Page 73 of The Witch's Destiny

I shake my head softly. I wouldn’t change much of what’s happened over the last few weeks. Jesse is everything to me, my other half, and I don’t regret becoming a vampire so I can be with him forever.

But the other stuff…

If I hadn’t insisted on playing detective and going to New Orleans to look for clues to my past, Bernadette would still be alive. That is one singular truth I cannot deny. Though I didn’t deliver the killing blow, her murder is my fault. And that burden will likely weigh me down for the rest of my existence.

I sit up and glance around the bedroom I share with Jesse. That’s it. I’m done.

My past doesn’t matter. My parents are gone, and finding out why they made the choices they made won’t bring them back. None of it matters in the grand scheme of things.

I have Jesse and our life together, I still have Steph, and I can be happy with that. I need to stop dwelling on the past and enjoy the present. Look forward to the future.

As I make the decision to give up the search for answers, something twist in my gut. I grit my teeth and fill my dead lungs with air before blowing it out in a long breath.

Not this time. I’m not going to let the feeling in my gut dictate my actions. I’ve risked too much following those feelings.

Lost too much.

The chime of my phone startles me out of the dark thoughts, and I reach over to grab it from where I left it on top of the nightstand. My brow furrows as I see a text notification with no phone number attached to it.

Tapping the screen, I pull up the message.

You need to be more careful, Eden.

My head rears back, and I tap at the blank profile picture above the text. Nothing happens. It doesn’t open a contact or reveal a phone number. It’s just…blank.

How does that even happen? Is there some phone trick you can use to block your number and send a completely anonymous message to someone? If there is, I’ve never heard of it before.

I read the message again. It obviously came from someone who knows me and isn’t an accidental wrong number. The sender used my name.

Is it a friendly warning? Or a threat?

If it’s from someone trying to help me, they wouldn’t try to hide their identity, would they?

Tapping at the screen, I try to send a reply.

Me: Who is this?

I tap the icon to send the message, and a second after it tries to send, a red exclamation point appears next to my text. It didn’t send. I tap the command to retry, but again, the message doesn’t send.

Shit. What is this?

My first instinct is to call Jesse, but I know he’s busy. I’ve kept him from his duties as king for long enough. I can talk to him about it when he gets back. He shouldn’t be more than a few hours, then we can figure this out, together.

I bite my lip as I read the message again, then my gaze strays to the nightstand drawer where I stashed the ruby pendant. It’s only showed me visions of the past so far, but is that the extent of its magic? Can I use it to channel my own power and force it to show me who sent this message and what they’re up to?

Making the decision to try, I lean over, pull open the drawer, and pluck the necklace from inside. Before I can change my mind, I set my phone aside and pull the chain over my head. Squeezing the pendant in my palm, I close my eyes and focus on my desire.

Show me who sent the text message. Show me who sent the text message. Show me who sent the text message.

I’m about to give up when pain streaks through my skull. I force myself to relax when all I want to do is tense up and fight it, falling back to the mattress so I won’t fall forward to the floor, probably landing on my face.

The pain intensifies, and I somehow manage not to scream, knowing it will alert the vampires in residence, including Jesse. Just when I think I can’t take another second of it, everything goes black.

When I awake and shake my head to clear the fog, I find myself on my feet in some sort of meeting hall. The room is filled with people, and it only takes me a moment to realize they’re not humans.

They’re witches, and this is some sort of coven meeting.

I shuffle forward and look from face to face, but I don’t recognize any of them. Not a single face sparks a memory, which means whoever this coven is, I haven’t had any dealings with them, either here in L.A. or in New Orleans.

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