Dark Flame ti-4 Page 3

  Face the fact that my aunt/legal guardian is falling hard for my history teacher.

  Face the fact that it's a heckuva lot better to sit around the dinner table than the breakfast table, which, if things continue to progress at the rapid pace that they are, then it's just a matter of time before it's: Good-bye Mr. Munoz, hello Uncle Paul! I've seen it. It's as good as done. Now I'm just waiting for them to realize it too.

  I slip through the side door, tiptoeing lightly, hoping to make it up to my room without being seen so I can have some time to myself-time that I desperately need in order to set some things straight.

  Poised and ready to dash up the stairs when Sabine pokes her head around the corner and says, "Oh good, I thought I heard your car in the garage. We're going to eat in about half an hour, but why don't you come in and visit a bit beforehand."

  I peer over her shoulder in search of Munoz, but thanks to the wall that separates us from the den, all I can see are a pair of leather man-sandals perched on the overstuffed ottoman, appearing so relaxed and casual it's as if they don't belong anywhere else but that very spot. Switching my gaze to her and taking in the sweep of her shoulder-length blond hair, the flush at her cheeks, her sparkling blue eyes, and renewing my vow to be happy that she's happy-even though I'm not exactly thrilled with the reason behind it.

  "I'm-I'll be down in a bit," I say, forcing a smile. "I'm just gonna wash up-and stuff. ." My gaze drifts back to Munoz, unable to tear it away no matter how disturbing the view. I mean seriously, just because it's summer doesn't mean I should have to look at faculty feet in my own house.

  "Okay, well, don't take too long." She starts to turn, hair swinging over her shoulder as she adds, "Oh, and I almost forgot, this came for you."

  She swipes a cream-colored envelope off the side table and offers it to me. The words mystics & moonbeams printed in purple on the top left corner, my name and address in Jude's angular scribble scrawled across the front.

  I just stand there and stare, knowing I could grab it, place my hand on the front, and intuit the contents without ever having to unseal it. But the thing is, I don't want to touch it, don't want anything to do with it, the job I once held, or Jude, the boss who, as it just so happens, played a significant role in pretty much all of my lives. Reappearing again and again, always managing to claim my affections until Damen showed up and swept me away. A centuries-old love triangle that ended the second I saw his Ouroboros tattoo last Thursday night.

  And even though Damen claims that lots of people have them-that its original meaning wasn't at all evil, that Roman and Drina just made it that way, I can't take the chance that he's wrong.

  Can't take the chance that Jude's not one of them, when I'm pretty dang sure that he is.

  "Ever?" Sabine tilts her head, shooting me her usual look that says: No matter how many books I read on the subject, adolescents may as well be aliens. A look I know all too well.

  A look that prompts me to snatch the envelope right out of her hand, careful to handle it by its edges as I smile weakly and tackle the stairs. Hands shaking, body thrumming, as the contents reveal themselves to be a paycheck I definitely earned but have no intention of cashing, along with a brief note asking if I'll please let him know if I've no plans to return so that he can hire another psychic to replace me.

  That's it.

  No: What the heck happened?

  Or: Why did you go from nearly kissing me to tossing me across your yard and into the patio furniture?

  But that's because he already knows. He's known all along.

  And while I may not know just what he's up to, he's clearly up to something. He may be ahead of the game for the moment, but unbeknownst to him, I'm about to catch up.

  I toss the envelope toward the trash, figuring my lack of response should be answer enough. Directing it in a complicated choreography of loops and circles and one very perfect, spot-on figure eight, before bringing it down with a soft, barely heard thud and heading into my walk-in closet where I retrieve the box from the top shelf-the one that holds my supplies-everything I need to undo what I've done.

  The time is right-providing for a fresh new start, the perfect opportunity (the only opportunity according to Romy and Rayne) to break the spell I unwittingly cast when I accidentally summoned the dark powers to aid me. The moon is now waxing, which means the goddess is rising, making her ascent, as Hecate, the one I mistakenly called upon before, plummets to the underworld where she'll mark her time until a month from now when it all comes full circle again.

