The Discovered Read online

  He stopped in the hallway just before the vast, open living room. To our right, a door. I peered past his frame when he opened it and saw stairs leading down into darkness.

  “Yeah, I don’t know about following a stranger down into a dark basement,” I said. “Talk about Serial-Killer-Victim 101.”

  Daelon snorted. “Do I really strike you as a serial killer?”

  “Ted Bundy was attractive and charming. Appearances are of no consequence.” I sighed, then followed him down the steps. He probably had no idea who I was talking about.

  “You think I’m attractive and charming?” Daelon threw me a wicked grin as we descended, though his eyes told a different story, as if he was surprised… and maybe a bit hesitant. Nervous? He didn’t seem like the type to get nervous.

  I rolled my eyes. “Well, that isn’t exactly what I said,” I stammered. “I think you’re difficult and confusing.” And attractive, yes.

  “Right back at you, little witch.”

  Before I could remind him that I could kick his ass, we’d reached the bottom of the stairs to a breathtaking basement. I gasped audibly to see that the glass wall from above extended below, revealing that the house was built on the side of a hill. The glass was clear, letting in an abundance of soft, natural light. The basement itself was mostly bare, with some plush gray, low-seated chairs in the corner, wooden flooring, and pillows, mats, and black storage containers off to the side. There was a closed door underneath the stairs, which I assumed led to more rooms, given the size of the upstairs.

  “Not really what I was expecting,” I said.

  Daelon grabbed two of the pillows and set them in the middle of the floor, gesturing for me to sit across from him.

  “Most of your training will take place in your mind,” he said with a shrug.

  I scrunched up my face as I plopped down on one of the pillows. “Well, that sounds boring.”

  “We’ll get to the fun stuff soon enough.” The corners of his mouth tipped upward, scanning my body for a moment. His eyes lingering a second longer than I expected. “That shirt makes your eyes look… very green.”

  “Are you complimenting me?”

  His eyes hardened. “Possibly.” He allowed a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Are you going to be cooperative now?”

  “When have I not been cooperative?” I batted my eyelashes. “Maybe you’re just too demanding.”

  “Or, you’re too defiant,” he said, a hint of exasperation in his voice. He didn’t seem used to being challenged. “Now, then, let’s begin. For most witches, the key is learning how to raise enough energy to bend to one’s will. You don’t have any trouble summoning the power,” he explained. “You have access to plenty of it. You just lack control. You allow your emotions and impulses to free-channel, which can be highly draining, not to mention outright dangerous to you and others.”

  “Maybe I want to be dangerous,” I said quietly, flashing him a warning look.

  Daelon was unbothered. “Be that as it may, you’re not going to be very effective when your emotions can be used against you so easily. Your enemies will seek to use any weakness to their advantage to make up for being outmatched.”

  “Who are these enemies, exactly?” I tried.

  “Áine,” Daelon said in warning. “You agreed to focus on training before we discussed the rest. Once you have better control, I promise I will tell you everything I know. I don’t need you on a revenge path before you’re ready. You would get yourself killed. And me, for that matter.”

  I studied him, looking for any sign of deceit. His gaze was steady and earnest. He might’ve had a point, because the sharp pushes and pulls of my power already reached for me as I thought about my budding plan for revenge. The room’s energy grew as intense and volatile as a tropical storm.

  “You’re angry. Why?” Daelon implored. “If this is going to work, you’re going to need to be honest about what you’re feeling.”

  “Because these enemies you won’t tell me about killed my mothers,” I blurted. I looked away. My fingernails dug into my knees through the thin fabric of my leggings.

  Daelon was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry. I, too, know that kind of loss and grief.” His eyes were soft and sincere, a layer of vulnerability peeking out through the cracks of his shield. “Sometimes we lean heavier on anger when we’re in pain, but I promise revenge will be much more satisfying if it comes from a place of strength and transformation rather than destruction.” He suddenly looked surprised by his own words, like he was trying to convince the both of us.

