Page 20 of Anomalies

I wake up swinging, my arms flailing wildly around me as I fight the air. Thin air.

He’s gone.

My eyes adjust slowly to the sunlight that bathes the room. My cabin is set up like a studio: A bed, a two-seat couch, a coffee table, and a worn armoire in the corner. The humid air flushes my skin, loose curls clinging to the thin layer of sweat along the back of my neck, but the sheets are too soft to slide from.

I don’t have nightmares. Never like that.

Is this cabin haunted? Maybe that’s why it was empty. I swear to the gods if Gemma put me in a haunted cabin, I’ll⁠—

I shoot straight up in bed when a heavy fist pounds at the door.

“The Dame is expecting you,” a male’s voice booms through the wood. Devon’s, if I had to guess. One of the Captain’s men that was sent to my cabin yesterday, with strict orders to stay on the porch all night. All because they can’t see my ‘cards’ or whatever it was Ceres said.

I can’t see my damn cards either.

But hey, at least a magic tree said my soul was clean. That’s got to mean something, right?

Gemma strolled right through the front door last night, startling me to my very bones, but I was too distracted by the full plate of steaming food she held to be upset. She sat with me while I ate, and I told her about Ivy and Jude. I told her I felt guilty.

Gemma understood it, the guilt, she said she’s felt that way before. Still, it kept me up late into the night, even after she’d left. And when I saw the bag of clothes, she’d set by the door…toiletries and a second pair of boots alongside it…

I don’t deserve it…that kindness. It makes the pit in my stomach heavier.

My bones protest as I roll out of bed and pad barefoot to the door, twisting the lock and coming face to face with Devon. He’s about seven feet tall, only a few inches taller than Callan, with arms as big around as the roots of the Banyan tree. The scars across his skin are wild, inconsistent, and stark against his deep brown skin.

Devon is Laverna’s son and Callan’s third in command, but that’s the extent of what I know about him. He isn’t much of a talker, but in his defense, I wasn’t yesterday either.

His black dreadlocks are pulled into a low bun, the corners of his mouth tilted down in a scowl that I’ve yet to see him without. He wears the same padded black vest as Callan does, except the clasps on his are black, and the Captain’s are silver.

“Get dressed,” is all he says.

“How long was I asleep for?”

“Twelve hours.” Devon folds his massive arms across his chest. “Get. Dressed.”

I don’t have the energy to fight it. Despite the sleep, I feel drained, emotionally more than anything, and that nightmare certainly didn’t help. What I did to Ivy and Jude is killing me…breaking me down slowly. I’ll never fill the hole in my chest that leaving them has left behind, but I can’t have them mourn me; I’m not fucking dead.

Leaving Pirn isn’t an option unless I want my brain tampered with, so maybe…. I can convince someone who can leave to help me. Maybe I can get a message to Draycott.

Gemma told me yesterday that the only people with access to the Banyan tree are the Captain, his coven, the Dame, Laverna, and Ceres.

I can rule out Delia and her coven; there’s no way they’d help me when they’re already suspicious of my stupid cards. Certainly not Devon either, considering he can hardly stomach the few words he does say to me, and… I don’t know any of those other men.

Which leaves the Captain.

Which means I’m fucked.

I’m going to have to grovel my ass off if I want his help, but if that’s what it takes…it’s worth it.

They’re the two most important people in my life—Ivy and Jude. Anything would be worth it.

The Dame is waiting for me in a field of wildflowers, behind the building where I’d met her yesterday. Gemma calls it the Den—the massive wooden structure on the hill. Delia and her coven live here.

She told me that the Dame’s coven and the Captain’s coven are made up of the highest-ranked Sol, witches born from one of the five major bloodlines. Each bloodline traces back to one of the original disciples, the first five followers of the Chiaros. They got their magic and immortality from Vita: the two-faced matron of man, and ruler of our planet. She is good and she is evil. Vita is the flaws of man, just as she’s the successes. She’s the perfect mix of both, but the Disciples worshiped the virtuous side to her, and in turn, they were gifted her light but not her darkness. Vita’s magic was passed down, though her immortality was not, and now the blood that runs through the Dame and the Captain is thick with gods-blessed power.

As potent as it gets.

I bow my head as I approach, breathless from Devon speed walking the entire way here. He veers off, plopping down on a bench only a few feet away and I scrunch my nose at the invasion of privacy. I feel like a child on a leash.