Page 20 of Luna Ascending

“You're awake you little witch” he booms “that is some mess you made of my ballroom room! I've never seen this Coven so entirely alarmed it couldn't even track the source of a disturbance”

I blink. My hearing seems fine, if painful, but I can't make sense of his words. I start to shake my head but quickly stop, feeling like my brain's rattling inside my skull.

I peer suspiciously at the man. Is this a dream then? It's a bloody weird one, and why does he not seem angry if I've caused chaos? I guess dreams don't have to make sense.

“I wonder what else you can do” the man muses looking at me like some sort of exotic experiment.

The rest of the room crowds over, all talking at once. I try to get up, backing away. The wave of pain is so extreme I'm convinced this can't be a dream. Surely only being awake could hurt this much?

Seeing my disbelief the small group ushers me slowly back into the ballroom. It's been cleared of guests. I look around in shock – all bar the furthest of the magnificent chandeliers are destroyed. Bits of crystal are strewn everywhere, the nearest windows are smashed and there isn't a whole decanter in sight.

“You think I did that?” I gasp, feeling utterly bewildered.

Marc suddenly appears at my elbow and steers me back into the safety of the library. He's not exactly the first person I want to see, but he's a familiar face and he seems genuinely concerned.

Very slowly he explains the events of the past hour, using little words and leaving lots of gaps for my brain to catch up.

“There's no sugar-coating that will make this easier Freya. The truth is, you're a witch. You might not have known it before tonight, but it's a fact.” Marc states calmly.

“You over-reacted to some French bimbo coming onto me – it set off a surge in your emotions, which caused the whole fiasco in the ballroom.” He looks at me appraisingly “I have to say that was some show of power. I'm rather touched you care enough to be so jealous”

I can't really grasp the enormity of what he's saying and instead focus on my upset. I want to wipe the smug look off his face, fast. The arsehole was a hundred percent a willing participant in that kiss.

“You encouraged that Marc! You were as much into her as she was into you” I snap.

He bats me away with another bombshell. “Your energy surge,” he explains ignoring my snarking about the countess “caused our guests severe pain and shattered all the glass within your aura-field.”

I blink at him, unable to retort.

I suddenly recall all the guests clutching their heads and writhing around and I can't help but half entertain his theory. Does he really believe I caused all this chaos? Why is he so calm? What on earth would make anyone jump to the conclusion I caused this? And yet it sort of makes sense, my head's so full of contradictions, I can't form a sentence.

“Look Freya, you remember telling me about all the 'faulty' lights and electrics at your work? Didn't it even seem a tiny bit weird it started happening at home too?”

I peer at Marc, feeling incredibly thick, my mind playing over each of the incidents. Theydidalways go haywire on days I was at my most emotional, or when my migraines were at their worst, but I'd assumed the cause and effect were the other way around. What if he's right; what if I'd caused them?

My mind flicks over the episode this week where my bookcase spontaneously emptied itself on the floor. I'd put it down to nearby building works causing tremors, the building's subsidence, 'or something'. I couldn't fully explain it, and my brain had promptly ignored it.

The grumpy school caretaker bitching about electricians who didn't know their shit pops into my head. I guess he was right - it wasn't a power surge, it was me.

This is like make-believe. I can't understand these fully grown adults all agreeing with straight faces that I'm a witch. I briefly recall Aaron's words... He called me a witch too, didn't he? Did he work out what I was that night? It's all too much and I burst into mortifying tears. What the hell? I don't cry!

Marc's calm face amongst the excited ones is my only rock. He gently suggests that perhaps, not knowing what I was, meant my powers had nowhere to go and so just built up causing migraines and all the weird shit to happen. To be fair, right now, it's about as reasonable an explanation as any.

Holding my hand Marc formally reintroduces himself as Marciel de Vaudou, first son and heir apparent to the Coven of Madame le Comtess de Vaudou and Monsieur le Comte de Vaudou. He gestures towards the thin man with the French cigarettes, and a rather severe looking high cheek-boned woman beside him.

I gulp, I hadn't realised his parents were here, or that they were actual real life nobility. Then it hits me... he said coven, as in witch coven? They're all witches? We're all witches? The reality of the bizarre situation swamps my brain, making my vision swim.

Marc presses a tonic into my hands – something he's made himself to help take the edge off. He takes hold of the sides of my face forcing me to look at him, calming me, talking me through taking deep breaths.

I'm so glad he's here. Everyone else is looking at me like I'm a fascinating project, or an experiment gone wrong.

The tonic works amazingly quickly to make me feel relaxed. So relaxed I can't feel my fingers or my toes, a glorious numbness soaks over me and I doze off.

Chapter Sixteen

Aaron's POV

After I learned about the bitch's spell I had to lock myself away from everyone. I swing between brutal angry destruction of everything in my path to the depths of a vulnerability I didn't know existed. The pack can't see me like this.

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