Page 25 of Fading Sun

Far from it.

From the way she frowns again, I can tell that wasn’t the answer she was hoping for.

“I’m sorry,” I add. “I really have no idea what she’s going to tell you. I tried to see, but I kept coming up blank. It’s why you need to go yourself.”

My eyes dart down the hall, a few doors over, to where Blaze is staying. He’s in there right now with the Crimson Quill, experimenting with it, testing his limits, pushing it further than he should…

No. These aren’t my thoughts. They’re from the wind—from the seeds it planted, to get me to turn on him.

To get me to kill him.

“I have to go.” I reach for my key and unlock my door, wishing Amber good luck again before entering my room.

The moment I’m inside, I lean against the door, taking a few deep breaths to center myself.

The wind’s whispers are gone. The echoes of what they said remain in my mind, but for now, I’m safe.

For now.

I can’t continue like this forever. There has to be a way to heal my mind from whatever Blaze’s spell did to it.

Especially because my sister Willow’s blood magic specialty is healing. She’s only ever been able to heal physical injuries, but it could be worth a try to have her heal whatever Blaze did that harmed my mind.

The biggest issue is that she’s with Zara, the others in the Blood Coven, and Ambrogio’s corpse in that creepy cathedral they’ve designated as their hiding spot.

AKA: their lair.

My chest hollows at the thought of my sisters. I miss them. So badly it hurts.

I need to know how they are. I’ve been trying to resist doing it, fearing it will be too painful, but I don’t want to fight it any longer.

I’m going to scry to see them.

Morgan

Newly determined, I stride into the bathroom, situate myself in the center of the jacuzzi, and pull out my dagger. I figure the dry tub is a reasonable way to go about this, since I don’t imagine Damien would be happy with me for staining the desk or the floor with my blood.

Then I slash the dagger across my palm, make a fist to squeeze out as much blood as I can, and let it drip onto the porcelain.

The droplets spread and swirl, creating a pool of blood with a dark image inside of it. If I squint hard enough, I can make out blobs that sort of look like people. It’s like staring into a murky lake, trying to see the fish beneath the surface, but being barely able to make out their shapes.

I push harder, straining my magic, needing to see.

Come on, I think, moving closer to the pool of blood, hovering above it in desperation for the vision to become clear. I push harder, until my head feels like it’s about to explode, and my blood’s creating so much pressure under my skin that it’s trying to burst out of my body.

It’s not going to work.

Then, as I’m leaning back in defeat, the vision clarifies.

It’s Willow, in the cathedral, the shadows deep and threatening around her. Her normally soft face is gaunt, her eyes hollow.

She’s a shell of the sister I’ve always known and loved.

In front of her, lying on a stone slab, is Ambrogio. The original vampire is as pale and unmoving as death itself. The tip of Ruby’s arrow is still embedded into his chest, and he’s unnaturally chilling to look at, even through the lens of my blood.

Willow’s hands hover above him, encased in a shimmer of pale light that struggles against the darkness.

Beside her, Zara watches, her face drawn with concern.

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