Mystic (The Soul Seekers 3)

three

Daire

I’ve barely cleared the bed when my head grows dizzy and my vision swirls with stars so insistent, I’m forced to grab hold of the nightstand and wait for the moment to pass. Dismayed to find myself nearly as helpless as I was with Axel. Guess it wasn’t all just an act.

Still, I can’t let that stop me. Can’t afford to be swayed by the pain. Driven by my need to break out of here and ensure Cade stays contained, I press on until I’m putting a solid distance between me and the bed.

Whoever said that pain is a great teacher was spot-on. I’ve grown more in my time here than I did in the past sixteen years.

I make for the armoire on the far side of the room, hoping my clothes are still there. But other than some filmy, white, ethereal gown with thin straps, a square neck, and swirls of light beading cascading down the front, the cupboard is empty.

I jerk the gown from the hanger and frown. The style veers so far from my usual look of skinny jeans, scrunchy boots, and clingy tank tops worn under my favorite green army jacket, I’m reluctant to try it. It’s the kind of dress usually reserved for debutant balls or weddings, which does nothing to lessen my fears over Axel’s intentions.

Clearly he manifested it for me. I’m the only one here.

The question is why?

Did he really plan to make me his bride?

With no other option, I lose the robe and tug on the gown until its silky white fabric skims over my hips and flutters well past my knees, before landing with a flounce at my ankles. Then I heave a deep breath and peer into the mirror, shocked to see the stark image staring back. Axel has taken great care to steer me away from all reflective surfaces, and up until now, I had no interest in looking. But now that I’ve started, I can’t seem to stop. And I wonder if my family and friends will notice just how much I’ve changed.

My hair is darker. The color of my lips deeper. Which in turn makes my skin appear even paler. And though my cheeks are sharper, far more defined and hollow than they once were, it’s the eyes that capture me most. The irises deepened into a dark feverish emerald that burns with a craving for revenge.

Despite telling Axel that it’s love that drives me, my need for vengeance runs a close race.

I continue the inventory. Noting a body that’s thinner, weaker, though not nearly as battered as when I arrived. Other than the vivid red scar peeking free of the gown’s deep neckline, there’s no sign of the violence Cade did me. The kind of heinous acts he will never get the chance to repeat. I will learn from my failures, and use those same lessons to fuel my success. And if it’s the last thing I do, I will retaliate. I will see that Cade pays.

My reverie broken by the sound of muffled footsteps coming from the other side of the door, I freeze in place. Fearing for what Axel might do if he finds me like this.

If he truly does have my best interests at heart, I imagine he’ll be incredibly hurt to learn I’ve deceived him.

And if not …

A moment later, the sound fades and I hurry the search for my belongings. Relieved to find the soft buckskin pouch Paloma gave me, and the key on the long black cord that symbolizes Dace and my love. Though sadly, Django’s black jacket, one of the few tangible pieces I had of my dad, has gone missing. Either left behind in the Lowerworld, or so damaged from my battle with Cade, Axel disposed of it along with the rest of my things.

I slip the talismans over my head and glance inside the pouch. Ensuring the stone Raven, the Raven feather, Django’s Bear, the small aquamarine I gleaned from the falls, and the polished turquoise heart Dace gave me as my Secret Santa gift, are all there, though doubting their magick remains.

Paloma insisted the pouch be kept carefully guarded, and well within reach. Claimed no other person must ever look inside it, or its power will be lost.

Not only has it been out of my sight since the night I arrived, but I’m willing to bet Axel peeked the first chance he got.

Nevertheless, I tuck the pouch inside the dress, then nestle the small gold key underneath. Relishing the harsh chill of metal on flesh. The way it clings, cold and alien, to the scar that bisects my chest.

Another reminder of all that I’ve lost.

As dressed and ready as I’ll ever be, I rush to the window and peek past the curtains. Ensuring it’s clear before I move for the door and press my palms hard against it just like I envisioned countless times before.

Except this time when I give the doors a good shove, they remain stubbornly fixed.

I push again.

And again.

Thrusting my body wildly against the ornately carved wood, only to discover they’ve been bolted from the outside.

I race for the window, in search of a latch, but find none.

I grasp the ceramic pitcher Axel uses for water, and slam it hard against the pane, only to learn the glass is shatterproof.