Page 153 of Dhampira

My face paled in the mirror. The candle behind my mother danced, the flame casting a shadow on the wall.

“I broke my magic,” Mama said. “I burned out, and I became a null—the language of spellcasting stripped from my tongue.” She flashed a bitter smile. “I’m a null still, and I’ve been one for twenty-five years. But it was worth it to keep you safe.”

She’d sacrificed her magic for me. My mother is human, I’d insisted to Vander and Lorcan. And in a way, I’d been right. She was powerless. According to Vander, witches who lost their root vor often couldn’t bear to live. But Mama had lived for me.

Her image rippled in the mirror. She glanced over her shoulder, and fear flashed in her eyes as she faced me again. “I have to hurry.”

Why? The plea was a high-pitched moan as I stepped closer.

“Corinthe, listen to me. No ward lasts forever. Mine lasted for almost twenty-five years, but it was starting to fail. Your father searched for you. I hid you for as long as I could, but he would have found you eventually. Vampires can always sense their own.”

Kindred. I nodded, tears burning my eyes.

“You’ll wonder why I didn’t teach you words of power,” Mama said. “But I couldn’t have spoken them, let alone taught you how to seize the magic behind them.”

You taught me, I tried to say. She’d taught me how to fight, and how to value myself. She’d taken me everywhere, teaching me which herbs relieved headaches and what kinds of salve to put on a burn so it wouldn’t scar. She’d taught me how to put dislocated shoulders back where they belonged. She’d taught me to control the monster and the thirst that would have ruled me if I let it.

“And you were so curious,” she said. “I feared you would go looking for the witches if you knew about them. The promise of power can tempt even the strongest and purest among us. I wanted better for you.”

A knot formed in my throat. You gave it to me.

“When my ward started to buckle, I knew it was time to let you go.” She swallowed. “Not even my love for you could keep you from your destiny.”

BOOM. Sounds of battle climbed higher, men’s screams and animal growls penetrating the balcony doors.

“Your root is strong,” Mama said, pride shining in her eyes. “I can’t speak it. Only you can do that. But you have to wait for my ward to fall. When it does, you’ll see your root word. All you have to do is look in the mirror.”

The candle behind her danced more wildly. The Drakhold shook. She looked over her shoulder again.

Why did she keep doing that?

Mama, I said behind the metal.

“I have to hurry,” she said. “And so do you.”

Why? I pleaded, the word muffled.

“It has to happen this way. I wish it didn’t, but I can’t change it, my love. My ward is strong, but it’s not quite ready to break. I have to help it. The wall crumbles when I do.”

No.

NO.

A door burst open behind her, flooding the room with light. Mama sprang to her feet and whirled around as Cyprio Kormaz rushed inside with a drawn sword.

“You led me on a merry chase,” he panted. Sweat stained the front of his shirt, which looked like it had seen better days. “You’ll pay for that.” He squinted behind her, his eyes finding mine. “What the…?”

Mama swung back to me. “I love you,” she said breathlessly. “Never forget it.”

No! I screamed behind my gag.

My mother spun and rushed Cyprio. With a panicked cry, he thrust out the sword.

She impaled herself on it.

The mirror shattered.

No! I screamed again, falling to my knees. No, no, no! My voice climbed, my lips stretching as rage and sorrow filled me. Overflowed me.