Chapter 3: : Chapter 3

Three hours later, Casey and I stumbled through the front door after a heavy night of celebration in which I’d done my best to forget about Jaxson, the sorcerer, and the sword hanging over my head. I just wanted a night to be normal. Every muscle in my body ached, and I was dead beat. It was a relief to finally be home.

A funny thought. Two weeks ago, I hadn’t known the LaSalles existed, and now I was living with them. I hadn’t meant to linger, but my Aunt Laurel had insisted. Also, I was broke, jobless, and apparently still very much the target of a madman, so it made sense.

I dragged my tired ass up the stairs to my bedroom on the third floor, then locked the door behind me and flicked on the lights.

My room was obviously inhabited by a madwoman.

First off, the decorations were bizarre—though to be fair, that was on Aunt Laurel. The deep red Persian carpet didn’t mesh with the palm trees on the heavy yellow curtains or the ship’s wheel mounted on the wall. What was the theme? There had to be one.

On the other hand, the more clearly insane feature of the room was my collection of sketches, which littered every available surface—a couple of my friends and my godmother, several of the night fair and the fortune teller. And a lot of Jaxson. He was everywhere.

But the images that drew my attention were those lurking in the shadowy corner of the room, overflowing from the old writing desk onto the ancient radiator and dresser.

The faceless man.

I knew his name now.

I’d drawn him over and over, trying to recreate everything I could recall of my visions. I’d never seen the blood sorcerer in person, only while scrying. I remembered the fall of his clothing, the broad set of his shoulders, and the details of his surroundings. But his face was always a blur, a messy smudge on the paper. I’d kept on sketching, hoping that somehow my memory could get around the veil cast by his anti-scrying charm.

It had been a fruitless task.

I wasn’t spending another night with the monster scattered around the room. With a flurry of motion, I scooped up the papers and shoved them haphazardly in the desk drawer. “I don’t care what you’re up to, I’m not letting you dictate my life.”

My gaze landed on the dozens of pictures I’d drawn of Jaxson. They were some of my best work. While the illustrations of the sorcerer were scribbled with desperate, frenetic energy, every detail of Jaxson’s face and body had been replicated with soft, meticulous strokes of the pencil. His strong jaw and handsome beard, his dark, wavy hair and radiant eyes. The powerful contours of his body.

What had I been ?

There was no way to forget the embarrassment and regret on his face after he’d kissed me in the woods. It still made my cheeks burn with shame and fury. I was, after all, just a dirty LaSalle. A sorceress with dark, tainted magic.

He thought I was so insignificant that he’d cut me out of his investigation. Treated me like a pawn. Kept me on a need-to-know basis. So why the hell was I drawing pictures of that jerk and leaving them around the room?

was the million-dollar question.

“You don’t get to dictate my life, either,” I murmured, snatching the jumbled sketches off the dresser and bedside table and shoving them in the drawer with the creepy sorcerer, face down. I slammed the drawer shut with a satisfying thunk. “Enjoy each other’s company, assholes.”

Feeling slightly relieved at having completely and deftly rid myself of all my problems, I headed to the shower. I peeled off my sweat-soaked uniform and undies and dropped them on the mildly fragrant pile of clothes in the corner of the bathroom. I’d practiced three nights in a row and desperately needed to do laundry.

A quick shower drained the last of my residual adrenaline, and soon after, I slipped naked between the sheets and fell asleep on the rickety old bed.

The dreams came quickly, as they always did.

Find Jaxson.

Wake up!

the voice in my mind howled.

I bolted upright with a jolt, heart pounding. I’d torn off the covers, and sweat drenched my bare skin. My aching palms were covered in blood. I swung my legs out of bed, staggered to the bathroom, and flicked on the lights. Running the tap, I watched as water and bright red blood spiraled together down the drain. My palms stung beneath the flow, and I bit my lip. I’d really dug my nails in. I didn’t think they’d grown that long.

Once my hands were clean and the blood had slowed, I splashed water over my face and neck. It was cool and refreshing, like the icy trickle of my own magic. Breathing deeply in and out through my nose to calm my nerves, I grabbed the hand towel and dried my face.

When I looked up, the girl in the mirror had bright yellow eyes.

I blinked.

Pure blue. It had been an illusion, just like in the bathroom at the rink. Was it any wonder I was seeing things with werewolves hounding me day and night?

I rested my palms on the porcelain and fixed the naked girl in the mirror with a hard stare. “Get a grip, Savy. It was just a dream.”

But I could still feel the sorcerer’s clammy touch on my skin, and a shudder quaked through me.

With fear and frustration burning the back of my neck, I plopped down on the bed and ground my teeth. “I’m hiding from a psychopath in my aunt’s house and relying on a jerk to solve my problems.”

I wasn’t an idiot. In my heart, I knew I wasn’t a match for Kahanov. I needed the protection of both Jaxson and my powerful, but likely insane, aunt.

But I believed the fortune teller’s words, even if they only existed in my dreams. I couldn’t outrun my fate. Something was coming—I could feel it in my bones.

It was like a giant storm looming on the horizon. And I was woefully unprepared.

The dream was a warning. I needed to discover what Kahanov was up to, and I needed to master my magic so that I didn’t need Jaxson or my aunt or anyone to protect me.

And figure out who I truly was, whatever the fortune teller had meant by that. Piece of cake, right?

Maybe tomorrow I would get some answers.

I reached out with my hand and focused my will on the shadows in the room. The icy sensations of my magic trickled over my skin, and slowly, the shadows began to dance and move.

My cousin could control fire, and I’d met all sorts of magical people with wonderful powers in my short time in Magic Side. For whatever reason, my magic was as cold as death, looked like smoke, and had the power to control darkness.

I sucked in a deep breath. “I really, hope I’m not evil.”

I pulled the shadows around me like a cloak, then let them swallow the room. If only I could make it all go away—the faceless man, the constant nightmares, and the relentless fear lurking in my head.

All that, and Jaxson Laurent.