Page 43 of Possession

The magic was never mine, he eventually admits. I took it and gave it to my followers.

My brow furrows. I’m not sure how one can “take” magic, but, then again, I’m not a god. My main concern is what or who Aris took it from. How many beings like him are out there?

I’ve kept the name Jaegen filed away for some time now and am in the middle of deliberating whether I should bring it up when Aris starts talking again.

As you heard them call me, I am a being of chaos. That is my nature. I gave mankind magic not as a gift, not because I understood it, but to cause discord. Imagine it—humans, selfish, entitled creatures finally given a shred of power. I knew they would wage wars for it—destroy the world for it.

When I left, I planned to return one day to witness the disaster humans wreaked, but I was… inattentive. In my absence, magic progressed. The humans learned, grew. Imagine my surprise when I found myself trapped by the very gift I had bestowed.

Actions, meet consequences.

Spare me the lecture. The point is, I cannot yield magic. It’s a force that’s… different from what I am.

I don’t understand.

Picture the elements. Water can’t burn the ground the way that fire can. They’re opposites. Magic is the opposite of chaos, a construct of order that requires ritual and precision.

But how did you teach them if you can’t even use it?

I need not use it to give it away.

I consider that for a moment. So, he took the knowledge of magic from somewhere—someone else. But who? If he’s a being of chaos, does that mean there are beings of order? Is that where he took magic from?

What else is he hiding?

A sudden knock at our door distracts me, and a nurse enters moments later. I startle, the two of us staring at one another with equal amounts of trepidation. She looks like a regular nurse on shift with a hospital ID and uniform, but these things can be bought or forged.

“Why are you here?” It’s only then that I realize how scratchy my voice is. I sound like I’m seriously ill, and I guess I am. I almost died.

“I’m here to give you your pain medication,” she says quietly. There is a vial in her hands, liquid that could be painkillers but could also very easily be something else.

“I don’t want it.”

She stops abruptly by the foot of my bed. “You need it.” Her stern professionalism surprises me.

“No,” I say, just as firmly.

We watch each other for a few seconds, and it’s like I’m the mind reader. As her eyes roam over me, expression softening, I see what she sees: a hurt girl, tired and afraid, in a bed all alone. No visitors. No friends. So weak she can’t even stand. Whatever her coworkers warned her about, it isn’t what she sees before her.

“How old are you?” she asks.

“I’m twenty-one,” I say.

The nurse frowns. “That’s awfully young,” she remarks, though she looks young herself. Maybe in her thirties. “Do you have any family?”

“Not really,” I say, clipped, and don’t elaborate.

For another few seconds, we stare at each other, her waiting for me to back down, me waiting for her to leave. Am I in pain? Yes. Would I like something to make me hurt less? Yes. But I can’t trust her.

Her lips finally purse before morphing back into a frown. “All right then,” she says, giving me another long look before leaving the room.

Nosy, Aris remarks.

She was trying to be nice. Or, more specifically, she was trying to do her job. I’ll regret sending her away later, but I’d regret it more if she ended up poisoning me.

I wipe my eyes, trying to focus back on our predicament, but I’m distracted with the knowledge that anyone could walk through the door: Silva, Ryan, Cera.

They will not cross me.

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