Page 45 of A Bond with the Dark

“A local witch. Lasayah Thorne,” I say carefully but still notice how her name softens on the tip of my tongue. “She comes from a long line of witches, and a prophecy has been spun that she is the next phoenix. But that also may have a double meaning or be just a metaphor for a power she comes into. We are just trying to figure out how to help her come into this power.”

“Bring her here, to this place,” Tallyn says as she kneels. Her long pointer finger, be-ringed with black and silver jewels, stirs the dirt, swirling it around in a small circle. As she stirs the Earth, a small tornado of dust kicks up and twirls around in the air. The wind gathers ever so slightly, grazing me with the smell of magick and fire. “Give her a gift to make her cry. I need a tear to fall to the ground. When it does, I will be below in Luminara and can use it to help push her powers forth.”

“What will the tear do?”

She appraises me with a coruscating gaze. “It will assure me that she is being led to her fate.”

That sounds subliminal. “I’m trying to keep her alive. My family wants her dead. I need assurance that this is all to keep her alive.”

“If her destiny is to be a fire wielder, we need to push her to that destiny,” she says, still stirring the wind. Flicking her finger, a tiny flame emerges from the tip of her fingernail, and she stirs it into the funnel. “Earth, air, and fire. All you need is water.”

After a flash of a little explosion from the miniature tornado, the dust settles back down in a circle of ash on the ground. “And this little spell will activate when her tear falls?”

“It shall. Bring her here tomorrow night,” she says, her stoic posture rigid and refined. Bending down once again, she palms the surface of the lake, and ripples expand outward, the water parting in two and folding over each way. Below the waterline is a dark staircase leading down to Luminara.

As she descends without even a goodbye, I call after her, “But how do I make her cry?”

Without turning around, she tells me, “Give her something that makes her think of her mom.” And then the water folds back over, erasing the fact that a staircase was ever there.

How does the Luminara Queen know about the death of Sayah’s mom?

16

THOSE EYES, THOUGH

SAYAH

The fog from the night is still thick within me as I climb the stairs to bed. Even though I’m not worried about the fainting—which I think I should be—it’s more so the uneasy feeling I’m getting that surrounds the night.

Dominic is a seemingly perfect package. He's sexy and strong, tall and tattooed, and radiates independence. He's funny and sweet, as evident with his gestures of chivalry and all that encompassed our date tonight. Buying Gauge a candy bar was the cherry on top of a perfect evening. But there is something in his eyes that has me feeling as though I should run - and far.

Escaping out of my heels and slipping into my nightclothes, I try to grasp at something that I think should be there as part of our date, something that has me shaky and uneasy and the energy all around me shifts.

Something happened and I feel it like a lost thought that I can’t quite grasp.

Eyes.

That’s all my brain will tell me.

Was it his eyes?

The way they had looked after we kissed, it was as though all the hazel had drained out of them and they were just white, like Halloween contacts.

The phone dings as I flip the switch in the bathroom while opening the message.

Thank you for escorting me out tonight. It was as wondrous as you are. I can’t wait to see you again.

The feelings he gives me are such a weird mixture of what I’m used to. I’m used to either butterflies, or hesitation and the red-flag feeling I get when I’m about to ghost a guy from Tinder. This is a perfect mixture of the two. On one hand, I’m attracted to this guy, and in any other circumstance, I could see a future bloom with him. On the other, something awkward and strange is niggling at the back of my mind. I don’t know if it’s just me being scared of new relationships, but it feels deeper than that. There’s something that I can’t put my finger on. Something happened on our date that gives me the terrors. Like something I lost and can’t find but need and yet don’t remember what it is. I fight the feeling of blocking his number and ghosting him right now.

It makes me sad, and I ponder what to do; if I should walk away now and not speak to him again, or to give him a chance and see where it goes.

Climbing into bed, I open the message again and look at the letters, fighting something within myself on what the answer is.

Finally, I text back.

I had a really good time tonight too. Sorry if I seemed distant at the end, I’m just worried that I fainted. I can’t wait to see you again, either.

A few minutes later, he responds.

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