  I wanted to ask him who he’d lost, but he leaned closer.

  “I will help you on this path, should you choose it. You have my word.” His voice was barely above a whisper, yet I heard each syllable with glaring intensity. Something dark and heavy brewed in his eyes, mirroring the storm I felt beyond the horizon, awaiting my command to come rolling in.

  I swallowed, unsure of what to say. “Okay. Let’s get started.”

  He nodded, the muscles in his face relaxing.

  “Where does this power come from?” I asked.

  And just like that, the power stirred at the mention, tugging at me from all directions and whispering to me in a tongue more universal than any human language. The source felt timeless—utterly transcendent—as sure as the moon rising each night and the grass collecting dew in the spring.

  “From everywhere. It’s the current that runs through all things. From the moon, the stars, the seasons, every living thing, every action and reaction, from earth, water, wind, and fire, from death, birth, hatred, and love. Witches do not create power. We harness from and transform forces that already exist.”

  “Okay, Yoda,” I laughed.

  I wasn’t used to being around someone who understood who I was and what I was capable of—someone who not only accepted my magick—but was in awe of it.

  Daelon frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

  I scoffed. “Witches aren’t Star Wars fans, huh?”

  “Is this television?” Daelon cocked his head, his cluelessness sort of endearing to behold.

  “Yes,” I giggled. “It’s television.” Not making cultural references after living with Steph and Rena for years was going to be difficult. They were like walking pop-culture encyclopedias. At least I was no longer the one who couldn’t keep up. I felt a pang of sadness as I thought of them, but loss and change were not unfamiliar to me. So, I stifled it.

  “Sorry, my human knowledge is sorely lacking. You’ll find that witches have much different forms of entertainment here.” Daelon smiled to himself as if remembering another inside joke. “Are you ready to focus now?”

  I nodded reluctantly, my gaze still narrow with skepticism.

  “We’re going to go through some exercises that will help you connect with and manage your power. You were born with more access to these natural forces than the average witch. It’s like you’re an energy beacon—constantly channeling an extraordinary amount of power freely with your mind alone, rather than ever having to use ritual, invocation, or the help of other witches for aid.”

  I tried to follow Daelon’s words, but it all seemed so foreign and complicated to me. All I knew was the raw intensity at my fingertips, and the wealth of emotions, impulses, and intents emanating from everyone who had ever—or would ever—live, feel, and breathe. I was itching to feel their rush again.

  Daelon sighed and shot me a pointed look, probably noticing that I had mentally jumped ship. “Patience, little witch.”

  I wasn’t entirely convinced he couldn’t read my thoughts.

  “Close your eyes,” he ordered.

  I hesitated but then obeyed. Fine.

  “Good girl.”

  Are you kidding me? Why was he so patronizing? I was going to punch him if he—

  At the sound of a gust of wind my eyes flew open just in time to see Daelon fly backward onto the hardwood floor, catching himself on his forearm. The look in his eyes went from bemused
to enraged quicker than it took me to realize I had just done that, somehow.

  “I—”

  Before I could apologize, he’d dragged himself back to his seat in front of me.

  “Whatever was that for?” he asked, his anger dissipating as he shook his head. “Don’t make me restrain you.”

  I glowered at him. “You’re going to make me send you through that glass wall, next, Daelon,” I hissed.

  His face was now unreadable, as if made of stone. He just stared at me with his head cocked to the side, deep in thought. I squirmed under his gaze, holding my breath.

  For a moment I wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. Was he actually angry? Did he understand why I was so angry? Had people allowed him to act like this his entire life?

  “What am I going to do with you?” he finally asked, clicking his tongue. “Close your eyes again, and this time be a bit more aware of how your thoughts and emotions are guiding your power.”

  I complied wordlessly, utterly confused by the whole interaction.

  “Good. Now slow your breathing.”

