Page 92 of The Witch and The Blood Oath

“I barely sleep,” I whispered. Lightning and worry brimmed in Walker’s eyes, but I pushed forward. “When I do, I dream about my mother and-and Josephine.”

“You don’t need to feel guilty, sweetheart,” Walker interjected.

I cringed. “That’s not it. I mean, not all of it.” Tears pricked my eyes, and I stared at the light of our power to chase them away.

“The worst dreams,” I said, “are the ones where we’re all together again. Where my family is back, and nothing ever separated us. Those are the ones that wake me up because Ialwaysremember—even in my goddessdamned subconscious—that it isn’t real. My family is gone.”

“And then the guilt hits,” I finished. “Because I miss Josephine almost as desperately as I miss my mother.”

As strong arms engulfed me in an embrace, I was dimly aware of magic pouring into the bowl. I tried frantically to choke down my tears.

“You’re allowed to miss people,” Walker said into my hair. “Even the ones who hurt you. I miss my dad, well, the glimpse of the one I met during the battle. I miss the guy I knew as a kid too.”

I wanted to tell him I understood and that I wished we had talked about this earlier because it was such a weight off my chest, but light burst out of the bowl. I gasped and buried my face in Walker’s chest to avoid being blinded by the brilliant, magical rays. When the backs of my eyelids no longer burned, I hesitantly looked up.

“Cowboy,” I whispered. “Look.”

The light had transformed into a semi-transparent screen. In shades of blue, a witch bloomed flowers in her palm. A male witch sauntered onto the screen and with a snap, rain poured down on the flower. It flourished under the care of their combined magic.

Thunder boomed and shook the cavern. I squinted on the speck of light filtering through high above us to try to check on the others, but Walker grabbed my elbow.

“Look,” he said.

Magic crackled between the witch and her male counterpart, and they flew to opposite sides of the screen. Relief blossomed—it had been part of the show.

Only the female witch rose.

The screen cleared, and a lone symbol appeared.

“That’s a W in our alphabet,” I said. The symbol disappeared and another replaced it. “A…R…”

Witches and Wars.

“L,” I translated in surprise. “O…C…K.”

“War-lock,” Walker whispered.

A chimera blazed on the screen, and the symbols surrounding us burned brighter. Thunder boomed again, and the floor shook.

“Witches and wars,” I realized, “witches andwarlocks.”

“I’m a warlock?” Walker asked.

The magical screen had spelled out the truth for us in a way that was impossible to ignore. Despite everything I had been taught, Walker was a warlock—a male being capable of wielding magic—and he was not the first of his kind.

The cave descended into utter darkness.

As the cave’s power faded, I sensed the magic roaring above us. It was thick and cloying and sickly sweet as death. It shook the very walls of the cave, and rock groaned under its might. Fear, worse than any I had ever faced, bloomed in my heart.

“The High Witch,” I whispered. “She came.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Walker

The High Witch’s magic was just as terrible as I remembered it to be. Panic raced in my heart, and lightning crackled on my skin in response.

“The cave is no longer containing our magic,” I realized. “Freya, you can get us out of here!”

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