  I reach into the box, retrieving the candles, crystals, herbs, oils, and incense I'll need, taking a moment to organize them neatly and placing them in the order in which they'll be used.

  Then I shed my clothes and lower myself into the tub for my ritual bath, bringing along a sachet filled with angelica for protection and hex removal, juniper for the banishing of negative entities, and rue to aid in healing, mental powers, and the breaking of curses, along with a few drops of petitgrain oil that promises to banish evil and remove all negativity. Sinking all the way down 'til my feet hit the far edge and the water fills up around me, grabbing a few clear quartz crystals from the ledge and plopping them in too, as I chant: I cleanse and reclaim this body of mine So that my magick may properly bind My spirit reborn, now ready for flight Allowing my magick to take hold tonight.

  But unlike the last time I indulged in a soak, I don't envision Roman before me. I don't want to see him until I'm ready, until it's absolutely necessary. Until it's truly time to undo what I've done.

  Any earlier is a risk I can't take.

  Ever since the dreams began, I can't trust myself.

  The first night I woke in that cold, clammy sweat with images of Roman still dancing in my head, I was sure it was just a result of the horrible night that I'd had-learning the truth about Jude-turning Haven by giving her the juice. But the fact that they've returned every night since, the fact that he intrudes not just in my night dreams but in my daydreams as well, the fact that they're accompanied by this weird, foreign pulse that's constantly strumming inside me-well, it's pretty much convinced me that Romy and Rayne are right.

  Despite my feeling perfectly fine just after the spell was complete, later, when everything began to unravel, it became pretty clear that the damage I'd done was nothing short of major.

  Instead of binding Roman to me-I bound myself to him.

  Instead of him seeking me out in order to do my bidding-I'm shamelessly, hopelessly, seeking him.

  Which is something Damen can never know. No one can know. Not only does it prove his earlier warning about the downside of magick, insisting that it's nothing to be toyed with, and that amateurs who immerse themselves too quickly often wind up in way over their heads-it may be the end of his patience with me.

  It may be that last and final straw.

  I take a deep breath and sink even lower, enjoying the way the water laps at my chin, as I soak up all the healing energies that the stones and herbs are meant to provide, knowing it's just a matter of time before I rid myself of this unholy obsession and put everything right. And when the water begins to cool, I scrub every square inch of skin, hoping to wash away this new tainted version of me in order to recover the old, then I climb out of the bath and straight into my white silk hooded robe. Tying the sash snugly as I head back into my closet and reach for my athame. The same one Romy and Rayne criticized, claiming it was too sharp, that its intent should be to cut energy not matter, that I'd made it all wrong-urging me to burn it, melt it down to a stub of metal, and hand it over to them so they could complete the banishing ritual, not trusting such a complex task to a misguided novice like me.

  And though I agreed to burn it before them, running the blade through the flame again and again in a sort of magical sanctification, I shrugged off the rest of their plan, convinced they were just seizing the chance to make an even bigger fool of me. I mean, if the real problem, as they claimed, was my weaving a spell on the night of t
he dark moon, then what difference could a simple knife make?

  But this time around, just to make sure, I add a few additional stones to its handle, adorning it with Apache's tear for protection and luck (which the twins are convinced I'll need plenty of), bloodstone for courage, strength, and victory (always a good combination), and turquoise for healing and strengthening of the chakras (apparently my throat chakra, the center of discernment, has always been a problem for me).

  Then sprinkling the blade with a handful of salt before running it through the flame of three white tapers, I call upon the elements of fire, air, water, and earth, to cast away all dark and allow only light-to push out all evil and summon the good.

  Repeating the chant three times before calling on the highest of magical powers to see that it's done. This time sure that I'm calling on the right magical powers-summoning the goddess instead of Hecate, the three-headed, snake-haired, queen of the underworld.

