Page 38 of Sweet Nightmares
“Emrys,” Jane warned, but the prince simply strode away from her, whistling an annoying tune.
Well fuck.
“You will move in with me completely, now.” Nightmare ambushed her as she entered, as if he had been lying in wait for her to return.
An anchor dropped in her stomach. She enjoyed living at the Viridian and having a week of freedom. But she knew arguing wouldn’t do her any good. Nightmare was not reasonable. He did not make compromises or hear people out.
“Alright.” When Nightmare didn’t move and continued to stand before her like a wall of muscle, Jane added, “Was there something else?”
A low rumble sounded in his chest. “Yes, you will no longer ignore your magic. You will learn how to control it and protect yourself.”
“I wasn’t ignoring my magic—” At his violent glower, Jane stopped talking.I was ignoring you.
He crossed his arms, his biceps bulging. “We start now.”
“Could you just order me to learn how to use my magic and we could skip all of this?”
“Magic doesn’t like being commanded.”
Jane wouldn’t understand what he meant by that until much, much later.
It took Jane nine and a half months to get any semblance of control over her powers. At first, it felt there was no rhyme or reason to control them. Ancient witches had been born with their powers and had intuitive control over them, but since Jane hadn’t grown up learning to bend and move magic, it was difficult. It was as if she were a baby learning to crawl, walk, run, and speak for the first time.
It was irritating because Mirror-Blessed never had this level of difficulty using their magic, and when Jane had complained about this to Nightmare he merely said, “Of course, they are using a tool. Youarethe tool. They tap into magic. You are its source. The magic needs to trust you, because what you can become is far beyond anything I or a Mirror-Blessed can ever do.”
Nightmare often spoke as if magic were sentient and had its own personality. And it seemed to. It was like coaxing and seducing a ghost or the wind. One couldn’t see or grab the source, but one could feel it and hear it—sometimes.
Magic was like emotions. Not in the sense that it worked with emotions. It was like emotions themselves. Moving and rolling and flipping through moods, often pausing on one for a long time. One day, it might be big and hot like anger, but the next day, it could feel lethargic and low like sadness.
Half of learning magic was learning how to regulate it, just as one should with emotions. That was precisely the reason it took her so long even to get a grasp on it.
So far, Jane appeared to be a Wind Witch, but Nightmare was convinced she would become more. There were five types of witches. Wind, Water, Fire, Earth, and Chiaroscuro—Often referred to as Light or Shadow Witches.
Wind Witches controlled more than just the wind; they took on all the properties of wind and bent any type of magic relating to it. So, a Wind Witch would become invisible, move objects, and do things like morph their bodies into air, making it so they could slip through cracks in walls, almost like they could walk through them. But it didn’t start there. They could often hear voices on the wind, or even read people’s hidden thoughts or intentions—that last bit only the most skilled Wind Witches could accomplish.
When witches existed, there were many different levels, just like humans had various levels of intelligence. The most powerful were nearly unstoppable.
Nightmare was convinced Jane would become one of the most powerful witches of all time. Jane was less sure, since she could barely stay invisible. She’d managed five-minute stints, and that took nine months to accomplish.
But Nightmare was certain, and often said, “A pathetic witch wouldn’t be prophesied to destroy me.”
Part Three
Even A Broken Wing Can Fly If It’s Mended
Chapter Fourteen
Age 26.
The walls were bleeding. Spilling down the sides like thick crimson paint. The smell was suffocating, coiling into her nostrils and sticking to her skin.
With one hand, she held her little sister’s mouth shut and squeezed her to keep her from screaming—he couldn’t hear them, he couldn’t find them—and with her other hand, she pressed her fingertips into the marble floor to ground herself and kept herself from screaming.
Glass flew through the air, and Jane screamed in her mind, or maybe she screamed out loud.
It was hard to tell anymore.
She thrashed and cried and fought, and then she was pinned down. He was going to kill her.
