Rebirth (Lost Souls #1)

Chapter 25

E xhausted and engulfed by our magic, we both ended up falling asleep on the floor with our fingers laced together and our bodies pressed close to each other.

When I wake up, we’re still in the same position. Looking up at him, I notice that his neck hasn’t been completely healed yet. It makes me suspect that his foot is probably still broken as well. He’s giving me more than I’m giving him, despite him being the one that needs it the most.

With a whisper, I set another healing spell on him. The flesh in his neck closes up, and the broken bones in his foot snap back into place. He groans at that last part, opening his eyes and looking at me with exhaustion still lingering in them.

“Sorry about your foot,” I mumble into his chest, avoiding his eyes.

He tries to laugh, but all that he can manage is a cough that in turn makes me giggle. He gestures at me to help him get up, so I break myself away from him, help him up, and guide him to the bed. He carefully sits down, and I go to the bathroom to get him a glass of water. He greedily empties it and, even though it helps, his still-sore neck makes him twitch with every gulp .

“How bad is it downstairs?” he asks while handing me the glass back.

“Let’s just say there is no more downstairs.”

“You realize that we’re not out of here yet, right?” I laugh at him sheepishly. “Did it at least work?”

“I don’t know.”

He shoves me off the bed, and I almost drop the glass. “Then go check.”

With those words, he disappears under the covers, not even bothering to take off his dirty clothes. I go to the bathroom for a refill and, upon putting the glass on the nightstand, I notice that he’s already fast asleep. Unable to hold back a smile, I leave the room and go to my own quarters to get a few things to take with me.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, I gather my notes, as well as the dark feather and coin from my nightstand, then go to the library. I put the feather and coin on the desk where he left one of his brother’s feathers, keeping my notes.

Flexing my arm, I let my magic run through me, sparks coming off the fingertips of my free hand. Everything feels normal, like it should. There’s only some residual weariness from being tired. If the spell did what it was supposed to, then not much time should have passed out there. I really hope it worked, because I don’t think I’ll be able to perform that spell for a second time.

I whisper the transportation spell, thinking of the house that I want to go to while hoping my effort hasn’t been in vain.

Emerging on the other side, I go to the kitchen, looking for that little clock. It’s only four days later. My knees buckle, almost making me collapse on the tile floor. A shaky laugh escapes me, and I cover my mouth with my hand as the other one grabs at the cabinets to keep me standing.

It worked. It actually worked .

Truth be told, I had no idea what I was doing back there, not really. That was my first spell of this magnitude, and there is so much that could have gone wrong. Even with the red room collapsing, we got lucky. Though I won’t be certain the spell worked completely until I go back and see whether the time that I spend here has passed there as well.

It rapidly gets darker inside the house. Walking through the hallway, it feels strange to turn on the lights. I don’t want to walk around in the dark, but, at the same time, it’s weird to change anything. Even something as simple as turning on the light. Anyone passing by outside will be able to tell that someone’s inside, which is an uncomfortable idea. But I have to get used to being here, and to the idea that someone might know. I have neighbors, for crying out loud; going outside means that I’ll bump into them sooner or later.

After switching on some of the lights, I go to the library, notes still in hand. The heat of the ever-burning fire greets me when I step inside. I take a seat behind one of the desks and glance over the pages, only to realize that I’m not feeling it. The aftereffects of the time-stitching spell still weigh on me, making it hard to concentrate. Besides, the outside world calls to me, and I want to go and explore, at least for a little bit. Having finally been given some freedom, he can’t blame me for actually making use of it.

A few seconds of hesitation is all it takes before I abandon the library, and my research, and go to the foyer. Not allowing myself the opportunity to recognize that perhaps this isn’t such a good idea, I open the built-in closet and select a long, midnight-blue cloak with a hood, pulling over my head. It’s not that I’m embarrassed about my hair; I just don’t feel like attracting too much attention. And I don’t know how people in this modern world will react to someone my age with white hair. Though, technically, I’m probably older than anyone I might come across. Any human, at least .

The key still lies on the side table where I left it the last time. After I step outside and lock the front door, I carefully pocket it in my cloak.

Summer is coming to an end, but the evening breeze is already feeling chilly against my face. For a few moments, I just stand there looking up and down the street. Being outside brings me so much joy that it nearly makes me tear up. I’m not even truly free yet, but I already feel freer than I ever remember being.

Then his words about hiding my magical signature hit me, and I wrap myself in a glamor that does exactly that. One that will automatically activate the moment I step outside. Patting my pocket to make sure that I put the key away, I walk down the stairs. After a quick glance around, I pick a direction and go with it.

The sun has almost set, but the streets are still busy with people going everywhere and nowhere. It’s been a long time since my last visit and I barely recognize anything anymore, despite knowing that this is the city that I grew up in. After walking for a while, I reach the city center, and it’s only then that it starts to sink in how long it’s truly been. It’s a lot to take in, but I do my best to absorb it all. The new sights, sounds, smells, everything.

