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“How can I control it? I’ve been trying to learn, but…well, it hasn’t been easy.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard the phrase ‘Practice makes perfect.’ There is no shortcut; you just have to learn.”
“How are you telling me this? The last time I was here, you were unable to answer most of my questions.”
“Because the magic cloaking your origin depended entirely on you discovering where you came from on your own.”
“Are you able to tell me anything else?” Loren pressed. “Anything at all? My father, he…I tried to ask him about the Well, and about…well, everything. But I believe he is unable to speak freely to me.”
“I am afraid the limited information I am allowed to share with you has run out, Liliana Sophronia,” the spider said. Loren’s shoulders sank. “But I would advise you to listen to your father. You will find your answers in time.”
Loren sighed. “Yeah, in time. I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what he said.” Her next words were out before she could stop them. “I paid a visit to the Pale Man about a week ago. He told me… He made a prediction.”
“One that involved a death,” the spider said, her voice hushed.
“Yes.” Loren swallowed. “Was it true?”
“The Pale Man cannot lie.” The statement was a swift blow to Loren’s chest. “But the future is not set in stone,” the spider added. No. No, it wasn’t, and Loren would cling to this fact forever. “You, however…”
Loren stiffened. “What?”
“Well, I hate to say this, Liliana, but…you are not meant for him.” If Loren thought it felt like her chest had been struck a moment ago, it was nothing compared to how she felt now. “You should leave while you have a chance, sweet child. The two of you are fighting against chains very unlikely to be broken, and in fighting the natural course of things, you risk disappointment and tragedy. My advice to you is to leave now. Leave, and stop breaking your own heart.”
“I am meant for him.” Her words were sharp, and they echoed. “I am, and I don’t care what you or anyone else says. Is it because I’m human? Is that why you speak such heartless nonsense?”
“That is exactly why.”
“I’ve heard enough. I didn’t ask for that information, and I ask for nothing more from you.” She glanced around. Mortifer was clinging to her ankle, his face hidden behind her leg. With reluctance to ask the Widow anything more, she bit out, “How do I get out of here?”
“The same way you came in,” the Widow replied, a sparkle in her eyes. She seemed to be leaning forward, as if eager.
“Easier said than done,” Loren muttered. “Can’t I just cut my hand or something?”
The Widow merely watched her.
Loren drummed her fingers on her thighs. “Melt through walls… Melt through walls.” She stepped up to the closest wall, the only area that wasn’t completely covered in spiderwebs, and flattened her hand on its cool surface. She paused, turning to look at the Widow. “You said our chains are unlikely to be broken,” Loren said. “Unlikely. You didn’t say there was no chance.”
The spider considered her words for several minutes. When she spoke, Loren detected an air of pity in her childlike voice. “There is a chance, though slim. And even if you succeed, it will not end well for both of you. No matter which path you choose, Liliana, it will end in death.” Loren was too afraid to ask whose death, so she turned away, eager to get out of here.
Shutting her eyes tight, she willed her magic to wake up. As soon as she felt that same familiar heat pooling through her chest, she concentrated harder, picturing Darien’s face in her mind, hanging off her memory of that smile she loved so much, that dimple in his cheek, those steel eyes crinkling up at the outer corners with a level of unrestrained joy he reserved just for her.
Two seconds later, she felt a sensation comparable to when she fell asleep at night and jolted awake, her body pitching toward ground in her imagination—
Her physical form melted away, leaving only her sparkling aura behind. She plummeted through the Divide, Mortifer falling with her, darkness swirling around them.
There was a scraping noise. Cold stone was suddenly ripping into her clothes and skin, the back of her head thumping on a solid surface. She felt like she was at a playground, zipping feet-first down a steep slide.
The place where she landed was dusty and smelled of ash. A cloud of black and gray that was nothing like the Veil exploded around her as her ass hit something solid, the impact bruising her tailbone. When the dust finally settled—ash, she realized—she saw that she was back in Hell’s Gate. In the fireplace.
Coughing, eyes burning, Loren looked up to see Tanner gaping at her, his mouth full of donut. He was standing in the kitchen—by himself, thank the Star. Well, aside from his wolf Familiar. Silver looked just as confused as Tanner, ears erect. As silence stretched on, Silver looked up at Tanner, a whimper that begged for answers slipping through his whiskery chops.
“Why are you in the fireplace?” Tanner demanded. A crumb fell off his donut. Silver slurped it up off the floor, forgetting all about those answers he’d wanted a moment ago as his big tongue dampened the wood. “Do I need to call Darien?”
She got up and dusted the soot off her soiled clothes. She stank—horribly. “If you call him, I’m taking those donuts away.” Mortifer ducked under her arm and scampered away, slipping the whiteboard and marker under the couch on his way to the fridge.
Looking thoroughly offended, Tanner snatched up the box of donuts from Whisking Witch and clutched it to his chest.
“I mean it,” she warned.
