Chapter Seventeen

STORM WASN’T AWARE he was shaking until a hand slipped into his. He didn’t look because he didn’t need to; the hint of mint, the sense of being stronger and more complete, the invisible thread linking them as surely as any demon-mage bond made the slightest touch electric and palpable. Rowan was by his side, as he always was when Storm needed him.

“Did you know?” he asked, unable to tear his gaze away but needing an answer.

His dad frowned and Rowan stiffened, his grip tightening as if realising that Storm wasn’t asking him.

“No,” Yael replied, not even sounding hurt or aware of the unintentional accusation in Storm’s words. “I sensed a presence when we entered the house. Your father was…kind enough to introduce himself before we went any further.”

The room remained silent with everyone waiting for Storm to speak. They could keep waiting, because he hadn’t the first clue what to say. This man sitting behind the desk looked solid, but Storm knew he wasn’t real; he was a ghost, spirit, or something completely unnatural, something not his dad.

He took time to look at this man he barely remembered, reconciling the sight with the man he’d glimpsed in Ithen’s memories. Asher had been twenty-seven when he died, still young to be married with a six-year-old child. Maybe he’d been waiting for his ascension magic to settle, or he’d spent what years he could with Cesa, keeping their relationship a secret before leaving the man he loved to marry someone else.

Storm knew the love between his parents was real, but he’d never known someone could love two different people so fiercely. He understood that Asher hadn’t had a choice. It didn’t matter if his dad had been in love with a man and emotionally unfaithful to Storm’s mother, because he hadn’t been cruel or selfish. They’d been separated by forces beyond their control, and he imagined that trying to stop loving someone was impossible.

Storm had to admit, this wasn’t the man he’d expected to be his dad. The few memories he had were of a man who dressed smartly, stool tall and proud, and had a commanding voice but was always soft and slightly amused when he spoke to Storm. The man in Ithen’s memories hadn’t been much different: the same strong bone structure, the same dark features. The only difference was that Ithen remembered the numerous tattoos that didn’t exist in Storm’s vague memories, the complete sleeves on both arms, the designs creeping up the front of his neck. Storm thought he saw some of the tattoos moving.

“I know this must be hard,” his dad said, walking around the desk.

Storm took an instinctive step back, not sure what he was dealing with. “Hard?” He wondered what exactly Asher thought was hard: the appearance of a man he hadn’t seen in twelve years; the fact the man was his dad and possibly a spirit; or that he’d been right to abandon this house, its ghosts and its secrets?

Pausing at the corner of the desk, the man who had once been Asher Tera looked at the wooden top and knocked his knuckles against the surface. “I’m sorry. I’ve been waiting for you to return and…I forgot you wouldn’t have anyone to teach you about this,” he apologised, still talking like his dad would.

“You’ve been waiting?” Storm asked, focusing on the words rather than the burning rage swirling under his skin. His dad—if this wasn’t a trick—didn’t deserve his anger.

Asher nodded and gestured to Yael. “Your friend can tell you, if you’re not ready to believe me, but when a mage dies as I did…violently…using dark magic—”

“Murdered.” Storm felt the need to interrupt now Asher was pretending this was normal and expected. The man who looked like his dad paused and met his gaze with a curious tilt of his head. “You were murdered,” he elaborated, in case Asher didn’t understand. If he hadn’t left this house since he died, he likely thought Storm believed the lies Gladys had poured into him. “I read Ithen’s heart. I know what happened.” A wave of sadness and loss enveloped his dad. The way his body sagged was indicative of a father in pain, and Storm didn’t know what to do.

“Are you okay, Mr Tera?” Rowan asked, and started to step forward, then paused to look at Storm. He didn’t know if the look was to ask for permission, or if he was hoping Storm would be the one to go to his dad.

No one moved.

Asher cleared his throat and looked at Yael, who hovered at the side of the room, an arm guiding Kyrie behind them while Kyrie watched with a vague, lost curiosity. “You let him read Ithen’s heart? Knowing what he would see?” he demanded, harsh and angry, as black mist circled around him, proof that his magic, a part of his brutal death, had lingered.

Storm’s stomach twisted in a knot, and he couldn’t separate the man from his dad any longer. Whatever else he may be, he was his dad, trapped here in this damned house that Storm had avoided like the plague, because he was afraid to face the reality of what happened. If he’d been braver and stronger, he might have known the truth sooner and had time with his dad.

“I knew nothing,” Yael replied, unaffected by the accusation. “Your son has a strange concept of how to work with a demon. He inadvertently took my mind along, when he read Ithen. That was when we both became aware of our history together.”

“Because you were a child,” Asher said in realisation, shaking his head and pressing both hands into the desk. He seemed to shrink, at once a great dark mage threatening a demon and a grieving father who never had the chance to raise his son. “I hoped the Fates had made you different, given you the ability to remember…so you would be with him.”

That was where Storm had to interrupt. They were arguing with each other about purpose, responsibility and what happened in the past but had forgotten he was here. “I’ve been with Gladys. She cast a curse on me the night you died, forcing me to forget what I knew and believe the story she told me. I went to live with her.”

