The Discovered Page 9

  “Áine.”

  Pushing myself up, I glared at a weary looking Daelon. His features softened as I did, his eyes pleading. I clenched my fists, my heartbeat loud and fast as blood rushed to my head.

  “Wait, let me—”

  “No,” I said, mirroring his tone from before. I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to unleash the power that now roared in my ears like the crashing waves of a stormy ocean. I wanted to make him feel the way he had just made me feel. I wanted him to kiss me again.

  In a burst of whooshing air, the fire snuffed out completely, leaving only smoke in its wake. The already overcast sky grew darker, and wind whistled and bore down against the windows. The familiar rise of power swelled within me, looking frantically for release. I had to close my eyes briefly to gain back control.

  When I opened them, Daelon was in front of me, placing his hands on my shoulders. I backed away and shrugged him off.

  “Calm down and just listen to me for a moment,” he begged, but his eyes showed irritation.

  “Daelon, with all due respect, you can fuck right off,” I snapped. The last remnants of my Irish accent unleashed out of anger, reminding me of my mothers and our village among the hills.

  Now he looked furious, which in turn only made me more enraged, and after a second of silence I turned on my heel and escaped to my room. I didn’t have to physically close the door behind me as it slammed shut at the mere thought. My anger was like its own poltergeist.

  I kicked off my shoes and fell back on my bed. My breathing was erratic and my mind a muddled mess. Maybe Daelon was right. That would’ve been a huge mistake. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to laugh or cry, but I knew I needed some space to think.

  Chapter 7

  I woke the next morning famished. I held my breath as I entered the kitchen, sighing in relief when Daelon was nowhere to be seen. He hadn’t tried to talk to me since I cursed at him yesterday evening, an outburst that sober and less angry me almost regretted. Another part of me didn’t regret it though, and I held onto that part for dear life to avoid the feelings of shame and embarrassment his actions had caused. It was far better to be angry than ashamed. Or at least it felt better.

  After whipping up some coffee, I quickly retreated to my room to grab my faux leather jacket to pair with a red dress with loose long sleeves and a plunging neckline. Black suede ankle boots completed the outfit.

  I tiptoed around the house, unwilling to face Daelon. I wasn’t sure when I would be ready, but it seemed he wasn’t leaping at the opportunity to see me either. The house was quiet, even as I passed by his room.

  I slipped out the door into the crisp autumn air, and then I descended the winding steps. I wasn’t sure where I was going. I just knew I needed to be among the trees and search for some guidance in the calm. I felt more grounded and more connected to my power in the wilderness, and I wondered idly if that was part of the reason my mothers sent me to New York City, where even the greenspaces were unsatisfyingly disconnected and energetically barren. If the goal was to disconnect me completely from my witch nature, the location made perfect sense.

  I ditched the beaten path, wandering for a while among the tall grass, browning wildflowers, and looming pines. I basked in the rush of wind as it whipped around me in welcome, blowing my hair and dress in every direction. Pleasurable chills swept over my skin, and a familiar energy tugged at my consciousness. I fell to my knees, fresh tears overflowing and streaming down my face. I felt my mothers. I felt their mothers. I felt all mothers. This current of power wrapped around me like a quilt, perfectly stitched from love and devotion.

  On my bare knees, now scraped and dirty, I shifted into a crossed-leg position and brought myself into a trance-like state as Daelon had helped me into many times before. I stifled the pang of disappointment at the thought of my moody protector and trainer.

  I plunged deeper into my psyche, accepting help from the motherly forces surrounding me, and soon I was in my clear, electric blue ocean with multicolored, iridescent grains of sand. I basked in the multitudinous waters, containing the depths of all natural flows. I called out for guidance, whispering this intent to the waves.

  I dove under the surface, reminding myself that I could breathe underwater here. This was merely a psychic metaphor to help make sense of the infinite; I wouldn’t drown unless I believed I could. I heard Momma Celeste’s voice.

