Page 108 of Last Gift: Supernatural Battle

“Your mind is in your past today,” Ty stated in his deep voice.

The last of the Ogham Staves were laid out on the low table between us. I remembered not a single one. “It is, sir.”

“The past can be helpful.”

And not. I heard his unspoken advice. “It’s not helping me today, but I can’t seem to return to the present.”

“Would speaking of your past help?”

Cold humor found me as I imagined doing so. “No, sir. Thank you, though. There’s something else I’d like to ask you about my divination affinity.”

Ty placed his hands in his lap and waited.

“I was exploring the attacking abilities of my divination magic yesterday. When I opened the channel with that intent, I was nearly blinded by threads attaching the people in the room to each other, and to others out of sight.”

The mentor nodded. “What was the nature of the threads?”

I pulled a face, thinking back. “I have no idea. They glistened like a spider’s webs. I guess they varied in thickness, but I didn’t have time to pay attention.”

“Perhaps we could explore that now. There have been instances of divination magic taking such a form in our history, but threads can mean different things.”

I was mostly sure that the cage had triggered my demon’s panic attack, but I wouldn’t risk drawing forth that magic again in company. I glanced around the center, hoping to see Rooke, who’d gone to find Spyne after he’d missed his third meal. He wasn’t at dinner last night, or breakfast and lunch today. The quad had tried to place the conversation they’d shared with him in a positive light, but the verdict was that Spyne didn’t want to see me. That he felt betrayed—and like I was betraying the coven. He no longer trusted me, and what I was doing was wrong.

He was right on every count.

“I’m going to explore it more in private,” I said.

Ty didn’t reply as I gathered my staves and left the center.

Instead of going to my temporary guest quarters where Wild was sleeping after a night shift, I walked to Wild’s room that he never used anymore. He hadn’t needed to move rooms when we mixed Fertim and Vero magus together, and the familiar bed and walls and lack of decoration were a comfort.

I perched on the edge of the bed. “Fuck, Corentine. You’re in some shit.”

My demon uncurled in my chest. She’d been awake since the cage incident but hadn’t spoken to me yet.

Sorry. Her single word rang within me.

She’d spoken in demon tongue I realized after a second, and I could understand the dialect as easily as if she’d spoken my language. Which meant when we’d reunited, I’d gained knowledge of demon language. Cultural intricacies, too, because I also knew that the demon meaning of “sorry” differed from our version of the word. She was apologizing for weakness, and the demon version of “sorry” could only be applied this way. She wouldn’t apologize for betrayal, for example, because my weakness would have allowed her to betray me. In that situation—bizarrely—I would apologize to her.

I shook my head to clear it as the new information barraged my senses.

You were trapped for a long time, I replied to her in my mind.

Yes, she answered. The pain was testing.

Torture’s more like it. I’d felt part of that pain prior to finding her inside the demon realm. The cage reminded you of that pain.

Sorry.

If a magus apologized for panicking after trauma like hers, I’d bend over backward to reassure them. That would insult my demon. How do we free you from the cage around your mind?

You don’t. Another does.

She had to save herself. Let me know if you need help. Your cage is my cage.

Sorry, my demon repeated. She was pissed off with herself.

Do you feel ready for battle? I asked in the demon version of how are you doing?

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