He pushes himself up on one elbow, face still ghost-white but eyes flickering demon-red. “I think, at this point, it's safe to say you're no longer the lesser Salem,” he wheezes. “You're the worst Salem.”
Yeah, I totally deserve that.
29
BRYNN
Iwait a few minutes before asking, “How do you feel?” Like maybe his righteous anger has an expiration date or something.
“Like a billion dollars,” Chad snaps, voice dripping acid.
Okay, we're not there yet. I get it. I totally get it.
But the glowing runes of ancient dragon magic are still doing their shimmer-thing under the salt, and we're one step closer to finding my sister. Sorry not sorry, but my guilty conscience needs to take a backseat right now.
“I lost a piece of my soul back there,” Chad grumbles. “Will I ever get it back?”
I shake my head. “No. But for what it's worth?—”
“Again with the 'for what it's worth' like it's supposed to make any of this better!”
Deep breath, Brynn. You deliberately screwed the pooch here, and he's entitled to his anger. Means to an end and all, though. Chad will have to get over it eventually.
“For what it's worth,” I say, all reassuring calm, “it was a very small piece. And honestly, given your demonic nature, you might not even miss it.”
“How so?”
“Well, a demon's soul is... stronger. Bigger, in a sense. Like, way more energy to work with. It explains why your spell-work has such brutal power. That Gaudian Pulse of yours hit different.” I remember feeling something off about it, but I was too busy getting beat to notice. “Be honest, Chad, how do you feel?”
“Weak.”
I tilt my head. “I did drain a lot of your blood, too. But do you feel... I don't know, colder? Meaner? Less inclined to care about whoever you cared about most?”
Chad's brow furrows. “I'm not sure.”
“See? You're fine.”
“How am I fine?”
“You're wondering about it. You still have a conscience. We're good. We're golden,” I say with my best fake-confident smile. “What do we do now, though?”
Chad runs his fingers through his dusty-blond hair, biting his tongue before pointing at my jacket. “Pretty sure you have your notes to check for the next part.”
“Right.”
Hedder's notes are useless. Just a bunch of “tried this, blew up in my face” crap. Super helpful, Hedder. Thanks a ton.
I follow the glowing pattern across the salt, squinting. Wait a sec.
“Hold on, I know that symbol,” I whisper, pointing at three swirls locked in a square. “That's earth magic. Like, primitive-as-hell earth magic.”
My brain clicks into gear. It's like seeing sheet music when you already know the song—suddenly the notes make sense. This isn't some random ancient chicken scratch. It's magic. Our magic, just... older. Way older.
Something in my blood recognizes it. Like muscle memory, but for my Salem witchy-ness.
And then—okay, this is weird—I hear voices. Not the “I'm losing my mind” kind, but like, ancestor voices. Ezekiel. Helena. Angus. The OG Salems. They're practically screaming the answer in my ear.
I drop to my knees in front of one of the symbols.