  This was about me and my training, not Daelon and his mood swings, shielded aura, suspicious lack of backstory, and oscillation between being repulsed at the thought of flirting with me and being blatantly sexual. Did he even realize he was doing it? Maybe this was just a classic case of witch-human cultural difference.

  Focus, Áine, I reminded myself.

  “I know when your energy shifts,” Daelon said. “I feel the ebb and flow of power in this room, as if you’re warring with yourself for control. That’s good—that means you’re at least, on some level, already self-aware. I want you to work through it. Continue to slow and deepen your breathing, from your stomach. Think of something on a smaller scale than your mothers that brings out your anger, or another negative emotion that’s hard to control. Something manageable. Then move through the energy that calls to you. What does it feel like? Where does it want to go? Don’t let it take you. Just observe.”

  “Like getting stuck behind someone walking very slowly?” I joked, but I was ignored.

  I wanted to say that this felt like a corny New Age guided meditation, but I held my tongue. I retreated within myself, following the trail of my annoyance toward Daelon’s attitude. But it was too overwhelming a force, difficult to conceptualize and focus on. It was just an elusive reddish hue in an entire field of color, intensity, and shape.

  “It’ll help to create a metaphor within your mind—something tangible that will help you psychically organize and understand what you feel and how you channel. Think of it like visualizing an elaborate, functional daydream. A library of energy maybe, or a garden, or an—”

  “Ocean,” I said softly, unsure of where this word arose from, but it felt like more than a mere metaphor. That was what my power was. It was a vast blue ocean that spread out infinitely.

  I let Daelon’s words guide me as I wrestled with all this power, allowing it in so it could take shape. The landscape of my mind was chaotic and unorganized, whirring with visions and impressions waiting to be perceived.

  “Let it carry you away,” Daelon said, but his voice was growing more and more distant now. “I’m going to focus my magick on helping you into more of a trance-like state. But it’ll only help if you allow it in,” Daelon stressed.

  His own magick swam toward me, and I could read its intent to aid me. I let it in, and my skepticism, self-consciousness, and doubt melted away into a quiet stillness. Soon the sound of crashing waves rose from the depths, and my body felt as though it was swaying back and forth.

  I let go. Fully and completely.

  I waded in a pool of infinite energy. The water was clear and iridescent, and as I reached its center, I felt currents reaching for me from all directions. I again considered my frustration with Daelon, though I was more detached from the anger than I had been moments ago. As I homed in, one of the currents before me grew stronger. It was anger. These streams were feelings or frequencies, not just mine, but all. Normally I surrendered to these pulls without even realizing it, following impulse, but now I was fully conscious. I was merely an observer.

  Within my anger was the anger of millions—witches and humans alike. This ocean was endless, and it contained multitudes. It was every desire ever bloomed, every thought ever conceived, every spell ever cast, and every action ever undertaken. It was all things, and I had access to it all—like a vibrant cosmic tapestry depicting the fabric of all of existence.

  My anger toward Daelon was his anger toward me. It was my anger toward myself, toward this world, toward my mothers, and toward the people who killed my mothers. I saw it all within the energy, like watching a universal drama play out before my eyes. Waves began to lap, growing violent and tall, and I was pulled into the chaos of the tide’s violent ebb and flow. In a panic, I realized that my metaphor had taken on tangible shape as I gulped down very real water, salty and strong against my tongue. The anger wasn’t detached anymore. It was within me and I within it. I—we—needed revenge. A wave of energy grabbed hold of me and dragged me beneath the surface.

  I held my breath to avoid swallowing more ocean, opening my eyes to see visions playing out before me like a hologram amidst the shimmering water. I saw the cottage door fly open, seeing in third person the look of terror on my face as a ten-year-old child. My mothers chanted and my silver bracelet glowed with murky, defensive energy. Two men entered. They shoved past my mothers and reached out for me, but they grasped nothing as I vanished before their eyes.

