Page 6 of Eternal Captive

“Straight to the point, then?” she asked. “I’d thought you would want to stick around for a bit. Reminisce. This may be the last?—”

“I leave in five hours,” I said, cutting her off. “Getting home is forty minutes alone.”

She swallowed thickly before reaching her hand out and placing it on my neck.

A burning sort of magic washed through me. My first instinct was to jerk back, memories of the same magic being used against me in training attacking my mind, but I stayed as still as possible, pushing all those terrible thoughts to the recesses of my mind.

Focus.It wasn’t painful for long. Just a few minutes before the magic cascaded down my shoulder and chest, completely hiding any evidence of the family I came from. The scars would be a different story, but hopefully they wouldn’t give me away as easily as my family’s symbol would.

When she pulled her hand away, I had a moment to collect myself before I jerkily grabbed my bag and opened it to grab her payment. Panic was ebbing at the edges of my mind, but I concentrated on what I could control.

My heart and my movements.

It allowed everything else to wash away into the ether, leaving me and my task at hand.

The payment was an orb wrapped tightly in cloth, its glow seeping through the thin fabric. It warmed my hand, the magic inside it seeping into everything, even with the extra protection.

Gently, I placed it on her still-outstretched hand.

“This is too much—it’s pure magic. Your father will?—”

“Be too proud of my sacrifice to notice,” I said, letting the smirk fall across my lips with ease.It was stolen anyway, and from my father’s personal collection, no less.“Thank you.”

I barely heard her as I turned away, but somehow her words still made it to me through the chatter of the bar.

“I’ll be praying for you, Vesper.”

If I allowed myself to feel any of the emotions swirling inside me, I would have to admit that her words affected me enough to cause all the air to escape from my lungs.

Witches don’t pray to their gods for just anyone.

But I wasn’t feeling them. I had closed them off as best as I could and instead forced myself up the stairs and to where my bike waited for me.

Less than five hours to go.

I ran the towel over my still-damp hair as I exited the bathroom.

My skin was pruny, and the smell of herbs and flowers was so potent I was sure I’d be smelling it for days, but it would work. I had faith. The witches didn’t get involved in anything to do with humans, but they were people of their words.

I was down to three hours.

The clothes I wore to the bar had been burned in the fireplace, and I spent extra time making sure the tattoo on my neck was successfully covered before scrubbing my skin violently with the herbs.

I paused as I walked down the hallway that overlooked the living room. Light shone up and illuminated the dark hallway, voices from below traveling up as Mother and Father discussed something with some stranger.

Having visitors in the house was common, but what shocked me was the young teen crouching against the railing, his hands gripping the wooden beams so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

His gaze snapped to mine, dark golden eyes so much like my own.

Instead of asking him to move, I crouched beside him to see what he was seeing. When I caught sight of it, my heart skipped a beat in my chest.

A human police officer stood in our kitchen discussing something serious with our parents. It wasn’t often that one of those visited our family. We had chosen this specific town and community because it was safe, and it wasn’t common for human law enforcement to come snooping around.

“A nomad,” Tate said, his voice a whisper. “It’s making the human police look bad, so they’re asking us to clean up.”

Ah, makes sense.

“They’ll take all the credit as usual,” I murmured. “Must be bad if they’re making house calls.”

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