Greythorne (Bloodleaf 2)

The edges of Lorelai’s room began to darken just a little. Simon looked up and around. “My time to cross to the After is at hand.”

“No, wait, Simon—” I stopped, helpless. “Don’t go. I’m so sorry!”

His eyes fell on me, full of sympathy and sadness. “Take heart, child. You’ll see me again. This may be my end, but it is your beginning.” He cocked his ear to the side. “Did you hear that? Wings.”

“You sent me a book,” I said hurriedly. “What is it? What does it mean?”

“It’s feral magic,” he said. “ Hundreds of years old, and full of ancient knowledge. It is supposed to help you with what’s to come.”

“But what is to come?” Wrenchingly, I said, “I don’t understand any of this!”

“You will.” Simon had a far-off look on his face. “Soon.” His eyes, reflecting a light I could not see, turned back to me. “You have a difficult path ahead,” he said. “

But you’ll rise to meet it.” His voice was growing distant. “Do you see it? Do you see the raven?”

“I don’t see anything. Simon—”

“I think it’s come to guide me,” he said, smiling at empty air. He held out his hand, and for a second, I thought I could glimpse the shadow of a bird alight upon it, gleaming a strange, incandescent silver.

Then Simon started to fade. And as he faded, so did the scene. I was being overtaken by what felt like a rushing current of nothing. Of Gray.

“Just don’t forget, child . . .” The last echo of his voice surrounded me. “. . . Bound by blood, by blood undone.”

And he was gone.

* * *

I awoke with a gasp.

Zan was staring at me, mouth agape. “Aurelia!” he said. “Are you all right? I think you stopped breathing for a second. I didn’t know what to do . . .” He reached to put his hand against my cheek, but I recoiled from him, slamming my body back against the bed. My head was still spinning, my thoughts muddled with wine and the remnants of a terrifying waking dream that wasn’t a dream at all.

“Stop,” I wheezed as I clamored to cover myself with blankets—anything to put a barrier between his skin and mine.

“What?” Zan stuttered, stunned. “What just happened? I’m so sorry, Aurelia. Let me—”

“Don’t touch me,” I cried breathlessly. “Please. Don’t come any closer.”

“I don’t know what I did,” he said, voice breaking, “but I’m so sorry. What do you need? What can I do? I knew I shouldn’t—Oh, Empyrea.” He put his hands in his hair.

“This was a mistake,” I said tremulously. “I made a mistake, and I . . . Stars, I can’t think.” I cast around for reassurance to give him, some explanation that might lessen the damage to us both, but came up with nothing. Instead, I snatched up my fallen nightgown and struggled drunkenly into it.

“Aurelia, what—?”

“I can’t believe myself. I let my guard down for one second and . . . I’m such a fool. Such a fool. I’d do it, too, you know? I want to . . . but I can’t do this to him. To Kellan.”

“Kellan?” Zan asked, stricken.

“No. It’s not what you think. Not like that.” Words were tumbling from my lips in a senseless stream. “My fault. Always my fault. Because . . . because I can’t . . . I won’t let you hurt me. I won’t let myself hurt Kellan.”

“I won’t hurt you,” Zan said. “I would never want to hurt you.”

“But you have. And you will. And so will I. I hurt everyone.” Tears were flowing freely now, blurring my already distorted vision. “Because I’m cursed. I am a curse.” My head was spinning with a chanting singsong. One or the other. One or the other. Daughter of the sister, or son of the brother.

I fumbled toward the door, tripping over the hem of my nightgown and then cringing away from Zan as he tried to help me back up again.

My memories of that night would be troubled and tangled, but that last image of Zan before I fled etched itself onto my consciousness with crystal clarity: his hand outstretched, his hair askew, his expression confused, heart bruised. But it was his eyes that affected me the most.

They were bright and bewildered, and gleaming vivid gold.