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And I remember how I failed them once again.
I’m still sitting on the bed, my hands clenched in my lap, defeat pressing down on me, hollowing out my chest, turning the world into nothingness. No future. No joy. It might have been a mercy to forget.
Restlessly, I get up and pace my room, clenching and unclenching my hands. How did this happen? Why am I still myself? I remember the weave of magic turning into a wall around me.
I stopped her magic.
What can I do with this? Is there still hope?
I stop at the door, place a hand on it, close my eyes. I feel the spark in it, subdued, I feel the earth that fed it, the air that it breathed, the water that swelled it, the fire that birthed it. I feel the wards on it, crafted of the weave, the combination of the four elements. I tease them apart a bit, then stop.
Not yet.
Beyond the door, I feel the guards, two of them. Werewolves. Earth. And then others, faint magical signatures in the hallways and rooms, fae, shifters, demons, vampires, some shadowy magicless humans, too.
My power is there, my magic is intact—not only that, but stronger. Denser. More accurate, more precise.
Reaching further, out of the building, across the campus, I can feel my Four. Four pillars, four facets, four powers—one with me. Mine as I am theirs.
I’ll come, I promise them in my mind. I promise I’ll come. I don’t accept defeat.
Walking over to the desk, I pick up Vanessa’s blade, then a small wooden box and stroke it. Nobody thought to open it, take it away.
Good.
I still have a few weapons in my arsenal. I have my wits. My memories. I have magic. I have my blade and my box. And not to forget, I am Ophelia’s blood. Same family. Same magic. Vanessa said not to delve into Ophelia’s magic, but screw that. It’s too late for caution. Time to jump out the window and hit the ground running or accept that this is the end.
Maybe not all is lost.
And I will damn well do all I can to stop her from ending this her way.
