Torn Ivy (Thornfield Supernatural Academy #2)

34. Tate

34

TATE

“How long has it been?” I ask quietly as I watch Torin lay Ivy gently in the messed-up garden. It can’t have been that long. An hour? Tops.

Cathy bustles about, the epitome of efficiency and glances at her watch. “Three hours.”

“That long?”

She nods solemnly. “We were in shock for a while before we took her inside.”

“But that’s good,” Bram says. “We are still well within the window to return her whole.”

We hope.

“Optimism sounds all wrong coming out of your mouth,” I grumble.

He gives me the finger, but there are no hard feelings. At least one of us is trying.

I can’t help my gloomy thoughts. I can’t help but think we are doomed. Nothing has ever gone right in my life. Even the things one could point out that worked in my favour were never about it being a good thing that happened. A prime example is I was orphaned as a young teenager and chose Torin to mug one night. Yeah, it worked out; I’m here now instead of some warlock juvie or, worse, a magickal drug den pimping myself out for food and shelter. But if I hadn’t been left alone in this world to begin with, it is a moot point.

“Right, we have to draw blood and make a circle,” Bram says, reading from the book that gives even me the heebies. That thing reeks of old magick and not the good kind. Not even the dark kind. Pretty much, let’s just call it pitch black. I want to ask where he got it, but I guess his family must’ve given it to him.

My hands shake as I slice the athame Cathy produced out of a holster at her hip across my palm. Squeezing tightly and hissing at the unnatural burn, I pass it to Bram and then help him draw the ritual circle in blood. Our blood. The copper scent hangs heavy in the air, mixing with the lingering chaos from Ivy’s incident . I can’t bring myself to call it anything else.

Torin gently lays Ivy’s still form in the centre of the circle. Parts of her keep fading in and out of existence, like a glitching hologram. It makes my stomach churn.

“Are you sure this is going to help and not make things worse?” I ask Bram for the hundredth time as he hands Torin the athame. I watch as the enchanted silver slices through his palm like a hot knife through butter, and he adds his blood to the circle.

He nods grimly. “It’s our only shot. You ready?”

No. I’m not ready. I’m terrified. But I nod anyway. “What do we do first?”

Bram consults the squirming volume. “Blood sacrifice first. It’ll anchor her scattered essence.”

“I’ll do it,” Torin says immediately.

I start to protest, but Bram cuts me off. “Makes sense. As a vampire, you have the strongest connection to all things blood.”

“What comes after? We need to get our proverbial ducks in a row before we start this,” Cathy states.

“Power and the spirit,” Bram replies. “I think I need to be power. Tate, you have marked her and bear her mark; I think your spirit will be the strongest, even more so with the anchor line running through you.”

“Yeah,” I mutter. As much as I hate to admit it on an ordinary day, Bram is the most powerful one here. Most of the time, he doesn’t tap into his full power source, it’s not necessary on this plane of existence. But today is no ordinary day. “Use every fucking ounce of power you’ve been hiding. Do you hear me?”

He scowls and I know he wants to bite back about his own feelings for Ivy, but after a few seconds, he nods grimly and leaves it. “I will.”

“So how do we do this?” Torin asks. “What is required from us?”

“Each sacrifice requires a specific ritual,” Bram explains, consulting the ancient book. “For the blood sacrifice, Torin, you’ll need to offer a significant portion of your life force. It will weaken you considerably.”

Torin nods grimly. “Whatever it takes.”

“I’ll channel my power next,” Bram continues. “I’ll have to push my magick to its limits and beyond. It may burn out a large portion of my abilities, possibly permanently.”

I feel a chill at his words but stay silent.

“And for the spirit sacrifice?” I ask, dreading the answer.

Bram searches my eyes for a moment. “You’ll have to give up a fundamental aspect of yourself, Tate. Something core to your identity. I think it’s up to you because the book is vague on the specifics, but it will be painful and permanent.”

I swallow hard but nod. My mind has suddenly gone blank, and I don’t even know what I’m supposed to offer up. Think, you bastard, think!

Bram takes a deep breath. “We need to form a triangle around her. Torin, you start. Cut your wrist and keep it open, I guess by holding the cut apart? Let your blood flow into the circle while focusing on Ivy. Picture her essence, scattered across dimensions, and will it to coalesce around your offering. Cathy, we need you here with that no-holds-barred attitude of yours. Keep us on track.”

She nods brusquely, her feet planted and her hands behind her back.

