Chapter Six

A CHILL RAKED Storm’s spine as remnants of memories flashed through his mind: an older version of himself, of Gladys being older, the fear she was about to die. The words came to his tongue instinctively: “If I’m in the past, any memories will be from my future.”

“Yes!” The demon clasped their hands in delight, talons clicking in the otherwise silent abyss. “Pieces are floating around your head, but they don’t make sense yet. I can help.” They moved closer, the scant light revealing more of their features: a smart black suit, perfectly cut to slightly rounded hips and a slim waist, cropped short to show slender ankles leading to black stilettos. Empty white eyes, with a single point of ice blue, where the iris should be, stared, unblinking. This was a lower demon as he’d thought, but powerful, holding an old-fashioned cane. Only the strong were allowed self-expression, the others allocated black cloaks and near nakedness to symbolise their lowly, unwanted status.

The look suggested androgyny but the single lurid purple talon on their right hand denoted the demon as non-binary. Most demons were female, the more powerful of the species, and displayed their nature with black talons. Males displayed their gender through white talons, as their talons were a skin pigment present from birth. Storm had heard a rumour once that a demon’s nails changed colour according to their gender preference, and that some switched genders at will so that one day they were male and another day non-binary. That demon had been bonded to a mage visiting the village, so Storm had never had the chance to ask the demon questions about how common such an ability might be.

The idea of bonding with a demon for answers intrigued Storm. His magic would increase threefold if he agreed, but he barely knew any real dark magic. “I imagine your price for this information would be bonding?”

“Hmm, not yet. I see what awaits you, and I don’t want to hitch myself to a dying horse.” The demon laughed while cocking their head to the right so that long white hair tumbled to their elbow. They paused and cocked their head in the other direction. “I would be willing to make a bargain. I will tell you something to help you fulfil the prophecy and, once complete, you will bond with me in payment.”

Storm gave the offer serious thought. The bargain could benefit him, particularly in terms of fulfilling the prophecy. By rights, the prophecy acknowledged and accepted his darkness and bonding with a demon would make no difference, but he was young compared to the stories he’d heard. Most dark mages didn’t bond with a demon until they were in their thirties, experienced and comfortable with their magic. “I guess you can’t tell me the information first?”

“The youngling does not make deals with demons lightly, I see.” They didn’t seem insulted, turning away to stare into the darkness. At the last moment, before Storm spoke to break the silence, they glanced coyly over their right shoulder. “If my information fails to help you fulfil the prophecy, no harm done. I will have given you useless information, and I will not hold you to the bonding.”

“Fair enough.” Storm almost smiled at how surprisingly fortuitous this meeting was. No harm no foul, as Gladys would say. Though he wasn’t sure she’d agree this was a situation that called for blasé decision-making. “My head is jumbled. I keep seeing things that…aren’t there,” he confessed, knowing the demon wouldn’t judge him the way humans would.

With a quick turn they were in his face, leaning close, breathing clover-scented air against his cheek as wide white eyes gazed into his. “Oh, but they are. Or rather they were…in your future.”

Storm shook his head, refusing to challenge the demon’s information. “If the information proves to be the key to fulfilling the prophecy—something I could not figure out without you—I will bond with you, but only once the conditions of the prophecy are met.”

The demon’s lips twitched into a smile. “Clever mage.” They chuckled, stepping back swiftly to offer a long arm, hand held out to shake. “Accepted. I am Yael.”

Raising an eyebrow at the ease of the deal, he nodded his acceptance and grasped their cold, pale hand. “I am Storm Tera.”

Yael fluttered their eyelashes extravagantly. “Wise witch,” they gushed in approval, understanding the power they had exchanged by giving their true names. There was no power greater in the magical world than a witch or mages name and no greater currency to demons.

Yael pressed tight against Storm to whisper, “You have done this before, youngling. Fought to fulfil the prophecy, fought a war you did not win.” They cocked their head as Storm internally winced at the idea of failing to win the war. “I know of one pivotal moment in the war, which you failed to see the significance of. To make sure the mistake is not repeated, you will need to become the Dark One they whisper about.”

“That sounds like a riddle.”

Yael squeezed his hand, playfully swinging the other arm behind them. “You will see danger and not act quickly enough, because it is not your fate to react. What you do next is vital, for you must resurrect the dead.” Without waiting for a reaction, Yael dug a talon into his wrist, drawing blood in a warning not to question or interrupt. Knowing the wound would heal, Storm didn’t question the violent censor.

“There is one whose fate decides the war, though none can fathom why. Only you will know, once the deed is done. Save this soul, and you will resurrect your chances of winning the war and fulfilling the prophecy. Without him, failure awaits. Do you understand?”