  Hello, sweet girl.

  You’re not real, I thought, but here, thoughts were as good as spoken word. As I treaded, their faces appeared in front of me like a hazy mirage.

  We never meant to make you ashamed of who you are, Áine. We just needed time until we could figure out a way to protect you from those who wished you harm. But you grew stronger and more unpredictable sooner than we expected.

  The water grew warmer with my anger. You didn’t need to let yourselves die. There had to have been another way. Why didn’t you let me save you?

  There was no other way. You aren’t responsible for the choices of others, my child. No one let us die. We were murdered. And we used the force of that violence to protect you all these years, until we knew you’d be ready to return.

  I will avenge you. I reached out for them, but the image dissolved as soon as my fingers made contact.

  You will avenge us all, but not as an act of vengeance. As an act of salvation. You are made up of everything good in the world. Don’t lose yourself in what you are not. Heed our warnings.

  A flash of myself shivering on the ground of the clearing flashed before me. Daelon hovered over me, his eyes completely white.

  The cold? What was that energy? Where did it come from?

  It became harder and harder to tread as currents tried to pull my body in all different directions.

  Who am I, Momma? Please tell me. Who am I saving? And from what?

  My mothers’ voices rang in unison. You are hope embodied—the hope of thousands—the hope of this world and all the rest. You will deliver us. You will restore this realm to its former state of balance and goodness. Trust your intuition. It will guide you always, sweet girl.

  I realized these words were just a copy-and-paste from fragments of different memories, a compilation of things they’d told me as a child. I was alone.

  A wave of grief crashed into me. It was the grief of thousands, and it was too much. It sank into my heart and dug and dug until I was hollow and cold. I gasped for air and was met with water, pouring into my lungs like liquid fire. In a panic I remembered that Daelon wasn’t here to pull me out if I was overcome.

  I thrashed and struggled, but soon flashes from the great beyond took shape all around me. I saw witches laughing, crying, begging, and singing. The din of their voices grew louder and louder, swelling into a melody that drove me to a peaceful stillness. The images and sounds faded out of focus, but I’d glimpsed enough to understand the truth my power wanted me to understand.

  I wasn’t alone, and I never would be. I had access to the loves, fears, desires, and intentions of all beings that had ever lived, begging to be transformed into magick. I borrowed some of their energy to propel myself back up, breaching the surface and coughing out every drop of water I could. My limbs were heavy. There was so much pain in these waters.

  There was also enough hope to fuel a revolution. I clung to that current instead, shaking off the grief I’d worn as a second skin for too many years. My mothers’ words illuminated the darkness of my guilt and shame, bringing it into the light where it withered and fell away. This power was a gift, not a curse, and the witches I sensed in these waters needed me to be strong.

  Hello there, a new voice erupted, and I knew immediately it meant me no harm. His energy was soft and pure, his voice so close that I half-expected him to appear wading in the water nearby. No sooner than I could turn my head in the direction of his call was I transported somewhere else entirely.

  A loud popping sound assailed my eardrums, but I was unable to scream as I was dropped into a familiar place. I kn
ew it from my nightmare. I was inside the dark, sprawling castle once more.

  This time I was in a dimly lit, medieval-looking room, with long, religious-looking tapestries and an altar set up at the front. As it came into focus, I jumped at the figure sitting on a green cushion to my right. It was an old man with a white beard, dressed in maroon robes. He sat up against a wall, his legs crossed.

  “You’re the one he’s been looking for. Are you astral projecting, young one?” His eyes remained closed as he spoke.

  That sounded like something Steph tried to tell me about after trying psychedelics. Was I still inside my head? Was this all some kind of weird metaphor?

  “You don’t know where you are, do you?” he asked. “That’s okay. No need to be afraid.”

