of the main packs might know about the powder we found.” He lets a sticky moment pass before he elaborates. “Willa might be able to help us figure out what it does and how to use it. I can get her and Fillan to help.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I have to admit.
Awan raises a hand, his face scrunched up as if in an apology. “And as for my clue... It’s not so much that it’s unclear... Actually, it’s pretty clear.”
“Buuuut?” Vanessa nudges him along.
“Well, I don’t think I can do it.” Awan’s expression turns stone cold.
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