Page 34 of The Healing Dragon
“You killed your soul bond?” Her shock is so honest and innocent. Her eyes are wide and scared. My mother’s expression shifts as she is finally seeing me for the first time.
I know what she plans to do.
“If you call for my father, he will kill me.”
“He will not kill you.” Her expression is appalled at the mere idea I would suggest something like that. “After losing your brothers, do you think he would do anything to hurt you?”
“He has done it my entire life, mother. Are you willing to bet my life on it?”
“He only hurt you to toughen you up. You are so strong and he always saw potential in you. I told you to dial down your power and pretend certain things were beyond you, but your magic was too great to mask. He did what he needed to do to prepare you.”
Listening to her reasoning is mad. I always imagined my mother was ignorant of the truth about my father’s actions. It crossed my mind many times to go to her for help, but even as a child, I saw her as too weak to do anything. After all, if she couldn’t help herself, how could she help me? I would love to think that there is a piece left in her willing to protect her children. Surely my mother would never give me up.
“Mom, let me go,” I say, but it’s too late.
The resolve is written all over the harsh lines in her face. She takes a step back and yells, “Help! Someone come and help. They are escaping!”
No anger flows through my body as I stare at her. I feel only sorrow. I don’t tell her to stop, try to reason or beg her. With one last look at the woman who brought me into this world I say goodbye. This might very well be the last time I see her.
Her voice echoes once in the space before her gaping mouth makes words, but only silence comes out of her lips. Perhaps once she would’ve been a challenge for Jesse, but my mother is close to as powerless as I am. One spell takes her voice, and another puts her to sleep.
“She will be okay when she wakes.” Jesse catches her before she hits the ground and gently places her on the side of the stair railing. “Let’s go.”
In the dark hall, no one will see her.
Jesse leads the way down the main stairs and into the back of the house. I follow him outside and into the night sky. The backyard is cold and other than the noises of the farm animals, the night seems to be dead silent.
Jesse stops in front of what looks to be an old shed. Keeping the doors locked is a new shiny golden lock. His hand hovers over the lock as his eyes close. The lock shakes a bit, but it does not open. Jesse’s head turns to the side before he repeats his attempt.
“Is the Red Book in there?” I ask.
“It’s not working.” Jesse takes a step back to take a better look at the structure of the shaggy building.
Its appearance was intentionally designed to be inconspicuous. My father has always loved to hide things in the most unassuming of places. He has always wished for me to do the opposite. Perhaps he believed if people were too busy looking at me, they wouldn’t see what he was scheming all along. Orhe couldn’t help himself from creating a puppet all would see and admire.
I know my father better than anyone else in the world. I know him better than my brothers ever did, and perhaps more than my mother. She definitely has suffered the most by tying herself to him, but a long time ago she checked out and stopped wanting to know what he was up to. I wasn’t offered that opportunity. The only time I was allowed to be excused from his attention was when my soul bond was announced. He found a compliant ally with access to my magic. My presence became solely for show. He needed nothing else from me and was relieved to find access to my power without my consent.
He must have seen the rebelliousness building in my eyes. Over the years, his eyes grew weary of me.
“Let me see.” I take the lock in my hand and do a closer inspection.
“You don’t have magic, or did you forget?”
I give Jesse a glare over my shoulder, then turn back to the lock. The metal vibrates with magic, but not the spell kind. Spells are light and fleeting. They can fade and be modified so easily. Like the frosting on a birthday cake. The magic on this item is deeper and heavier than that. The weight it possesses is inside, like the middle filling of the cake.
I don’t need magic to know what it needs to open.
From the crevices of my mind, a vivid memory surfaces, a younger version of myself standing in my day school uniform. The same item in my hand secured a small chest, keeping secrets hidden. I don’t recall what the small chest contained or why my father asked me in his office while this took place, but I remember what he did next. I remember it strikingly, like the feel of the blade and the sting of pain across my palm, the shortness of breath that came from my small chest and the absolute fear that any of the tearsgathering in the rim of my eyes would descend and mark me as weak.
I grab a dagger that’s attached to my thigh and bring it down the side of my palm. The burn of this cut does not fill me with emotion like it once did. I watch as the line I draw fills with crimson.
“Janelle,” Jesse says. His eyes look at my cut, then my eyes searching for answers.
“It’s an ancestral lock. Created with Duelo blood and sealed with it. There is only one way to open it.”
I don’t even want to think about how my father opens and closes it.
Jesse steps back as I position myself to the side so he can see. I carefully push my hand to the lock mechanism. We both watch as the artifact lights up in a low glow before clicking open.