The technological advances are mind blowing, and the buildings are even taller than before. Those things called cars now seem to be the norm wherever I look, cluttering the streets to a dangerous degree. And then between all of it are hordes of people. People in all kinds of shapes, sizes, colors, and age—so much more variation than I ever thought possible. It makes me realize that I will need to get used to a normal, human lifestyle once I step outside the house. I can do pretty much whatever I want with my magic, but I will need to blend in if this is ever going to work.

I let myself disappear in the crowd, standing still every now and then when something catches my attention. There is one particular smell that I pick up from a small group that passes me by. They hold paper cups, and I soon recognize the logo from the cups on one of the store windows. I go inside, the smell of coffee overwhelming as I lower the hood that covers my face.

Coffee wasn’t a common beverage for me before because Henry decided that tea was good enough for me. Having had the opportunity to drink it only once or twice, I’m curious to find out how much it has changed, especially since it seems to be so readily available now.

The inner pocket of my cloak holds a small coin purse, so I patiently queue, fidgeting with my sleeve and wondering which drink has that smell. Someone on the other side of the bar receives hers and, when she passes by me, I recognize the smell. Hearing the man behind the counter call out the name of the drink earlier, I’m fairly confident with my choice.

Then it’s my turn, and the man looks at me, pen in hand. “What can I do you for?”

Being asked this question, I feel like a child in a candy store. “A pumpkin spice latte, please.”

“Small, medium, or large?”

“Small, please.”

“Okay, that’ll be four dollars and fifty cents.”

Opening up the coin purse, I’m thankful to find that the money is self-explanatory. I pull out a paper bill that has a ten written on it and hand it to the man.

“You can keep the change.”

“Thanks! Alright, your drink will be ready soon.”

Following the example of the other customers, I go to the other side of the bar to wait for my order. Looking around, I see all kinds of different people sitting at the small tables and standing in the queue. Society has a lot more variety than what I’m used to. Just like outside, there are skin tones that I’m unfamiliar with combined with whispers of strange languages, and find myself very much intrigued by it all .

“Small pumpkin spice latte.” A girl with purple hair passes me my drink, and I smile as I accept it from her.

“I like your hair,” I say genuinely.

“Oh, thanks. Yours is nice too.”

We smile at each other briefly before I turn and leave, keeping the hood off.

Taking a sip of hot coffee, I almost burn my tongue, but I find myself liking the taste of this pumpkin spice latte. Coffee has changed quite a bit, it seems.

The sun had set completely and, coffee cup in my hand, I decide to head back to the house. Chances are that I’m almost out of time, and I don’t want to risk vanishing in the middle of the street.

Leaving the crowds behind me while walking back, I have this unsettling feeling of being watched. When I pass by a garbage bin, I dispose of the empty cup and pull the hood back up. My magic tells me that the eyes following me aren’t human. The prickling at the back of my neck feels so oddly familiar, and I just wish that I could place it.

Unsure what to think, I decide that I’m not going to be the one to engage first. On the other hand, leading them back to the house also isn’t the best idea. Assuming, of course, that they don’t already know where it is. Someone was watching me back there as well, so I can’t completely rule it out. Slowing my pace, I purposely take a wrong turn that brings me to a park. It’s the perfect place to wait out the remainder of my time.

Strolling through the park, I savor the silence after the hectic city center. The air is getting chilly as the night stretches on, but I don’t mind. It actually makes me feel at ease. I don’t even remember the last time that I felt a cold breeze against my skin.

There is a small tug, then I’m back in the library. I immediately notice that he has moved a couple more sofas and his desk into the space, unable to use both his study and the red room. He sits on one of the sofas with a book in his hands. When he looks up at me, it’s clear that he’s back to his old self.

“I think I was being followed by one of those inhumans you told me about,” I say to him as I take off the cloak and drape it over the arm of one of the sofas.

He closes his book and puts it down next to him while he watches me. “Any trouble?” he asks while I come to sit next to him.

“No, they were just watching and following me.”

“The same one from before?”

“No idea,” I reply, leaning back on the sofa. “How long was I away for?”

“A couple of hours, so I assume that the spell worked.”

Another wave of relief gushes through me. “Thankfully. I did not feel like giving that spell a second try.” I close my eyes as a weight falls off my shoulders. “Now I just need to get that summoning spell sorted out. And figure out what to do about those descendants of his.”

He remains silent, letting me think.

“I considered sterilization, but that seems boring,” I eventually say.

He laughs. “Boring, but effective.”

“Boring, indeed. I don’t want to make it too easy on them. Maybe I’ll have all the women die in childbirth or something.”

“Doing that would create a nice parallel with what happened to you.” He continues to smile at me as though we’re not casually discussing mass murder.

“Good point,” I say. “But I also want to make their deaths useful, if that makes sense?”

He snickers at this, his eyes not wavering for a single moment.

“The summoning spell is going to be a hefty piece of blood magic,” I say after a few minutes of silence. “Maybe they can be used as the sacrifice. It would be poetic, in a way—the children of my old husband dying to bring forth my new husband.”

He sits there looking at me, the smile on his face growing wider and wider until it actually starts to creep me out.

“What?” I ask, rubbing the back of my neck.

