Torn Ivy (Thornfield Supernatural Academy #2)

19. Tate

19

TATE

Watching Ivy integrate her power is concerning, but also a relief. But there’s a cost to all this power, and I’m starting to feel it. She’s gone back to her place to shower and change, leaving us to deal with the aftermath of her transformation. What I had to tell her can wait in light of this development. I know she knows it isn’t going to last, and that thought is what is worrying me.

When she pulled on her power to accept her personas, she drew on mine as well. My hands still tingle from where her magick burned me earlier, but that’s not what concerns me. It’s the deeper ache, the way my own magick feels different since I started anchoring her power.

“You look like shit,” Torin says bluntly as we clean up the kitchen.

“Thanks,” I mutter, wincing as another wave of discomfort rolls through me. My magick flickers erratically, causing the broken glass I’m sweeping to briefly turn into butterflies before returning to normal.

“He’s right,” Bram says, watching me with those too-perceptive Fae eyes. “Something’s wrong.”

I straighten up, fighting back a wave of dizziness. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit,” Torin snaps. “Your aura is almost as fucked up as Ivy’s was, and just as visible,” he adds, shooting a look at Bram, who rolls his eyes.

Running a hand through my hair, I try to focus my magick on fixing a broken window. Instead, reality warps around it, creating a portal that shows glimpses of other dimensions before I quickly shut it down.

“Fuck,” I breathe, stumbling back. That’s definitely new.

“Sit down before you fall down,” Bram orders, guiding me to a chair. “What’s happening?”

I shake my head, trying to clear the strange double vision that has developed. “I don’t know. Ever since I started anchoring Ivy’s power, things have been weird.”

“Weird, how?” Torin demands.

“Like my magick isn’t entirely mine anymore.” I hold up my hands, watching as black sparks mix with traces of pink and purple energy. “It’s changing, adapting to handle her chaos.”

“The grimoire mentioned this,” Bram says suddenly. “About anchors bearing consequences. We didn’t read far enough to see what those consequences were.”

Another surge of foreign power races through me, and I grip the arm of the chair as reality threatens to bend again. “Well, I think we’re finding out.”

“We need to tell Ivy,” Torin says, but I shake my head vigorously.

“No. She’s just gotten control of her power. She doesn’t need to worry about this, too.”

“She’ll notice eventually,” Bram points out. “Especially if you keep warping reality every time you try to use magick.”

He’s right, of course. Ivy’s too observant not to notice something’s wrong, especially now that her power has settled. But the thought of adding to her burden makes me sick.

“Look,” I say, forcing myself to stand despite the room’s tendency to tilt sideways, “I just need to adjust. Figure out how to handle this new, whatever this is.”

As if to prove my point, my magick flares again. This time, instead of creating portals or transforming objects, it reaches out and connects with the traces of Ivy’s power still lingering in the air. The resulting feedback loop sends me to my knees.

“Tate!” Torin catches me before I faceplant. “That’s it. We’re calling Ivy.”

“No,” I gasp, fighting through the kaleidoscope of sensations flooding my system. “Just... give me a minute.”

Bram crouches beside me, his Fae magick probing gently at whatever’s happening to mine. “This isn’t just adaptation,” he says grimly. “Your magick is being fundamentally altered by exposure to her chaos.”

“Is that bad?” I manage to ask as another wave hits.

“No idea. Your bloodline may be meant to anchor chaos magick, but this level of power is changing you on a cellular level.”

“Fucking hell,” Torin mutters. “Can we stop it?”

“Only by stopping the anchoring entirely,” Bram says. “But that would leave Ivy without stability again.”

“Not an option,” I growl, finally getting my feet under me. The room has mostly stopped spinning, but my magick feels like it’s trying to rewrite itself from the inside out.

“Then we need to find a way to manage it,” Torin says practically. “Because you can’t go on like this.”

He’s right. Every time I anchor Ivy’s power, every time our magick mingles, the changes become more pronounced. I can feel it now in the way my naturally structured magick is being infected with chaos, creating something hybrid and unpredictable.

“The Well bloodline,” I say suddenly, remembering something from the grimoire. “It’s supposed to be able to handle this. My ancestors did it.”

“Your ancestors didn’t deal with power like Ivy’s,” Bram points out. “This is evolution, remember? New territory.”

Another bolt hits, but this time, I’m ready for it. Instead of fighting the chaos and trying to integrate it with my magick, I let it flow, just like we told Ivy to do. The sensation is bizarre, like having a second heartbeat, a rhythm of power that doesn’t quite match my own frequency.

“Oh,” I breathe as something shifts inside me. “That’s different.”

“What?” Torin demands. “What’s happening?”

I hold up my hands, watching as my black magick now streams with permanent threads of pink. “I think I’m adapting.”

Bram moves closer, studying the change. “It’s not just affecting your magick anymore,” he says. “It’s becoming part of it.”

“Is that supposed to happen?” Torin asks, genuine fear tinging his tone. That is not good.

“Who knows?” I let out a slightly hysterical laugh. “None of this is supposed to happen. We’re literally making this up as we go.”

The front door opens, and Ivy’s voice calls out, “You guys will not believe what I just did!”

Panic flashes across Torin’s face, but I shake my head sharply. We need more time to understand what’s happening before we tell her.

Ivy bounces into the kitchen, practically glowing with controlled power. She stops short when she sees us all clustered together. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly, forcing a smile. “Just discussing the clean-up.”

Her eyes narrow suspiciously, tracking over each of us before settling on me. “You’re lying.”

“Ivy—”

“Don’t.” She moves closer, her power reaching out toward mine. I try to pull back, but it’s too late. The moment our magick touches, she gasps. “What the fuck?”

The connection between us flares, stronger than ever now that her power has settled and mine has started to change. Pink and purple energy swirls with black, creating patterns that twist reality around us.

“Tate,” she breathes, staring at where our power mingles, “what’s happening to you?”

“It’s fine,” I insist, even as another wave of transformation rolls through me. “Just some side effects from anchoring.”

“Side effects?” Her voice rises. “Your magick is literally changing colour!”

“It’s not just the colour,” Bram says, ignoring my glare. “The chaos magick is altering him fundamentally. Every time he anchors your power, it changes him a little more.”

Ivy takes a step back, horror dawning on her face. “I’m hurting you?”

“No,” I say firmly, reaching for her despite the way it makes my magick surge. “You’re not hurting me. I’m adapting. Evolution, remember?”

“Evolution that could kill you,” Torin mutters.

“Not helping,” I snarl at him.

Ivy’s power pulls back sharply, leaving me feeling strangely bereft. “We have to stop this.”

“No.” I grab her hands, ignoring the way our combined power makes reality ripple. “We knew there would be consequences. The grimoire warned us. But this is necessary.”

“Nothing is worth risking you,” she says fiercely.

“You are,” I tell her, meaning it completely. “Besides, it’s too late now. The change has already started, and honestly?” I look down at our joined hands, where pink, purple and black energy dance together in perfect harmony. “I don’t think I want to go back.”