Page 89 of First Ritual

Rooke lifted her hand. “Tonight is Ostara.”

22

This preparation ritual felt familiar in a bad way.

Each time I journeyed to my past, the consequences worsened. After the last journey, only the sudden arrival of my mystery tether had dragged me from the precipice. Deep down, I’d decided that I would never understand some things about myself, and that I would never progress in divination. Not until I had more tying me to the living—in other words, not until I found my tether person.

Now here I was, sitting on a cushion at the edge of the lake where my magic led me at dawn every day. The mother knew I’d end up here dressed in my white purification gown for a journey into my past. She’d prepared me.

Ruthless gal sometimes, that mother.

On a cushion in front of me, Rooke leaned to grab my hands. “How do you feel?”

My mind was calm after the purification ritual. The lake was beautiful. My being was now trained to be relaxed at this very spot, which was likely why the mother had urged my magic to take me here so many times. Candles, cushions, birdsong.

And the quad.

My focus swept to them. “Mostly tranquil. You guys need to move farther away. You’re as inconspicuous as a porcupine family in a balloon store.”

They didn’t budge.

Surprise, surprise.

Wild’s gaze bore into my face, yet I’d struggled to meet his regard after his fervent promise in the hot springs.

“Ignore them, cuz. Look at me.”

Ignore Wild? Impossible.

I looked at her, however, peering into kind, blue eyes. Rooke’s eye color was a near-exact match to my mother’s.

“What thoughts fill your head?” Her voice gained the hypnotic quality.

I released my pent-up breath. “Your eyes are like my mother’s. Looking at them makes me happy. I miss her so much.”

“Close your eyes when you feel ready and tell me of your mother. What did her laughter sound like?”

Guess this was the start of things. Come on, Tempest. You can do this.

I closed my eyes. “Mother’s laughter was like flax flower nectar.” That probably didn’t make sense to anyone without an apothecary affinity. “You could never get enough of it, and everyone enjoyed the experience regardless.”

I kept going unprompted. “Her hair reset each day like mine. But hers was red.” Like mine used to be. “She smelled like chamomile because she added it to everything. Said she was always losing her mind and needed all the help she could get.”

“Your grandmother?”

“My mother was the heart of our home, and my grandmother was the floor and the walls. The roof.” Sadness filled my voice. “Her voice was sharper than a needle. She taught me self-discipline. Self-respect… to be unfaltering in going after what I wanted. I thought she was invincible.”

“And her smell. Was it chamomile?”

I grinned, feeling magic trickle down my divination affinity. I took a willing step down the path to my past. “Grandmother? No. Not chamomile. Grandmother didn’t have a scent that I recall. She had an energy. Lightning. A sparking in the air just before she arrived. That was the warning that you better be meditating or you’d get zapped.”

“You have beautiful memories of your mother and grandmother.”

Another step. “I cling to them so I can cling to who I am.”

“Your twin sister.”

My insides quailed, and suddenly the path down my affinity seemed dark and overgrown. “No.”

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