Torn Ivy (Thornfield Supernatural Academy #2)

20. Ivy

20

IVY

It’s been three hours since my power settled into its new configuration, three hours of learning to control this evolved form of witch-fae-chaos magick. Three hours of watching this energy dance beneath my skin like lightning trapped in crystal. The afternoon light streams through our kitchen window as I nurse my third coffee, trying to ignore how reality occasionally ripples when my concentration slips.

The evolution of my power might be stabilising, but ‘stable’ is a relative term when you’re basically chaos incarnate.

“Stop moping,” Ramsey says, dropping into the seat across from me. “Your power is fine, and the world hasn’t ended yet.”

I glare at him over my coffee. “Yet being the operative word, and when is fine ever good?”

“Well, you have me there,” he grins, but the expression freezes as his phone buzzes with that familiar Syndicate tone.

The sound makes my stomach clench. But Ramsey’s face goes pale as he reads the message, and something cold settles in my gut.

“What?” I demand. “Who’s the target?”

He swallows hard, looking up at me with genuine fear in his eyes. “Cathy Hammond.”

The mug in my hand shatters as my power destabilises and fires through my body at a rate of knots. Coffee transforms into shimmering butterflies that dissolve into deep pink mist. “My aunt? The Syndicate wants me to kill my aunt?”

“It’s worse,” Ramsey says quietly. “You have twelve hours to complete the assignment, or they’ll despatch other agents to do it, and they won’t be quick about it.”

Magick crackles around me as rage builds. The sunlight flickers outside, and storm clouds gather unnaturally fast. “They know?”

“Or they’re testing your loyalty. The Resistance isn’t exactly flaunting their activities. I doubt The Syndicate knows about them, and I also doubt they know what you are now.”

“Well, forgive me if I doubt your doubt.” Reality warps slightly around me as I stand up. The tiles beneath my feet transform into a living crystal that spreads up the walls. “That’s not loyalty, that’s torture.”

“It’s a message,” Ramsey says grimly. “This is their way of showing they control you.”

My power lashes out, turning the kitchen table into a mass of writhing vines before I get it under control. “They don’t control me.”

“No?” He holds up his phone. “Then why is there already a team of elite assassins being assembled to handle this if you refuse?”

That stops me cold. “What team?”

“The Wraiths.”

The name hits me harder than I’d have liked. Memories flood back to my first year as Poison, watching from the shadows as they worked. The Thompson case. The stench of decay and madness. The way they’d kept him conscious through everything, how they’d made him watch as they systematically destroyed everything he loved before finally ending him.

“Fuck,” I whisper, and the crystal walls crack with my fear.

“You have twelve hours,” Ramsey repeats softly. “After that, they move in. And Ivy? They won’t just go after Cathy. Anyone who tries to protect her will be considered a target.”

“They’re really not fucking around,” I mutter.

“No, they’re not.” Ramsey stands, moving to the window where storm clouds now press against the glass like living things. “This is a power play, pure and simple. They want to prove they own you.”

“But why now if they don’t know about The Resistance or about my new powers?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Tell me about Wraith Team Alpha,” I say, forcing myself to think tactically even as my power threatens to tear reality apart around us.

Ramsey’s expression grows grave. “They’re the worst of the worst. Five members, each specialising in a different form of torture. Their leader, Echo, she’s something else. Rumour has it she can make a single moment of pain last for what feels like eternity.”

“And the others?” I need to know what I’m up against, need to understand exactly what threat they pose to my aunt.

“Shade works with shadows. He turns them solid, uses them to flay skin from bone. I saw their work once, early in my handler career. The victim... they looked like they’d been carved by living darkness.”

My power pulses with each revelation, turning the crystal walls into mirrors that reflect infinite versions of us, each slightly different. In one, I’m fully Poison. In another, pure chaos energy given form.

“Whisper specialises in psychological torture,” Ramsey continues. “Gets inside your head, makes you experience your worst fears on loop. They drove an older vampire mad in less than an hour. He’s still in an asylum, screaming about shadows that speak.”

The storm outside intensifies, rain beginning to fall upward as my control slips slightly.

“Grave can control decay; makes you feel your body rotting while you’re still alive. Keeps you conscious through the whole process.” Ramsey shudders. “And then there’s Silence...”

“What does Silence do?”

“No one knows exactly. Those who’ve encountered them never speak again. Literally can’t. Something about their power steals your voice, not just physically but deeper. Like it takes your ability to express yourself at all.”

Ramsey’s phone buzzes again, and I gulp as he looks at it. “What does it say?”

“This is the final test. Do this, and they tell you what happened to your parents.”

“What? Are you for real?”

He turns his phone around to show me. “Very for real.”

“Fuck. Well, I already know what happened to my parents, so I don’t need to do this, right?” I let out a weak laugh that is devoid of all humour.

“Wrong. If you don’t do it, they take your soul as per your contract, and Cathy dies anyway. Painfully and slowly.”

“So what?” I snap. “I’m supposed to make it quick and painless?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, Ives. I’m here as your handler, giving you facts when you can’t see them.”

“Shit.” I sit back down and drop my head into my hands. “I don’t know what to do. Can they still take my soul with me like this? Won’t Death stop them?”

“Unless Death is in on it, which, let’s face it, he more than likely is.”

“Fuck.” The crystal spreads across the ceiling, creating a kaleidoscope of reflections that show different versions of possible futures. In most of them, there’s blood.

“They want you emotional, off-balance. Easier to manipulate. The Wraiths aren’t just killers - they’re a psychological weapon. The threat of them is often enough to ensure compliance.”

Pinky purple magick fritzes around me as I process this information. The Syndicate isn’t just sending assassins - they’re sending their most sadistic team, knowing exactly what they’ll do to my aunt.

But they’ve made a crucial mistake.

“You can’t save everyone,” Ramsey says softly, watching as my power begins to stabilise, focusing into something deadly rather than chaotic.

“Watch me. Neither of us dies tonight.” I head for the door, my power humming with lethal plans. Reality bends slightly around me, responding to my clarity of purpose.

Stepping out into the storm, I let my power flow freely. Pink and purple energy dances around me, responding to my rage and determination. Let them watch. Let them think they know what I’m planning.

The thing about poisons is that they work best when you don’t see them coming. The Syndicate wants to play games? Wants to test my loyalty. Fine.

But they don’t know something crucial: I’m not just Poison anymore. I’m not just a shifter assassin. I’m a witch and a chaos wielder related to Death. I’m something new, something evolved, and they’re about to learn exactly what that means.

The game is on, and this time, I’m not playing by anyone’s rules but my own.

Time to show them why you don’t back a poisonous vine into a corner.

It tends to grow in unexpected directions, and everything it touches dies.

The storm clouds begin to rain purple fire.

It’s deeper and darker than what I started out with.

It’s evolving.

Let them watch.

Let them worry.

The hunt is on.