“I knew you had the potential, but seeing how much you’ve changed since you first got here... It’s quite something.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Perhaps.”

Not sure how to react, I get up from the sofa. “I better get started on it, then.”

“Sure, I’ll let you focus.”

We both know that, as I leave the library, I’m going to my room to rest and not to work. The trip was more tiring than I expected, making me realize that I’m not completely recovered yet.

Once in bed, my mind quickly wanders once more. Staring up at the ceiling, I find myself wondering about who has been following me. I know that sooner or later, it will come to a confrontation. But the fact that it felt familiar in some way is what really makes me toss and turn as I try to get some rest.

I bring the thoughts of being followed with me in my dreams. It brings me back to the night Henry sent me out on an errand—the fateful night that set so much in motion. A blade pressed against my throat, then ripping through my clothes. Hot hands on my naked flesh, between my thighs, making me scream. A scent lingers in my nose, one that I’m unable to name, yet is so familiar at the same time. Eyes that fade when I turn around but that I nevertheless see everywhere around me.

The dream changes, and then I’m in the house, our home, that feeling of familiarity weighing heavy on my shoulders. I see myself as a child with my father right next to me. He’s shouting at someone, and I’m scared, so scared. Then he’s on the floor, silent and unmoving. A man stands over him, looking from him to me. A man with yellow eyes.

Waking up, those same yellow eyes are the first thing I notice. He sits next to the bed on the chair from the desk, looking at me. My breathing is ragged, a scream is stuck in my throat, and it takes me a while to realize where I am. It’s even longer until I calm down.

“What… What are you doing here?”

“You called out to me, so I came running.”

I press my hand to my forehead, a slight headache coming up. “Did I?” I don’t remember.

He takes my face in his hands. His yellow eyes look me over, searching. Is he worried?

“You—” I struggle to say the words out loud. “Did you know my father?”

An unpleasant smile forms around his lips, answering my question. “Did you finally remember?”

“I… I don’t know.” I pull away from him. “Just tell me.”

“Yes, I knew him. Or, at least, he knew of me, which should not have happened.”

“Why”—my voice breaks—“did he take me to you?”

“Someone talked to him about me, and he sought me out, begging me for money and power. I turned him down, warning him not to return or speak to anyone. But he did return, and he brought you with him.” I swallow, fearful of where this is going. “How come all the men in your previous life were so eager to get rid of you, love? So willing to sacrifice you for their own selfish needs.”

A lump forms in my throat. I’m unable to deny his words. “Am I not here for your selfish needs, then?”

“You are.” He smirks. “Except that I intend to keep you around. Forever.”

Biting my lip, I decide that I only want to know for my own peace of mind. “He returned, so you killed him?”

“He threatened to spread word about me, so…” He leaves the second part of his sentence hanging, knowing that I know enough.

“Is he the reason you chose me?”

“No, not at all.” He seems surprised by my assumption. “I already had my eyes on you, which is why he brought you. Someone told him, and he thought he could benefit from that. That he could use you to bargain. But I don’t take children,” he snarls.

I’m pleased that the idea disgusts him.

“It was a good thing that the trauma suppressed every memory of what happened, or I would have needed to kill you as well.” He says it so matter-of-factly, as if it’s nothing.

“You kept an eye on me afterward, didn’t you?”

“In the same way that I did with Sophia and Isra. I picked the three of you, and many others, at an early age and observed you. To see, as you grew and matured, if you had what I needed. I don’t go picking random women off the street. I have standards.” He leans back in the chair, draping his arms over the back.

I chuckle at how he so casually says he has standards while also having abducted women on the verge of death. My reaction has him raising an eyebrow at me.

At the same time, knowing this about my father doesn’t make any difference. I barely knew him; I was too young when he died. The story was that we were mugged. They killed him and left me too traumatized to remember. My mother seldom spoke about him after that, getting remarried soon after and having my sister.

“In all honesty”—his voice brings me back—“it would have been a shame if I had to kill you. Especially now that I know how useful you are.”

There is that smile of his again. Charming and perfectly covering up the fact that he just said something sweet and vile. His smile and his words make me feel all twisted inside.

He gets up from the chair and places a soft peck on my cheek, then steps out. I’m left behind with mixed feelings on the matter. It doesn’t faze me that he has been watching me my whole life. I’m long past the point of caring about something like that. At least now I know why I had that fleeting feeling of familiarity toward him when I first met him here—my childhood trauma had been scratching at the surface.

Shaking my head, I get out of bed and get dressed. Readying myself to leave, I take the pouch with teeth from the drawer in my nightstand. I empty it in the palm of my hand and count fifty-two in total, meaning I have plenty for what I want to do. And what I want to do is see if it’s somehow possible to combine the spells: the curse upon his bloodline and the summoning spell. That way, I could use the curse as a partial sacrifice for the summoning.

Two birds with one stone and all that.

Seeing as the summoning on its own will be a two-part spell, adding the curse makes it three parts. Putting it together and then executing it is going to be a hefty task. One that I need to take great care to not mess up.

He better not mind that I’m going to take my time to prepare, because I’m not willing to take any chances. Not after the way the time-stitching spell literally backfired.