  Cleansing the space as I walk three times around it, incense held high in one hand, athame in the other, pulling up the magick circle by visualizing a white light flowing through me. Starting at the top of my head and working its way through my body, down my arm, out the athame, and into the floor.

  Weaving and curving and circling around and around, encouraging thin strands of the brightest white light to entwine and grow and reach ever higher until joining as one. Until I'm wrapped in a silvery cocoon, a complex web of the brightest, most shimmering light, that completely seals me in.

  I kneel on the floor of my clean, sacred space, left hand held before me as I trace the blade down the length of my lifeline, sucking in a sharp intake of breath as I plunge the tip deep into my flesh and a great swell of blood rushes out. Closing my eyes and quickly manifesting Roman sitting cross-legged before me, tempting me with his irresistible, deep blue gaze and wide inviting smile. Struggling to get past his mesmerizing beauty, his undeniable allure, and straight to the blood-soaked cord tied snug at his neck.

  A cord soaked with my blood.

  The same cord I placed there last Thursday night when I created a similar ritual-one that seemed to work until everything went tragically wrong. But this time, everything is different. My intent is different. I want my blood back. I intend to unbind myself.

  Hurrying through the chant before he can fade, singing: With this knot that I untie Banish this magick before thine eye Where once this cord was bound and tight I now reverse it to set things right Your hold no longer potent, now loosed on me I unbind this cord and set myself free Let it harm none as I send it away This very change to take hold today This is my will, my word, my wish-so mote it be!

  Squinting against the gale force wind that whirls through my circle, pushing the walls of my web to their limits as a flash of lightning strikes and thunder cracks loud overhead. My right palm raised, open, ready-my gaze locked on his as I mentally loosen the knot at his neck and summon the blood back to me.

  Back to where it originated.

  Back to where it belongs.

  Eyes widening in excitement as it arcs straight toward the center of my wounded hand, the cord around his neck lightening, whitening, until it's as clean and pure as the day it began.

  But just as I'm ready to banish him for good, free myself of this unholy bind, that strange foreign pulse, that hideous intruder, snakes through my insides with such force, such determination, overtaking me so quickly, I can't stop it.

  The monster inside me now fully awakened, rising, stretching, with its insistent, throbbing hunger demanding to be met. Causing my heart to crash violently, my body to shake-and no matter how hard I struggle against it-it's no use. I'm a hostage to its longing-captive to its desires-I'm of no consequence whatsoever. My only purpose is to meet all its needs-to see that it's done.

  Watching helplessly as the cycle repeats once again. My blood surging forth, soaking the cord at Roman's neck 'til it sags, red and heavy, dripping a thick trail of me down his chest. And no matter what I do-no matter how hard I try-there's no stopping it.

  No stopping the undeniable lure of his gaze.

  No stopping my limbs from yielding toward his.

  No stopping this spell that binds me to him.

  His body like a magnet that seeks only me, closing the small space between us in less than a second. And now, with our knees pressed tightly together, our foreheads flush-I'm defenseless-powerless-unable to curb this unbearable yearning for him.

  He's all I can see.

  All that I need.

  My entire world now whittled down to the space between his gaze and mine. His moist, inviting lips just a razor's width away, as this bold, insistent intruder, this strange, foreign pulse, urges me forward, willing us to mesh, unite, join as one.

  My lips push toward his, moving closer, ever closer, when from somewhere down deep, somewhere I can't quite reach, the memory of Damen, his scent, his image, flickers inside.

  No more than a brief flash of light in the midst of all this dark-but still enough to remind me of who I am, what I am-my real reason for being here.

  Just enough to allow me to break free of this horrible dreamscape and shout, "No!"

  I leap back, removing myself from him-from this. Moving so quickly and violently the web collapses around me as the candles extinguish and Roman dissolves from my sight.

  The only trace of what just occurred is my crashing heart, bloodstained robe, and the words still reverberating in my throat.

