Page 75 of The Demon's Discovery
“Not even one made with Light?” Magnus asked.
“No, I don’t think so. Can you get my dagger please?” Calla asked her mate. “It’s in my pocket sheath.”
He reached down into her skirt pocket, much farther than should have been possible, and pulled out a dagger. I wasn’t sure how the mechanics of what I’d just seen worked, but I wantedto find out. Calla removed one of her hands from my side, the invisible bands instantly tightening.
“Sorry,” she apologized to me, seeing how I was affected and putting it back. “Would you do it?”
Gently, Rylan prodded the tip of her dagger at the center of the seal. It flared gold and gave terrible shriek that was so high-pitched it felt like my ear drums were being pierced by icy needles.
“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “That’s not going to help.”
Vassago frowned but sheathed his sword again, letting go of my fingers and stepping back next to Rylan.
“I don’t have the same kind of talent, but perhaps I can help too. Alright, Greta?” Lovette asked. I nodded, tears filling my eyes. I didn’t care who helped or what they did if it made this feeling go away.
Calla softly guided our breaths in and then out again as her magic flowed into me. Lovette gripped my hand between hers, a brightness about her smile alone that put me at ease. I understood immediately why she was a healer once she took hold of my hand. She could dampen fear, panic. I felt oddly detached as I focused on simply drawing in and letting out what little breath I could manage, the rest of it just… gone.
Imogen also stepped in, sinking to her knees as she scowled at the seal itself. “It’s a puzzle. We need to solve it so it will unlock, right? That’s the whole point of this kind of thing. To be as permanent as possible?”
“Yes,” Rylan confirmed.
“But we can’t read those symbols,” Lovette mused. “That’s nothing I’ve ever seen or studied before.”
“I can,” I said, the simple words taking far more energy than they should.
Rylan coached Imogen from over her shoulder. “Solve from the outside in. Everything should line up when it’s right, like a well-stitched seam. It may form another symbol.”
“Right.” Her fingertips guided the tiny symbols around in a circle. “This is so odd. There’s something here, clearly, but also there’s nothing actually here. I’m just touching the air.”
“Welcome to the world of mage craft,” Magnus said dryly.
Rylan nodded solemnly. “It’s definitely unusual, and a complicated piece, but you’ve got the right of it. Keep going.”
It took Imogen a few tries to figure out how many layers she was working with, how the rings liked to move. There were seven bands of symbols within the larger circle.
“You’re okay,” Calla reassured me. “Is it helping?” I nodded, glad for the improvement. “Good. Keep breathing with me, okay?”
I looked down at the seal, trying to focus on what the little symbols were. “Elements,” I told Imogen. “The first one is elements.” She nodded, quickly rearranging them as I described which was which. When the first band was in the correct order, it locked into place with an audible hiss.
“That’s promising,” Calla said, moving her hands a bit higher on my ribs. I was able to breathe a fraction better and eyed her gratefully.
“Hurry,” Vassago ordered gruffly.
“Planets next.” I described them to Imogen, the second course locking in. We continued through the rest, until all the rings were locked. The end image was a seven-pointed star, the lines of it made up of the small symbols.
“Now what?” Imogen asked, backing up again.
“Can we break the damned thing open with our hands?” Magnus asked, arms crossed and jaw tight. Grace was at his side, a quiet but empathetic onlooker.
I almost smiled at the simplicity but had a feeling I had the answer. “Open,” I said, using what I believed to be the proper pronunciation in fae.
The star pulled apart from the center, and the whole thing vanished before my eyes.
“Oh good. That’s—” my throat closed around the words, my body frozen as my body cycled between white hot and freezing cold.
One after another, a barrage of memories flashed through my mind. My mother and I, cooking, laughing, when I was just a child. A disorienting image of me floating above her as she clapped, her hands outstretched and pride on her face. The two of us getting into a carriage with a well-dressed man she clearly trusted—a man who seemed familiar but I couldn’t put a name to. Her scent in my nose as she hugged me tightly, tears in her eyes. My mother’s voice carrying on the wind, but her nowhere in sight. A man with a terrible laugh and red hair standing over me, doing something that made me hurt. Me crying on the steps outside the Belette’s country manor.
I screamed then, unable to do much else as my fingertips changed to greenish gray, the pain in my shoulders so intense I couldn’t think past it. The cursed ring dug deep into my skin, flaring hot.
