Page 81 of Dark Flame
“You keep saying that.”
“You shouldn’t be,” she murmurs. “You died. Your magickal signature faded. After you disappeared, I spent months searching for you until the mortal police called with the report of your death. I saw the accident for myself, and yet here you stand.” She scans me, pausing on my neck before nudging hair off my shoulder. “You’ve been attacked.”
The need to hide what happened between me and Alec has me batting her hand away and bringing hair back over my shoulder. “Forget the bites. What do you mean, Idied?”
At first, I assume she’d heard of the house fire, but her mention of an accident suggests there’s more to Violet and Arthur’s deception than the box let on.
Her attention remains on my neck, and it’s obvious she doesn’t want to let the marks go, but with a deep sigh, concedes. “Seems we have a lot of catching up to do. How would it sound to go home after all this time? Yourrealhome.”
What is home anymore? Maybe subconsciously, home—the last one I knew before Alec kidnapped me—was where I was heading to. Back to where my stuff is. Back to what became the grave for my powers, my family, even my self-worth.
Except it doesn’t feel like home anymore. It’s the source of pain, of losing the people I loved. It’s the place where they spent years forming me into a being for their own gains, isolating me from a coven. It’s a reminder of the shadows that once weighed me down, and of the night Alec came for me. It’s my past.
If I go with Morgan, if I trust her, then I get to see where I came from. Get answers for everything the box didn’t give. Unlock the secrets of my past and determine what exactly happened with Violet and Arthur Hartman, and why Morgan thinks I died.
And hide from Alec.
I take her hand in mine, and it’s like I’m home. Magick swirls from my palm to hers, our powers recognizing one another. She smiles before the ground disappears from under my feet.
* * *
The air is different.Lighter, if that’s possible. The sun feels brighter, like we’re closer to it. And behind me aren't trees anymore—except there are certainly a lot of those in the distance, covering the incline of stone that consumes my entire vision. It’s magnificent and beautiful. Nature at its purest, its finest.
I spin, taking in the mountains, the cloudy sky blanketing much of the blue, and the crispness in the air. It’s a place without smoke and exhaust. Without the bustle of a town, or even the openness of the countryside.
It’s Banff. The place Highridge Coven calls home.
The houses Morgan and I are standing nearest are cabin-style, their sidings covered with a varnished wood that’s obviously for decoration only, covering the thick building materials needed for houses this far north to survive a winter that’s always one nip away. They have a sense of modernity too, with large windows both in the upper and lower floors, overlooking the cobblestone street we’re on.
“Banff,” I breathe.
Morgan nods, tugging me into a walk. “Very good. It’s where we’ve lived for centuries. The Sinclairs created Highridge, did you know that?” Her eyes cut towards me, as sharp as her frown before she mumbles the presumed answer to her own question. “No, I suppose you didn’t. But it’s true. This is your legacy, Harlow.”
My throat is thick as I’m tugged along, mind repeating what she’s said. Banff was more than only home then. More than just a coven. Violet and Arthur took me from the place my family lived for centuries. Anger flushes through me, but I quickly tamp it down with another glance towards the unearthly mountains all around us while forcing air into my lungs.
“Still in Canada then.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve been living in a small town in Ontario for as long as I can remember.”
Morgan abruptly yanks me to a stop, her nostrils flaring with her sharp inhale. “Days. You were onlydaysaway from us this entire time? Nearly seventeen years and you—” She stops, her grip tight around my fingers. “I’m sorry,” she says after a moment, loosening her hold. “It’s difficult to learn you were so close this entire time. Had I known, I would have come for you.”
“I believe you.” And I do. I feel it. My magick recognizes Morgan. Though the memories are vague and blurry, my heart does too.
“There is nothing I can ever do to make up for how I failed you. Other than returning you home.”
I want to tell her it’s fine, that there was nothing she could have done, but is it fine? At this point, I don’t even know what’s up anymore.
“Where did you find me?” I ask instead, wondering precisely where Alec has been hiding me.
“Just over the U.S. border, in Montana. Come.” She turns up the street, her knitted cardigan swirling around the backs of her thighs.
Montana. Close enough Alec will find me,ifhe’s able to track me here. He didn’t exactly give details on how the supposed mate bond between us works.
Morgan gestures to some of the houses we pass. “This is the area of the town inhabited by the coven. We prefer to stick close to one another.” She continues, turning down a skinnier road, and I fall back, inspecting the homes and realizing with a punch to the gut that the people residing in them could have been family. They should have been witches and warlocks I grew up alongside.
The churning in my stomach travels up, prickling my eyes with the beginning formations of tears. For years, I hated how the coven abandoned us, never giving me the connection every witch desires. As much as I loved my parents, two witches aren’t enough. Not when knowledge is passed from coven member to coven member, each learning from one another’s experiences, getting to practice other elemental magick, reciting a variety of incantations. My coven consisted of only two, and I now understand why I know nothing beyond fire, or why I used to obsessively pour over Gram’s grimoires—which I now realize were probably stolen from my real family.
