Page 21 of Witch's Wolf

Helena leans closer, her sharp gaze flicking between me and the box like she’s dissecting my every move.

“Interesting...”

The word sends a shiver down my spine, but I push it aside. Holding my breath both to avoid more dust and to hide my anxiety. When I touch the books, they illuminate with the now familiar pinkish light. The glow crawls over my skin like a whisper, tingling through my fingertips.

I set them on the desk, then set the brown one aside. Taking the white one, I flip it open. Its pages are soft but heavy, as though they hold more than ink and paper. Turning to page three, I point at the list of names.

“According to this, I’m part of a witch bloodline,” I say, the words strange in my mouth, like I’m talking about someone else. I glance at her, then back at the page. “My mother left me thesebefore she and my father died. Plane crash. Nineteen ninety-nine.”

Helena hums, a low sound that prickles the back of my neck.

“Died, you say...?” She narrows her eyes, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Yeah,” I whisper. My throat tightens as I trace the lines with my finger to keep my hands steady. “I don’t remember much. I was only seven.”

She exhales sharply, her gaze flicking up to meet mine, sharp and searching.

“Right,” she says, drawing out the word like she’s testing its weight. “Do you have any other family?”

“Not that I know of,” I say, shrugging and trying to sound indifferent, but the question hits onto something I’ve tried not to think about. “Why?”

“Let me share some facts with you about witches, Erica,” she says, shifting into a cool, businesslike attitude in sharp contrast to the subject and words. “When we cast a spell on someone or something, that spell is broken the moment we die. Yet someone has put a spell on your future. I’ve tried to look into it, tried everything, and I’ve come up with nothing. No trace, no threads to follow.”

Her eyes lock onto mine, sharp as a blade. She searches my face for something, but I have no clue what she’s implying.

“And?” I ask.

“I am a witch of considerable power, Erica, but this spell resists my abilities…” she trails off, letting the rest of the thought hang unspoken.

I shake my head in confusion. I look at the book, hoping maybe some wisdom will jump out at me since she clearly thinks I should understand this without her having to spell it out, but I’ve got nothing.

“And?” I repeat, giving up on figuring out her meaning.

“It’s simple, Erica. You’ve been lied to.”

“Lied to about what?”

“Your mother, your father, one, the other, or maybe both who cast that spell on you are very much alive.”

I freeze, her words crashing like ice water. Alive. My breath catches, and my body stiffens, trying to protect me from the absurdity.

“What?” The word bursts out, high and disbelieving. My brow shoots up and I stare at her. “Alive? What the hell are you talking about? My grandparents identified their bodies! They buried them, Helena. I was there. I watched as they lowered them into the ground.”

“They buried someone, yes,” she says without flinching. Her tone is steady but unyielding. “But it wasn’t your parents.”

Her words hang in the air like a thunderclap. Something in me cracks. A memory, a fear, a hope I never wanted to admit I carried. My heart is pounding so loudly I can’t think straight. I raise my hands, palms out, like I can physically stop this madness from taking root.

“Hold on a minute,” I say, my voice shaking. “Are you saying my parentsfaked their deaths? And my grandparents—” The thought feels too big, too ridiculous to even finish. “Are you saying they were in on it? What for? Why? What could they possibly gain from doing something like that?”

“I’m sorry,” Helena’s voice softens, and for the first time, her sharp gaze falters, dipping briefly to the floor. “I don’t have all the answers. What I can tell you is that a spell this powerful must have been cast by someone close to you. Blood-close. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Sense?” I snort. “What in the name of all that’s holy about any of this makes sense?”

Helena’s smile is small and tight. She sits silent, letting me work my way through her revelations.

“There is—” she begins after a while.

“You’re wrong,” I cut her off. “This is… it’s impossible. How could they be alive and… and…”

---