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“Raven…” I glanced over at her. Her brow was pinched together again, and she looked like she was unsure about something. After a long pause, she spoke again.
“When I was your age, my father put a great deal of pressure on me. I was very gifted for my age. When I was young, I was arrogant, almost proud to be the prodigy that everyone kept telling me I was.” I held my breath.
Clair had never spoken to me about her childhood before. I had never met the grandfather she spoke of, and I wondered what had spurred on this particular story. “As I grew older, I began to realize that things weren’t always black and white. The things my father expected me to do for the family name stopped making sense. Sometimes, the things he asked me to do were downright cruel.” I frowned at her.
“What kind of things did he ask you to do?” I whispered. She smiled, but there was no joy in it.
“That is a conversation for another day. The point I’m trying to make is that although I knew following in my father’s footsteps was not the right path, it did not make leaving him and everything I had known easy.
“Sometimes the hardest thing is the best thing for you to do. You may not believe me, but I understand what you’re going through more than you think I do. I know it’s difficult for you to talk about, but I want you to know that you can come to me about anything, at any time.”
“I know, mom.” I said softly. I thought for a moment that if anyone would believe all the crazy shit that was going on in my life, it would be Clair. She smiled at me and pulled me into her. She kissed the top of my head and I allowed myself to rest my head on her shoulder. Just for a minute, just for this one second, I would let myself be a little girl again. I would let my mom hold me and tell me everything was going to be alright, and I would believe her.
“Promise me you will be careful. People who sometimes seem like they’re friends can turn out to be the bad guys. Promise me you won’t forget that.” I frowned.
“What do you mean?” I asked, pulling away to look at her. Her expression was grim, the most serious I had ever seen her.
“Just promise me Raven.”
“Mom, what-” I asked, but she stood up and brushed my hair back out of my face with a smile. She glanced down at my neck and frowned.
My hands flew to my throat, but I could still feel Conrad’s glamour shimmering beneath my fingers. Had she seen the bruises? No, I was sure she would have said something if she could see them. Instead, Clair floated into the house as silently as she had come out, and I was left staring after her.
28
I dreamt of Amon that night. He was standing in my bedroom, looking at the framed photos from my childhood that were propped up on my desk. He was draped in a black cloak that brushed against the floor and blended into the long shadows. His silver hair competed with the moon, and his too-green eyes reflected the soft light from the stars, piercing through the darkness. He was nighttime incarnate.
“How did you get in here?” I murmured, my voice thick with sleep. The corner of his mouth tilted upwards in a small smirk. He seemed to glide to my bedside, leaving the hot scent of cinnamon in his wake. Leaning casually against the wall to face me, he ran one of his elegant hands through his hair. Hands that had severed the widowmaker’s fingers from its arms. Hands that had not hesitated to slice open my own arm… just to make a point.
“I’m not really here. This is a dream.” He explained. “Even the Obeah Man’s wards can’t keep me from your dreams.”
I eyed him warily from where I had sat up in my bed. He was watching me carefully, and I couldn’t decipher the look on his face. I was so tired and I was so sick of riddles and games. It was bad enough that he would be tearing me away from my family, I didn’t need him haunting me in my dreams. I just wanted to sleep.
“What do you want with me? Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with?” For a short second, I thought I might almost welcome it. A quick death would almost be a mercy… if all I had to look forward to was more terror, more violence. My subconscious twisted Amon’s normally cold features into an expression of something that almost resembled concern.
He moved as if he were about to reach out to touch me, but the triquetra flashed, and I jerked away. I remembered how he had touched my chin in the library and everything Conrad had told me about daemons and their touch. I wondered if it worked the same in a dream.
Amon dropped his hand; the pained look in his eyes deepened briefly before quickly morphing into his usual mask of mild amusement. He turned away to look out the window into the night.
“You would not serve me well dead, Raven.”
“I don’t want to serve you,” I retorted. He let out a low soft laugh, though there was no joy in it.
“Yet, you serve the magick folk. You follow them and have committed yourself to The Board’s agenda without learning about each of the options available to you.” He didn’t phrase it as a question, but I answered it as if it was one anyway.
“Conrad and Meredith have done nothing but be kind to me and they are trying to help me. They have not tricked me into a life debt and forced me to serve them.” Amon sighed and turned away from the window, his midnight cloak moving like a living shadow with him. He leaned back against the sill and observed me carefully.
“And if I had asked you to hear me out, and consider my side, do you think you would have?”
I pretended to think about it, but I knew he was right, I wouldn’t have given him the benefit of the doubt. I just couldn’t trust him. He nodded. As if to say: That’s what I thought. Instead, he said:
“The charm that you wear with such pride dampens your powers. Its hold on your aura increases with each passing day. Your new friends will never be able to teach you the things you will need to know to protect yourself. Your powers are manifesting; if you continue to follow them, you will die.”
“Is that a threat?” I snapped, though deep down, I knew it wasn't meant to be one. I thought of the rash that had formed on my neck beneath the pendant and wondered. Did Conrad know that it was hurting me? Or was that just a necessary side-effect I would need to endure to keep Amon and the other courts from the Dominion of Sin from touching me? I shook my head. Conrad would never do anything to hurt me. He was my friend.
“The Obeah Man is a very small representation of The Board,” Amon said darkly, echoing my thoughts. “There are powers at work here that you cannot possibly fathom.” He pushed up from where he leaned against the sill and gathered his cloak around himself. The shadows rippled along its edges, and he seemed to fade into the darkness. “If you’re ever looking for some answers, all you need to do is ask.”
I will teach you to move planets,
