Page 222 of Jagged Souls
Which means that conversation wasn’t a joke. She’s had a name all this time.
She knew she was loved.
Bambi Rafiki Shadow.
Sixty-Nine
HER
I breathe out harshly as I twiddle my wand in my hand. We’re both freshly showered and clothed, dressed in funeral finery. Varius lowers Bambi inside the metal pot we placed in middle of his room. His family has come back from the super yacht already, but we haven’t invited any of them up to join us.
We want this to be a private affair.
Just us three.
The family that never was.
Varius comes to stand beside me, his eyes heavy and full of grief. “Are you ready?” he asks.
I nod, then grab his hand, pulling on his magic so both of us will fuel the fire that cremates our little girl. Inhaling, I lift the beautifully carved wand, aiming it into the pot. The air hums with my magic, like a raincloud about to break, and I shudder as the feeling of control comes back to me like an old lover.
Varius squeezes my hand gently, and I pull on more of his magic before adding it to mine, causing it to twirl in my veins, to dance and merge and mix. Then with a flick of my wrist, I send my fire racing through the wand. The flames carved along its length light up with purple energy. I can’t see the ethereal fire I was born with anymore; my new eyes don’t have the magic-imbued piercings that allowed me to see them. But I can see the metal pot glowing hot, and I can smell the cotton burning, and I can feel the familiar magic calling to my soul.
Like an old friend.
The lover who got away.
A childhood home.
Cherished memories of nostalgia.
For a moment, it gets hard to breathe. But I don’t just draw Varius’ magic from him, I draw his strength.
And I send him mine.
We grieve on our feet, but in truth, we are down on our knees as our little girl burns.
Tears run down his cheeks. Mine stay dry, and that hurts me. Makes me feel inadequate, like a bad mother. But I just don’t have the energy to cry. I don’t have that part of my soul right now; it’s too smothered by my grief.
When she turns into ash, I swish the wand and put out the flames. We stand in heavy silence.
“Do you want to go first?” Varius eventually asks.
My throat tight, I nod. I tell him what I want tattooed on me, and he gets everything ready, having the strength to do what I cannot – taking the next step in saying goodbye. He sits me down at his desk, not the bed – not that fucking torture device, and mixes her ashes with the different inks as I pull down the top of my dress.
With the tattoo gun ready, he begins to draw over my heart. A little purple flame with a baboon stretching out in its shadow.
“When did you learn how to draw?” I ask, wanting this moment to have something more than just pain. I recall the painting in his office and all the other pieces he has in his art studio.
“When Caden left. I found it meditative.” He pauses for a moment, then adds, “I have a few pieces of you.”
My throat closes as I think about him painting while I was being fucking tortured. But then I think about how he walked into hel for me and called it heaven just because I was there.
“I’d like to see them one day,” I say stiffly.
He nods, and we lapse back into silence.
It isn’t comfortable.