  "No, no, no, no, no, oh, God, please, no!"

  "Ever?"

  I gaze around the closet, fingers frantically clutching at my white silk robe now stained beyond repair, hoping she'll just go away-give me some space-or at least enough time to figure this out-"Ever-you okay in there? Dinner's just about ready, you might want to make your way down!"

  "Okay-I'll. ." I close my eyes, quickly banishing my robe and manifesting a simple blue dress in its place. Having no idea what to do now, where to go from here. Though one thing is clear-I can't tell Romy and Rayne-they already witnessed my last flubbed attempt, and I'll never live this one down.

  Besides, they're too close to Damen, and they'll never forgive me.

  "I'll be there in a sec, really!" I say, sensing her energy from the other side of the door debating whether or not to bust in.

  "Five minutes!" she warns, voice resigned. "Then I'm coming in to get you myself!"

  I close my eyes and shake my head, shoving my feet into some flip-flops while combing my hands through my hair.

  Taking great care to ensure everything appears clean and pristine on the outside, because inside, there's no doubt that things just took a major turn for the worse.

  five

  I slip out the side gate and onto the street, the soft lilting sounds of Sabine and Munoz laughing and enjoying the last of their wine by the pool drifting behind me as I break into a run.

  Careful to temper the pace, going neither too fast nor too slow, reluctant to attract any undue attention from anyone who might see.

  It was bad enough having to explain it to Sabine. Especially after having just gulped down three-quarters of a barbecued chicken breast, a lump of potato salad, an entire corn on the cob, and a glass and a half of soda-none of which I was the slightest bit interested in, and which, in the end, only seemed to raise a whole new suspicion.

  Her voice all raised and squeaky, gone completely high alert when she said, "Now? But it'll be dark soon-and you just ate!" Her ever-watchful gaze sweeping over me, as a new possibility formed in her brain-exercise bulimia!

  Having ruled out anorexia and just plain old bulimia to explain my odd behavior and even odder eating habits-she's now onto something new, leaving no doubt that a trip to our local bookstore's self-help aisles will be squeezed into her weekend's agenda.

  And I wish I could explain it to her, sit her right down and say, "Relax. It's not at all what you think. I'm immortal. The juice is all I need to get by. But right now, I've got a little spell-casting problem to fix so-don't wait up!"<
br />
  But that's never gonna happen. It can't happen. Damen was clear about keeping our immortality a secret. And after seeing what's happened when it's gotten into the wrong hands, I have to say I agree with him one hundred percent.

  But keeping it a secret has been one of my greatest challenges, and that's where the jogging comes in. I am now, officially (or at least where Sabine and Munoz are concerned), a person who slips into a T-shirt, sneakers, and shorts and goes for an evening run.

  A nice healthy excuse for getting out of the house and away from Munoz, whom I can't help but like as a person, even though I never wanted to get to know him as a person.

  A nice healthy excuse for getting away from an aunt who's so kind and considerate and helpful toward me that I can't help but feel like the world's worst niece for all of the trouble I've caused.

  A nice healthy excuse to get away from two wonderful, kindhearted people so I can indulge in a much darker, not at all healthy, obsession.

  One that's got a hold on me.

  One I'm determined to beat.

  I make a swift left onto the next street, noticing how the cars, the pavement, the sidewalks, the windows are all dappled with that burnished gold that the tail end of magic hour brings-the result of the first and last hour of sunlight when everything appears softer, warmer, bathed in the sun's reddish haze. My muscles pumping, feet moving faster, picking up speed, even though I know better, even though I try to slow down-it's too dangerous, too risky, someone might see-and yet I keep going. Unable to stop it. No longer the one who controls me.

  Aiming for my destination like an arrow on a compass, my entire being is focused on one single point. Cars, houses, people-everything around me is reduced to a single, orangey blur as I close street after street. My heart crashing hard against my chest-but not from the run or the exertion, because the truth is, I've barely broken a sweat.