  “Where have you sent her?” one man snarled, striking Momma Celeste square on the jaw. He held magick in his palms that was black and evil, holding within its depths the screams of tortured witches.

  I screamed underneath the water, shockwaves from my outburst dispersing the mirage to reveal tempestuous, dark water. I ran out of air, and water entered my lungs as I gasped and spluttered. I lost control of the rage swelling up within me, making it even more difficult to swim back to the surface as currents pushed and pulled me in all directions. Within the storm and struggle I felt a presence.

  You’re weak. I can feel you struggling and grasping for control that you will never obtain… you might as well give up now.

  My vision went blurry as I suffocated, and I could make out a figure like the one from the woods—the outline of a man—but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

  Then I heard Daelon, and I had never been so grateful to hear his voice.

  “Come back to me,” he said. “Come back to the room. See it in your mind.”

  I envisioned the glass paneling and the hardwood floors. I was draining rapidly. I saw Daelon’s sharp jaw and dark eyes. I grabbed onto the sound of his deep, commanding voice, using it as an anchor to pull myself up from the abyss.

  My eyes fluttered open to find Daelon over top of me as I lay on the hard floor. He pressed rhythmically on my chest as I choked on water, turning my head to the side as I coughed it up. After I had hurled half an ocean, I finally started to breath in unadulterated oxygen.

  “Goddess above, Áine,” Daelon muttered, breathing hard. “Are you all right?”

  “Um, I guess so,” I managed to sputter, still gasping. “How…” I trailed off, trying to piece together where I just was and how something within my mind ended up happening to my actual body.

  “Like I said, Aradia is highly malleable and sensitive to energy. There often isn’t a clear separation between our consciousness and material reality, especially when this dimension begins to blend with the astrals. It’s hard to explain, but that’s not important right now,” Daelon said softly, his brows creased as he gazed down at me. He looked terrified, scrambling to build up his usual composure again. “Where were you? I thought I told you to focus on something manageable.”

  Was he seriously scolding me right now? And what the hell were the astrals?

  “I did,” I snapped. “But then I lost control of it. It was an ocean, but the water was also energy, a
nd I just got swept up in the whole world’s anger. I was doing so well at first.” I shook my head, struggling to even comprehend what had just happened. “Are you sure you didn’t slip me LSD? DMT? Shrooms?”

  Daelon drew back, as if I’d mortally offended him. “I would never drug you,” he hissed.

  “It was a joke, jeez.” I sat up, still trying to catch my breath as I hugged my knees to my chest.

  His eyes softened, blinking at me. “Right. Well, witches don’t really need drugs to trip.” He shrugged. “You can’t be taking on the whole world’s anger, Áine, at least not yet. Baby steps.”

  “It wasn’t exactly intentional.” I paused, remembering my encounter within the dark side of the energy. “There was someone there, I think. In the anger. He told me I was weak.”

  Daelon looked away for a moment. “Strange,” he said. “It could be anything, really. A part of yourself, another metaphor, or someone you’ve met or will meet. If you saw this person, or thing, only in your anger then I would steer clear. It’s nothing good. I’ll help you with defensive tactics soon.”

  I opened my mouth to say that I’d felt this being before—within my dream and out in the woods—but Daelon cut in again.

  “You thought of your mothers, didn’t you?”

  I swallowed. “Yes. I saw the day they died. When they somehow spelled my bracelet to send me away before I could save them.” My voice cracked a little, and I looked away.

  Daelon nodded, reaching for my hand and giving it a squeeze. He looked unsure of himself. I accepted the gesture with a small smile. I noticed something familiar in his eyes, if only for a moment, but I couldn’t quite place it.

  This experience had lessened my anger toward him, as I realized it may have more to do with my deeper trauma than Daelon. I may not have known much about who he was, but I knew he didn’t belong in that darkness. All the witchy intuition I had wanted me to believe he was an ally, despite my doubts.

  “Will you tell me more about yourself?” I asked. “Like where did you come from? How did you know I was in trouble?”