Storm reluctantly nodded. “Yes.” He still had questions but most weren’t important enough to press Yael. “You’re telling me I need to learn necromancy. How do you know I didn’t intend to?”

Yael huffed and shook their head. “Because you chose not to learn your family’s craft the last time. When you fought the war, you had no such gift and no ability to use the magic calling to you. Thus came your downfall. Learn the craft, respect the dark arts, and you will succeed.”

That sounded too easy, but the most complicated magic often required the simplest sacrifice. If learning necromancy—something he’d always shied away from—would fulfil the prophecy and save magic from destruction, he’d make the sacrifice.

“Who do I need to save? Ithen? Because he knows necromancy?”

“Ithen is not who you believe him to be. That much would have been revealed after the war; an opportunity to learn the truth that your past failure did not afford you,” Yael warned, their eyes sad as they leaned closer. “The soul you must save is Rowan Copry.”

Shock slammed into him, followed by the sense of impending doom when Rowan stood in the lightning storm. “You can’t let Rowan die.”

“You remembered my warning?” Yael looked delighted. “Yes. Rowan Copry’s life holds the key to the prophecy. Save him and you will see victory.”

Storm nodded, glad to have one question answered, even if most of what Yael had told him left more questions. Interestingly, Yael’s warning meant they had been waiting here, aware of what the ceremony would entail and that they’d meet Storm to discuss this. As interesting as this conversation was, they wouldn’t have long before Gladys panicked and plucked him from the abyss by force, likely with Ithen’s help.

“How do you know this? What do you mean by saying that was your warning? I don’t remember hearing those words…but…something isn’t right in my head…”

Yael shrugged nonchalantly and grazed a talon over his wrist. “In time, youngling. Your mind is struggling to cope with two existences in one body. When you adapt, you will learn the truth.” Their obvious compassion for his mental stability was almost a relief, because he did feel overwhelmed. To have that acknowledged told Storm how dangerous it would be to keep pushing. “I know because we demons are the only creatures besides your dark self who can exist in both planes—life and death, past and future. We see all. We know all. We have no hesitation over meddling with what has been if we do not like what will be.”

“What about my ceremony?”

“You gained your powers as we spoke,” Yael informed him as they released his hand with reluctance and clasped both hands behind their back. “You may go now. Return to your past and present. Return and fix what was broken. But first, complete a task for me.”

“Don’t you mean one more?”

Yael tipped their head coquettishly. “Be brave, youngling. Warn Gladys Glade to stay away from dark magic.” Storm wanted to ask if Yael knew for sure Gladys had been meddling where she wasn’t wanted. “She will understand.” They retreated a single step, where they evaporated into the darkness. “We demons are not yet willing to see her light fade.”

*

THE MOMENT YAEL’S voice faded, a symphony of noise assaulted Storm’s ears, though he couldn’t see anything but darkness. Smoke clogged his senses, gathering in his throat while clouding his vision. When shapes appeared, he didn’t know if they were real or more ghosts trapped in the abyss. The smell of burning made him want to choke, and he instinctively turned his head to cough into his shoulder in a vain attempt to clear his airways. He was no longer standing on the podium, but kneeling, one hand on the wooden platform to stop him from face-planting.

Raising his head, he blinked to bring everything into focus. Gladys was frantically fighting the storm, Ithen was advising her to back away while keeping the rest of the coven within his protective bubble. Rowan stood in a secure bubble of magic, a black and silver shimmer to the air letting Storm know his magic was keeping Rowan safe.

He was on the wrong side of the fence. Storm remembered him being on Copry land the last he looked, but Rowan now stood firmly on their side of the fence, a foot from the cairn circle.

At his side, Foley spoke through the magical protections separating them, urging Rowan to leave and get to safety, while Denver argued that he was being heartless. Storm had no idea what that meant but he was getting a headache from the noise.

His magic swirled beneath his skin, teasing and testing his resistance, begging to be set free. Seeping from his eyes, black smoke wove through the air and floated on the breeze. Storm felt weak but this much was instinctive.

The wind stopped like a flame blown out, taking the raging fire of the circle; a rumble of thunder cut off mid-sound; a lightning flash disappeared halfway to the ground, and everything stopped. The world paused, no one daring to breathe as blessed silence descended.

Storm closed his eyes, feeling better for the pressure lifted from his mind. Prepared to face what had happened, he stood, craning his neck to one side then the other and stretching his arms. Every muscle ached, each one popped or cracked as he worked them loose, freeing them from the confines of a regular human body and infusing them with powerful magic that promised to reshape him, body and soul.

“By the Mother…” Rowan whispered as Storm dropped his arms to his sides and faced the onslaught of nervous gazes. “You’re stunning.”

