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“It’s just a theory, but I’m afraid that keeping yourself drained of magic has hindered the healing process. I have no idea where to begin with having the bracelet examined, but it feels like it pulls my magic to it. When I touched the necklace, I didn’t have the same shock.”
“A little girl gave the bracelet to me right before Ary was attacked.” I frown. “Why would anyone want to weaken my magic? Very few even knew about it at that point.”
“I think it’s safe to say there were members of your mother’s court who wanted to keep you weak. Maybe even guarantee their attempt was successful by hindering your ability to intercede.” Silence studies me carefully.
“And you think they used a fledgling to accomplish that?”
“I don’t find it outside of the realm of possibility; I’ll put it that way.”
I hold my wrist up, and he helps with the clasp. The beads are strung on a stretchy material that will come off over my hand, but if it’s not unclasped, the magic will materialize the jewelry back on my wrist.
Silence holds the bracelet, examining it. My eyes widen. Light pastel green energy seems to spill from his skin toward the relic.
“Can we try with the necklace to be sure it’s not related to the spell the witch put on the relics?”
“Yeah, you can,” I agree, spinning the clasp of the necklace to my throat so he can remove it. “It was acquired here in the human realm.”
“And it doesn’t drain my power,” he says, studying it. “It acts as a true relic should, only holding what’s provided. Did you ask for the witch to spell the bracelet to consistently draw your magic?”
“No,” I whisper.
“It needs to be contained,” Silence murmurs, tossing them both aside. They land on the carpeting next to the mattress inside the nest wall, and I grimace. If one bead could provide enough magic to help bring Emerson back from death, then I can only imagine what the entire bracelet could do.
“Did my parents really choose to return to Faere?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. I think I just need to hear it from someone I trust. My stomach flip-flops wildly as the thought crosses my mind, but it’s true.
I’m growing to trust Silence and Hex.
“They did.” Silence grimaces, caressing my cheek. “I believe they didn’t want to be forced to testify against you in front of the council.”
I nod, my jaw sliding from side to side.
I’d heard rumors over the years, so it doesn’t come as a complete shock, but I’m relieved to know they were allowed to replenish Mother Nature.
Our kind is essentially immortal, but the mind does still age.
In the event a fae grows tired, they’re brought to the tree of souls. If they’re deemed worthy, the base of the tree will open and allow entry. It’s an honor to be accepted. It’s a much more peaceful way to expire than at the hands of a reaper.
My phone rings, shocking me out of my thoughts.
“Mrs. Segar,” Silence says, frowning at the device. “It’s nearly four in the morning.”
“Oh shit,” I hiss, yanking the phone from his grip and answering without a second thought.
* * *
Silence’s hand is heavy on my hip. He keeps me pulled in close to his side as we approach my home. “You’re sure Charity didn’t...” He shrugs. “I don’t know. Meet someone for an after-work drink or—”
“No, if she was going to drink, she’d have stayed at Venom and hung out with our coworkers. She’s reliable as hell. Normally, Bane walks her home. I don’t know what could have happened.”
We make it down the sidewalk separating my house and Mrs. Segar’s. I’m especially concerned because, as everyone has pointed out, monsters go missing in Haven.
My hands shake.
Atlas didn’t reply to my text, but Saber said he’d find the guys and let them know to meet us at my house. I move to shove my phone in my pocket so that I don’t drop it.
Mrs. Segar meets us at the door. The old wolf shifter is probably close to five or six hundred, but she looks like she’s in her late fifties or early sixties.
She goes on to repeat what she said on the phone. Charity hasn’t answered any of her calls or texts—mine either, which is very unlike her. She always calls Mrs. Segar if she’ll be later than two or two-thirty, and by three-thirty, Mrs. Segar grew concerned. She called, and the bartender at Venom informed her Charity left a little before two.
