Page 125 of Samhain Savior
Frowning, I didn’t answer, instead slipping between two tall, perfectly manicured hedges. The night pressed close around us, heavy with the perfume of magnolia and damp earth. A katydid rasped nearby, its shrill song an omen of death in a world otherwise brimming with hidden life. From high in the sprawling live oaks, an owl called once, low and mournful, its voice ghosting through the silent garden. Spanish moss trailed from the branches, ghostly fingers clawing into the dark, while the faint tang of the river drifted on the breeze—muddy, metallic, so near I could almost taste it. At our feet, mist curled like breath, silvered in the moonlight and lending the maze an otherworldly glow.
And through it all, I could feel the power—the magic—woven into every root and leaf, thrumming like an ancient tapestry alive beneath my skin. The garden itself pulsed with memory, the earth remembering every step, every drop of blood ever spilled into its soil.
But above that steady rhythm rose a sharper, hungrier pulse—the throbbing call of the relic, burning through my soul, tempting me to take, to own, topossess. I wasn’t quite as needy as I’d been before Archer had seen to me, but it was close—too close.
I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be exposed to the thing day in and day out.
No wonder the vampires had near-constant orgies; they probably had no other choice.
“Delilah, I really think we should go back,” Mex said, her words hesitant. “If anything happens to you, Archer will have my head.”
“Nothing is going to happen.” Calling a ball of witchlight, I cast it aloft and followed the curve of the hedge, belatedly realizing we’d entered a maze of some sort.
How aristocratic.
“I’m sure if I explain that—”
My words were cut off by a loud snarl from farther in the maze, and I took off running without thought, instinctively knowing that was where I’d find Genevieve.
“Fuck.” Mex’s curse was low, but she didn’t try to stop me, only kept pace.
Racing through the maze, I turned one way and then another, stumbling when the puffy skirt snagged on the hedge. Disentangling myself, I kept going, only skidding to a halt when I reached a dead end.
“Shit. We have to go back,” I panted, turning, but Mex stopped me.
“You really don’t ever remember that you’re a witch, do you?” Mex asked, her smile teasing. “Why would you let something as simple as a hedge stand in your way?”
Pursing my lips, I turned to the wall of greenery, embarrassed that she was absolutely right; I had spent all of my life unable to access my power, and now that I could, I simply forgot.
Taking a breath, I closed my eyes, searching again for the relic in my mind. I could feel it, the greedy pull of the diamond, calling me to come and claim it. Turning my body toward that steady tug, I lifted both my hands and pressed them against the hedge’s cool, waxy leaves.
In my mind, I could see it, the darkness and the light, dancing together like smoke and flame, a perfect, balanced entity. My power hummed in my veins, restless, eager, yet waiting for me to give it shape.
The problem, I didn’t understand how to actuallyshape itinto anything.
“Feel it,cher,” Mex whispered by my side, as though she sensed my hesitation. “Feel the power, feel your desire, your connection with the magic, the earth, your mate. All of it. You can touch everything and nothing and you can control it all.”
Her words slipped beneath my skin like a spell themselves, weaving inside me. I inhaled deeply, and this time I let myself lean into it—the way the damp earth breathed beneath my boots, the pulse of life running through the hedge, the weight of the moon above pressing silver light into my bones. I couldfeelit, that endless web of connection, roots and blood and breath all woven together, and my own magic humming at the center like a drumbeat.
Deep roots. Strong branches.
The collar at my throat shivered, almost purring, as though it too felt the promise in the air.
Focus steady, I cast my senses outward, clumsy but earnest, andpushed. My power spilled from me like water poured into thirsty soil. The hedge shuddered, leaves trembling as though caught in a sudden wind, though the night air was still. I felt the resistance, the stubbornness of old wood and tangled vines, and I pressed harder—not with brute force, but with invitation.
Move for me. Bend for me. Open.
The branches writhed. The thick, woven mass creaked and shifted, reshaping itself under my will. Slowly, impossibly, the wall of green parted, drawing back into a narrow archway just wide enough for us to pass.
I opened my eyes, breathless. Awe rippled through me, stronger than Pride. It wasn’t just power—it was communion.
Mex’s hand landed warm on my shoulder. “Well done, girlie,” she praised, and I had to bite back a smile at the pride that swelled in my chest. “Hang back a second. I’ll make sure it’s clear.” With a swish of her knives and a glint of moonlight on steel, Mex slipped past me through the arch I had made, every inch the predator. She glanced around the new path, then gave a sharp nod, beckoning me to follow.
Which I did, ungracefully, when my ridiculous dress once again got caught on the sharp branches of the hedge.
“I told you this dress was a bad idea,” I grumbled as Mex stifled a laugh.
“Hang on,” she said, reaching behind me with one of her daggers and slicing through the delicate fabric. I cringed, hating the way she was destroying what had once been a beautiful creation, but between the running andfighting, there really wasn’t much left of it anyway. “There. You’re free.”
