Page 25 of Of Bone and Ash

Itry to walk down the stairs casually, thankful that the courtyard is practically empty. A few students are sitting at tables, and some small groups are walking up the paths, but besides that, it's calm. I can feel my fingers tingling and going numb as the cold press of my magic wraps around me, chilling me to the bone and making me shiver.

“Calm the fuck down,” I grind out, closing my eyes and mentally reaching for my magic, trying to harness it before it rushes from me in a deadly wave.

It's gone from uncomfortable to painful in a matter of minutes, and I hate myself for forgetting my blade. Knowing one small mistake, one simple misstep could cost a person their life. It may seem silly, but when you could potentially kill someone by forgetting an item, you make sure you never, ever do it!

I pick up my pace, no longer caring if people look at me. If I don't get my blade fast, someone will die. My toes pinch in my heels, and I hate myself for wearing these damn shoes. Normally, they give me a confidence boost, a little pick-me-up when I need it. I’ve always hated having people tower over me. But in the Fae world, sometimes it can’t be helped. I can’t compete with the sheer size of a shifter, but at least with heels on, I feel a little taller—a little more in control.

But there is no control now—heels on or not.

My heart is pounding, and I can feel a bead of sweat on my brow. I curse when I realize my hands are trembling; they’re so cold now that I didn't notice until I looked at them. My painted nails have lengthened, sharpening to deadly-looking points, and the navy blue color has darkened to black.

“Pathetic,” my father’s voice echoes in my mind like a nightmare come to life. “You are nothing but a pathetic child, a girl who brings shame to our good name.”

Looking up, I curse under my breath. I'm halfway across the courtyard. I need to go faster. Kicking off my shoes, I dip and scoop them up.

Then I fucking run!

Magic swirls at my feet, curling around my toes before climbing up my ankles. It stills and circles the new bruises I got the other night during my dream, and I know then that it’s about to take over. Black magic oozes from me like thick tar, the already chilly day turning frigid, frost falling from the sky as I sprint toward my apartment. I can feel magic shifting around my shoulders, my vision darkening as a thrill of excitement makes my heart skip. The feeling moves through my limbs, leaving goosebumps in its place.

I’m too late to bring it back inside myself now.

“Fuck!” I snarl as voices sound from the partially opened door of my apartment building. Like a rabid animal, my magic springs forward, and I skid to a stop, dropping my shoes and bag to the ground at my feet and yanking it back with everything I have!

Why is it acting like this? Why am I losing control?

I know it was triggered, but I haven't felt this type of darkness and longing for death in years! With the smallest grasp of control I can manage, I yank the void back to me, taking it into myself and letting the cold soak into every molecule of my body. Then I turn and desperately run for the fog-covered forest behind the buildings.

Like a warm hug, the dark abyss around me expands, the whispering shadows feathering across the yellow grass of the forest like spiderwebs. They cover the trees, bushes, and wildlife in their dark hold, and I can feel it pulling the light from everything it can find. Something inside me shifts, making my eyes widen when I realize the foreign magic forced into me by my father has woken, spreading its metaphorical wings and stretching in my mind as I slow, letting it move forward. The distorted visions of silver birch trees sharpen, their half-dead leaves rustling in the air as I move, letting the darkness cover the ground.

After a moment, I finally let myself still, and take in the quiet forest. It is oddly peaceful here, and my magic dances in delight as I let it have a rare moment of freedom. It twists and turns, rushing around the trees, swirling in the air and shifting the leaves above, tearing them from their branches. I watch as they fall into the dark void of my magic on the ground. Shivering, I let go of my control and ultimately give myself over to the monster living inside me, welcoming death like a long-lost friend.

Slowly, the void shifts, and I grin as I see a familiar set of wings appear within its depths. The blackbird bursts to life with a cry, flying into the air and circling above the trees as I watch. Delight crawls over my skin as it spirals, then tucks its wings tight to its body and dives toward me.

Grinning, I reach out, stretching my long fingers just as the beautiful creature perches on my hand. Its black beady eyes flicker with magic as it watches me, taking me in with a small tilt of her feathered-black head.

“Morana.” Her name falls from my lips, my voice almost unrecognizable as I dust a finger over her silky feathers. The first time I met her was the day Ryland walked away from me. I was sobbing, hating him for leaving, hating myself for allowing him the power to hurt me. My magic had filled my room, soaking it in a black that I had never seen before, and then Morana was there, preening her feathers and looking at me with worry in her tiny eyes.

I wasn't prepared for a familiar. I didn't realize it was a possibility. After finally calming down and gathering control of my magic, I went into my brother's office and pulled out every book about Reapers. It was weeks before I found a single mention about the potential for female Reapers to have a familiar—a way for their magic to take on a physical presence—an extension of themselves.

Without her, I’m pretty sure I would have lost myself to the addiction that death brings me. My soul is already tarnished, but it would be as black as the void before me if I didn't have Morana. I feel her mentally reach out to me, brushing my subconscious with her own, and I close my eyes and let her in. We don’t talk, as she doesn’t know how. But I can feel her. I can give her all my worries, and she soothes them away.

“I’ve missed you,” I whisper, cracking an eye open. I watch as she ruffles her feathers and settles more on my finger. Morana only comes out when my magic is in control.

I can feel a hint of wariness in her; something has her on edge, and I immediately go on guard. Bringing her close, I keep her tucked to my chest as I slowly look around. I’m not worried about our safety. I’ve yet to come across a Fae I can’t handle by myself, but I don't really want to kill anyone today. The more I kill, the harder it is to suppress the urges I have.

My brother said I need physical ties. Either mates or magically bonded Fae to help keep me grounded. He claims without his bonded brothers, he would have been lost to his Reaper form as our father was. A madman with the power to kill in the blink of an eye, which is why he’s sheltered me for so long. Once a Reaper kills, the need to take another soul becomes almost unbearable.

Dark memories fill my mind as I remember the first time I tasted death. The first time, I yanked the souls from every man who came to that house that day. I shouldn't have been able to do it. A female Fae doesn’t come into her powers until she hits puberty. Yet… as a six-year-old, I managed to reap twenty-three souls in a blink of an eye.

“We’ve always been weird, haven't we?” I whisper to Morana as she shifts in my hands, her feathers ruffling, wanting to be set free. “I met someone,” I tell her, opening my palm as I keep my eyes locked on the open void around us. My magic doesn't sense anything, but I’m sure to pay attention, nonetheless. “A friend,” I add, tilting my head to the side as my magic shifts, allowing the trees to my left to come into view.

I feel the air shift around me as I move Morana away from me, lifting my hand and letting her take to the air as I glide toward the trees. As I walk, my shimmering black cape swirls around my bare feet, the hood of the weightless material hanging low over my face, sheltering me in its dark depths.

“It’s odd,” I continue to tell her as I move closer to the small grouping of trees my magic is now spiraling around. “He doesn't seem to be afraid of us. It's nice, but almost scary. What if I hurt him by accident? I can’t decide if I want to stay friends or kill him.” I frown and shake my head.

That's a lie.

I’ve never once wanted to kill Adam. But that's what's truly weird about this whole situation. My magic doesn't care who or what a person means to me. It wants to kill no matter what.

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