“Torin Ashford of the Ainsley Coven, are you ready?” Bram asks formally.

Torin nods, his face set in an expression that could only be described as grim and slightly sick at the prospect of forcing his own body from healing. But his hands don’t shake, not even a little bit, as he slices his wrist with the athame deeper than necessary. Dark blood wells up immediately.

“Now,” Bram instructs.

Torin kneels at the edge of the blood circle, holding his sliced wrist over it. His face contorts in pain as he forces the wound to stay open, fighting against his vampire healing. His blood drips steadily into the circle.

“Focus on Ivy,” Bram instructs. “Imagine her spirit spread out among different dimensions. Focus on it coming together around your offering.”

Torin closes his eyes, his brow furrowed in concentration. The air grows heavy, charged with a magickal energy. Torin’s skin begins to pale, taking on an ashen hue. He’s literally pouring his life force into the ritual.

I look down at Ivy’s prone form and see flickers, parts of her seem to solidify for brief moments before fading again.

“Hold steady,” Bram says, his voice tense. “You need to keep going until we have all finished.”

Torin lets out a pained rasp, swaying slightly. His eyes fly open, unfocused and glassy.

“Prince Bramwell, son of Mabius, King of the Dark Fae, are you ready?” Bram drops to his knees, placing his hands on the edge of the circle and chants in, what I assume is the ancient Fae language.

The air grows thicker, like soup, making it difficult to breathe. Bram’s eyes glow silver as he channels more magick than I’ve ever felt from him before. It’s dark, almost as black as the book he is kneeling in front of. The blood circle shimmers and throbs with energy as Bram’s power floods into it. Flashes of silver and purple blind me, but I can’t look away.

Ivy’s body lifts slightly off the ground, suspended in a cocoon of swirling magickal energy.

Fingers of icy cold walk down the back of my neck and my spine, making me shudder and try to pull away. Bram’s magick has reached depths I didn’t even know were possible.

“Tate Blackwell of the Well line,” he croaks. “Are you ready?”

I gulp and fall to my knees, still having no idea what to offer up. If I lose my magick, I’m no good to Ivy, but if I don’t do something, she is lost to us for eternity. Suffering and in torment and fuck only knows what else. I close my eyes and let whatever feels right bubble up to the surface.

And then it hits me.

The purest part of myself, the truest part that makes me who I am right now, isn’t my magick or my strength.

It’s my love for Ivy.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I’m about to do. My love for Ivy is the core of who I am now - it’s shaped every decision, every action since I met her. To give it up is like tearing out my own heart. But if that’s what it takes to bring her back, I’ll do it without hesitation.

“I’m ready,” I say, my voice steady despite the fear churning in my gut.

Bram nods grimly; his face strained as he continues channelling power into the ritual. “Do it.”

I close my eyes, calling up memories of Ivy. Her laugh, her smile, the fire in her eyes when she’s angry. The mark she gave me on my chest, mine on her lower back. The way she feels in my arms, the taste of her kiss. The depth of emotion I feel for her, a love so profound it changed everything about me.

Opening my eyes, forcing myself to look at her, tears stream down my face as I gather it all up, this most precious part of myself. Then, with a ragged sob, I shove it away from me and into the ritual circle.

The pain is immediate and all-consuming. It feels like my chest has been ripped open, leaving nothing but a gaping void where my heart should be. I scream, doubling over as agony rips through me.

But I feel it working. The circle is responding to us.

“Keep going!” Cathy shouts. “It’s not over yet.”

“Fuck,” Torin grunts and passes out.

Bram is holding on, but just barely. His skin is undulating like there are a thousand beetles crawling under his skin. Black veins have appeared all over his body and face. His eyes are now black voids. He retches, and a black snake curls out of his mouth, and I resist the urge to recoil as it slithers through the circle and settles on Ivy’s body, curling up and hissing.

“Don’t stop!” Cathy yells. “You’re almost there!”

I force myself to keep channelling, even as I feel hollowed out. The love I gave up leaves an aching void, but I cling to the memory of why I’m doing this. For Ivy. Even if I can’t feel it anymore, I know it matters.

The air crackles with energy. Reality bends around us. Ivy’s body lifts higher, suspended in a cocoon of swirling magick. For a moment, I see glimpses of a thousand or more other realms through cracks in the air.

Then, with a sound like reality tearing, everything implodes.

The magickal energy rushes inward, slamming into Ivy with such force that I’m knocked backwards. Blinding light fills the circle, forcing me to shield my eyes and then… nothing.