  Someone knocked violently at the door, and a booming voice erupted. “Amos. Are you aware of the chaos beyond your room? Or are you too busy communing with the Goddess or whatever the fuck it is you do all day?” the man sneered, anger dripping into each word. Even from here I could feel his heavy, cold energy. It was suffocating and… familiar. “I need your assistance. Now, old man.”

  “Maybe you do have reason to be afraid,” Amos chuckled softly. “Off you go now. Until we meet again.” He opened his eyes and smiled, and I knew he couldn’t actually see me as he looked vaguely around the room. “Just think of your physical body, wherever it lies. That should be enough to guide you back.”

  “Who are you talking to?” the voice bellowed. Was this the voice from the abyss? From the field and among the trees? It wasn’t distorted any longer.

  I didn’t want to find out.

  The old man winked, almost in the right direction toward where I hovered, but not quite. He started walking to the door, and I quickly tried to remember where my body was. With Daelon? No. In the woods. I was sitting in the woods in a billowy dress. My knees stung.

  I snapped back into my physical reality so quickly it left me with severe vertigo. As the forest came into focus, I became aware of someone standing over me. I lifted my gaze to see a very angry Daelon with his arms crossed.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he hissed. “Do you have any idea the thoughts that went through my head when I couldn’t find you? And then when I couldn’t bring you back from wherever you just were?”

  He was nearly yelling at me. I narrowed my eyes in petulance. “No, I don’t have an idea of those thoughts because you won’t tell me anything,” I retorted.

  Daelon offered a hand to help me up. I thought I’d seen him at his most angry last night when I told him to bugger off, but now I knew this was his most volatile, fuming state—or at least I hoped. I accepted his help mostly out of fear that the vein in his temple would burst. He looked down at my legs, and as I followed his gaze, I realized that one of my knees was bleeding. I must’ve landed on a thorn or something.

  When I looked back up to him, he was glaring at me in a way that drove me to silence. Instead of letting go of my arm he moved his fingers down to encircle my wrist and pulled me behind him as he started walking back toward the house. His grip was loose, so I pulled my arm free from him and followed in silence.

  I was still reeling from everything I’d just seen in my meditative state. What was my subconscious trying to tell me? Was this castle a real place? It seemed medieval and archaic, so that was doubtful, unless it was a glimpse into the past…

  When we stepped inside, Daelon gestured to a couch. “Sit.”

  “When you talk to me like that, it makes me not want to listen.”

  “And how should I talk to you, Áine? How you talk to me?” His voice was level now, but still seething.

  So, he was still angry about my words last night. I’m the one who should’ve been angry—with his mixed messages and the confusion and humiliation his words caused. I sat down and fiddled with my fingers as they lay in my lap. I hated how he made me feel like an errant child.

  “I have never in my life been spoken to so…” He paused as he searched for the right word. “Disrespectfully.”

  I scoffed. “Well maybe you should have been.”

  Daelon closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the leather chair behind him. He stalked off, leaving me to sit in silence.

  When he returned, he clutched what appeared to be a first aid kit. He knelt beside me.

  “Won’t I heal soon?”

  He ignored me, and I flinched when he took a damp cotton pad to wipe the dirt and blood off my skin. Despite his anger, his touch was soft and careful. I winced again when he applied some kind of antiseptic.

  “You have no idea,” he started. “What do I have to do to make you understand that I’m merely trying to protect you? Disappearing after last night—god, Áine. I thought you’d left or something. Made yourself vulnerable to kidnapping or worse. And going so deep into your mind that you couldn’t even be reached as I yelled for you… which you did all alone I may add, something you aren’t ready for.” He glared at me again, wrapping a bandage around a cut that was deeper than I’d realized.

  How had I not felt that? I sighed. I thought he was most upset about the cursing and the disobedience, but it seemed that most of his anger was just a mask for his worry. I let my guard down, if only a little. “I just needed some space,” I said.