Laughter bubbled up in stunned surprise, but Storm hid it behind a smile. That wasn’t the reaction he’d expected, especially from Rowan, but he wouldn’t deny that he felt incredible. The dark magic was mesmerising, slithering beneath his skin, rushing through his veins, whispering dark promises. His headache and confusion from earlier was gone, replaced by the questions Yael’s words had implanted.

His thoughts took longer to settle. When Ithen approached the podium to extend a hand, Storm ignored the disingenuous offering. He could hear the Glade coven members muttering, Gladys saying a prayer as she crossed herself, and his friends hesitating to get close to the unknown entity he’d become.

The secrets Yael had shared lurked in the corners of his mind, screaming guidance and warnings. One rang clear above the others: he couldn’t trust anyone. Demons couldn’t lie to another dark creature so Storm could trust every word from Yael’s mouth. Gladys must be toying with or planning to use dark magic, Ithen couldn’t be trusted and was yet another person keeping secrets, while Rowan was just as important to the prophecy as Storm.

Feeling stronger and more comfortable in his body, Storm descended the podium by the two side steps—blocking the questions, the looks, the cowering—and walked straight to Rowan. He was an interloper to everyone else, but the only one Storm wanted to focus on. He looked at Storm like he had blossomed from a mage into a dark prince, and he’d never felt stronger, more powerful or more desirable than when that gaze locked on his and sent his blood churning with uncertainty.

Rowan’s attention was intoxicating. Storm stopped a breath from Rowan, who stood a good few inches taller than him, then utilised a power he’d never had but that slid effortlessly into the forefront of his mind.

“I can’t talk here, but I need to not see you until my magic settles. I’ll explain everything as soon as I can,” he promised, using an untapped pathway in his mind. He didn’t have time to question his new powers, but they felt familiar, like a long-lost friend newly rediscovered.

“How are you doing this?” Rowan asked, his brow crinkling with confusion.

“I don’t know.”

Rowan raked a hand through his hair and averted his gaze. He tensed when he found Gladys staring, but met Storm’s gaze unflinchingly. “You saved my life tonight. I owe you this much.” Within the space of a blink, the confusion cleared and determination took over, along with a suspicious glance at Ithen. “Be careful. What I saw this morning has been bothering me.” He didn’t seem to be as shocked by the telepathy as Storm would expect. Either Rowan had always been capable or someone else was.

“I can explain everything, I promise.” Storm intended to, because Rowan was the only person he could trust. He just couldn’t risk talking anywhere that Gladys or Ithen could overhear them. Right now, he wasn’t sure if this telepathy would give him a headache or cause other side effects from utilising a little-explored power.

“Come to my summer house when you’re ready. Use this…connection…to call me, okay?” Rowan suggested, sounding scared but cautious. Did he realise Storm may be safer on Copry land than with the people he thought he could trust?

Storm remembered one more task and let the fingers of his right hand weave the magic. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Rowan hissed and backed away. When he looked at his hand and found the burn mark on his palm, he glared at Storm. “What the hell?” he said aloud, asking in his mind, “I guess this is for show?”

“You’re a Copry. Act like one just this once.” Storm needed the security of natural animosity to continue for both their sakes.

“My father was right. You are dangerous,” Rowan said aloud, taking a step back as he shook his head and glanced at his hand in confusion.

Having always been a neutral party—someone who tried not to participate in Cesa’s ideas nor endorse them and who had always supported the covens—Gladys sucked in a shocked breath and rushed to Rowan. He would need to take the long way home with no way through the fence that didn’t involve Storm’s magic.

Gladys followed Rowan, muttering about the recklessness of boys, while Ithen crossed to Storm’s side, his face showing no discernible emotion.

“I always knew he took after his father. The fact he’s hidden behind supposed neutrality shows how much he takes after the old man,” he remarked, surprisingly hostile toward someone who had never done him wrong.

Storm frowned at Ithen, wondering where the judgement was coming from. “What do you mean?” Was this why he couldn’t trust Ithen or just a side of his personality he’d never seen?

“Cesa weaselled into your parents’ lives when you were born, spying on you to find out how powerful you might be and if the prophecy was true,” Ithen explained, completely contradicting everything Storm had been raised to believe about their families. They could hardly have been natural-born, lifelong enemies if Cesa had ‘weaselled’ his way into their lives. “He showed his true colours soon enough. They all do.”

As do you, he thought, startled to realise he couldn’t remember one decent thing about Ithen to explain his crush. Just as Yael said.

He couldn’t help but question—if this was Ithen’s true self, then what had Storm ever seen in him to inspire a crush? Now that those feelings no longer existed, he wondered if going through the abyss wiped them away or simply gave him clarity? The worst-case scenario was always possible, now Storm knew he couldn’t trust Ithen—perhaps the crush had never been real but had been pressed upon him to give Ithen a reason to remain in his life…just the way he claimed Cesa had done with his dad.