Marian had them out the door before my dad could ask why I wasn’t leaving with him. She flipped the sign and twisted the lock—not that there was anything left to steal.
“Thanks for the save, Aunt Marian.”
Lena stuck her head out from behind a stack of boxes. “Are they gone?” She was holding a book, wrapped in one of her scarves. I could see the title, only partially covered by the sparkly gray fabric. Great Expectations.
Sarafine’s book.
As if the afternoon hadn’t been bad enough.
Marian pulled out a handkerchief and rubbed her glasses. “It wasn’t a save entirely. I am expecting some official visitors, and I’m fairly certain it would be best if you two weren’t here when they arrive.”
“I just need a minute. I have to grab my bag.” Lena disappeared back into the boxes, but I was right behind her.
“What are you doing with that?” I grabbed the book, and the second I touched it, the broken shelves faded into darkness—
It was late, the first time she met him. Sarafine knew she shouldn’t be walking alone this late at night. Mortals were no threat to her, but she knew there were other things out there. But the voices had started whispering to her, and she had to get out of the house.
When she saw the figure at the corner, her heart started to pound. But as the man moved closer, Sarafine realized he was no threat. His long beard was white, the same color as his hair. He was wearing a dark suit and a string tie, leaning against a polished black cane.
He was smiling, as if they knew each other. “Good evening, child. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Excuse me? I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.” She smiled. He was probably senile.
The old man laughed. “There’s no mistaking you. I know a Cataclyst when I see one.”
Sarafine felt the icy blood pumping through her veins.
He knew.
The fire flared up along the sidewalk, only a few feet from the old man’s cane. Sarafine closed her eyes, trying to control it, but she couldn’t.
“Let it burn. It is on the cold side tonight.” He smiled, unaffected by the flames.
Sarafine was shaking. “What do you want?”
“Came to help you. You see, we’re family. Maybe I should introduce myself.” He held out his hand. “I’m Abraham Ravenwood.”
She knew the name. She’d seen it on her half brothers’ family tree. “Hunting and Macon said you were dead.”
“Do I look dead?” He smiled. “Couldn’t die just yet. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Me? Why?” Sarafine’s own family wouldn’t speak to her. It was hard to believe someone had been waiting for her.
“You don’t understand what you are yet, do you? Are you hearing the call? The voices?” He looked into the flames. “I can see you’ve already found your gift.”
“It’s not a gift. It’s a curse.”
His head snapped back in her direction, and she could see his black eyes. “Now, who’s been telling you that? Casters, I imagine.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t surprise me. Casters are liars, only one step removed from Mortals. But not you. A Cataclyst is the most powerful Caster in our world, and born from the Dark Fire. Too powerful to be considered a Caster at all, the way I see it.”
Was it possible? Could she possess the most powerful gift in the Caster world? Part of her yearned for it to be true—to be special, rather than cast aside. A part of her that wanted to give in to the urges.
To burn everything in her path.
To make all the people who had hurt her pay.
No!