  He stood. “You’re not a prisoner here. But you can’t just disappear like that after we had an argument.” He ran a hand through his hair. When he looked at me again, his eyes softened, and some of the frantic tension in his features finally loosened.

  “I didn’t think about it like that,” I said. “But I’m fine. It was just a scrape. And I just got too caught up in a visualization.” That was putting it mildly, but I wasn’t in the mood to elaborate.

  Daelon studied me for a moment, his brows furrowed. “About last night—”

  “No,” I quickly stopped him.

  “No? What do you mean no?”

  “It means I don’t want to talk about it, Daelon. I’m sorry I got the wrong idea,” I muttered, flushing.

  “It wasn’t like that.” He shook his head, cocking it to the side in mild confusion. “I—I just can’t. It wouldn’t be right. Not when there’s so much you don’t know about me.” He seemed to consider his words carefully.

  I heard him loud and clear. “You don’t need to come up with an excuse. Like I said, it was a mistake. You don’t have to do things you don’t want to.”

  “Wait, but I didn’t say—”

  “It was probably just Stockholm syndrome,” I joked with a shrug.

  Daelon looked like he’d just been slapped, suddenly straightening his back, a flash of ice in his stare. I’d clearly struck a nerve. He stayed silent, his features now completely unreadable.

  “Right, then,” I said. “I’m going to go shower. We can go back to normal. Forget any of it ever happened.” My face contorted with confusion as I cast him one last glance before walking away.

  Chapter 8

  The next few days were uneventful. Daelon was distant and untalkative, and I was still reeling from how quickly things had changed between us. Despite my attempts to return to our normal dynamic, the air was stiff and awkward. He began teaching me defensive magick—his specialty—and it was tiring to have to put up with his constant nitpicking and control issues. To make matters worse, he was wholly incapable of understanding my human culture references.

  “The defense against the dark arts position is cursed, you know,” I said at one point.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Please focus.”

  And that was how our conversations went. He led me through ways to detect if someone was using magick against me, how to cast defensive spells, and how to make sure I was protected when I practiced my own magick. I was beginning to understand that my power somehow already knew what to do—how to tap into each individual current of witchcraft and launch itself to the desired outcome—and sometimes it was as though the magick i
tself was more in control than I was. The hardest part was centering and grounding myself so that the power could take the reins constructively rather than impulsively.

  “Focus on the candle, Áine,” Daelon instructed today. “Control. Don’t get lost in your channeling. You only need just a hint of power for this. It’s your intent that’s most important.” We sat on the floor in the living room next to the glass paneling, neither of us desiring to sit together in the room with the fireplace after the other night.

  I had finally convinced Daelon that we should do a detection spell to reveal if the man who haunted my nightmares was still working against me, hiding in the shadows and in the darkness of my metaphysical ocean. I still caught glimpses of his sour, icy energy, as if he was watching us, lying in wait. I just couldn’t shake it. And my mothers told me that my intuition was the most important guide I had.

  I gazed upon the white candle, focusing on only letting a tiny bit of magick through. Even with all of the forces in the world at my fingertips, casting simple spells was harder than I’d anticipated. I wasn’t used to directing my power into such specific magick.

  “You can come up with your own short chant, which will help you cast this spell faster next time. It encodes an energetic imprint to the words.”

  Reveal this curse. I shrugged to myself. It wasn’t exactly creative, but whatever. I repeated the mantra in my mind until it fused with my intent.

  The candle flame soared, and the white wax began to darken and turn black like a scorched piece of paper. I looked to Daelon, my eyes wide. That couldn’t be good.

  I frowned. “See? I told you. What does this mean, exactly? Is it the same witch you cast a spell against in the clearing? And if so, does that mean it didn’t work?”

  Daelon sighed, his features fixed and rigid. “No. My spell worked. Like I tried to explain before, a curse isn’t always a cause for concern. No one can seriously harm you through all of my defenses.” His tone was fiery, like he was deeply offended by the mere insinuation.