His gut roiled to realise his dad must have thought Gladys an innocent visitor that night, someone called by Cesa or summoned by the disruption of balance in magic, not someone who had lied to Storm to save him from the truth. All these years, Asher thought Storm had been protected by her, unaware of how evil she was.

“I didn’t leave her house until I was fourteen,” he continued to help Asher understand why he’d never come home. “I didn’t want to come here. She told me you were murdered by a demon. I didn’t want to face the prophecy. I lived in the shack on our land.”

“You stayed connected to the magic here but didn’t embrace who you truly are,” Asher said, understanding and not judging him. “Why return now?”

“Have you been waiting for me?” He needed one person on his side, one thing to hold onto, to remind him he was a true Tera and could believe in his magic. He needed to know what a mistake he’d made by being a coward.

“Yes, my little Storm,” his dad answered, the nickname raising the hairs on his neck. “I couldn’t leave this house. It was my dying wish.”

Storm didn’t quite understand why he sounded apologetic, as if he regretted that choice, until Yael moved, a slight shift of discomfort. “A dark mage such as yourself should have known better.” They clearly didn’t approve of what Asher had done. Whatever dying wish translated to in magical terms, Yael understood and thought him foolish.

“I know. I needed to be here for him when he had questions, when he was lost,” Asher replied, unintentionally layering more shame onto what Storm already felt. His dad had stayed a spirit instead of passing into his next life to be here in case Storm needed him, and he’d been too much of a coward to even step one foot into the house.

“Were you alone?” he asked, needing to assuage his guilt with the knowledge that his dad had company while stuck here, waiting for the son who never came to visit.

“Your mother moved on a long time ago,” his dad replied, with a faint smile that said he didn’t blame her. “She knew why I stayed, but her spirit was free. She didn’t know the truth of what happened the night we died, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her. She was convinced Gladys would care for and protect you, and I knew she was selfish enough that you’d be safe as long as you remained useful to her.”

Storm nodded, realising he’d been right. As long as Storm was the last surviving Tera, he was the only way Gladys could get her hands on the amulet. At least he had a straightforward answer to one question: his mum hadn’t stayed because she thought he was being protected by Gladys. A few weeks ago, he might have said Gladys had done her best.

“And Cesa?”

“I’m sorry?”

Asher’s surprise told Storm all he needed to know: he still thought no one knew about their relationship. “I know you loved him. Did you stay for him too?” Storm would never say he was wrong or judge his dad for staying just to be close to Cesa, to see him from a distance, or even to be in the place where they shared private moments.

“I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did.” Asher perched on the edge of his desk and dug his hands into his pockets. “Cesa has visited this house often over the years. They’re not pleasant visits, and I suggest you don’t let on that you know about them or stop him if you ever see him coming here.”

Whatever Cesa said or did here probably involved a lot of screaming, grieving, and sobbing, if Storm’s theory was right. Cesa had never been able to escape the night Asher died.

“He’s been cursed by Ithen,” Storm confessed, needing his dad to know why Cesa wasn’t in his right mind half the time. He fought so hard against the curse, but even Rowan knew there was no easy cure.

“I know.” Asher shook his head, and the way he clenched his fist suggested he wished he could do something, could have known sooner, or beaten Ithen instead of dying the night they faced each other in this room.

Rowan stole the words from his mouth, his voice shaking with anger. “We don’t know how to cure him. The hold on my father is so strong that none of my magic helps.”

Asher straightened and frowned in obvious confusion. “He’s still cursed? Why?” Either he didn’t know they knew about the amulet and the spell, or he genuinely didn’t understand Ithen’s plans.

“He hasn’t given Ithen the spell.”

“For the amulet? You know about that?”

“From Ithen’s memories,” Storm said, curious about the slight anger in his dad’s voice, as if he was never supposed to know. Was it Asher’s plan to protect Storm from the threat of Gladys and Ithen by never telling him about the amulet? That was dangerous, but he supposed even if they’d used magic to interrogate him, he couldn’t tell them something he didn’t know. “We came to find the amulet.”

Asher’s face softened with surprise and affection. “Oh, my little Storm.” He raked his eyes over Storm. “You’ve embraced who you are. You’re ready to accept your legacy, your titles, your place in this world. I couldn’t be more proud,” he confessed, his gaze lingering on Storm’s hand clasped tightly in Rowan’s. “And you have a Copry by your side.”

The remark was sad and thoughtful, reminding Storm of how badly his dad had wanted to live his life with a Copry by his side. Storm reacted without thinking, not wanting to hear anything about prophesies or expectations. “I won’t give him up. Not for anyone or anything,” he swore, tightening his hold on Rowan’s hand, pleased that Rowan squeezed his fingers with a supportive smile.

Shaking his head, his dad sounded sad. “I envy you because you can have it. No one will separate you,” he promised, turning away as though the sight and the knowledge of his relationship with Rowan was painful.

Storm realised that was probably true. Asher was dealing with the visual proof that his son could have the relationship he wanted with the man he wanted without anyone getting in the way. That had to hurt, after all Asher had sacrificed to honour his position as a protector of the amulet, especially because Rowan was Cesa’s son. His relationship with Cesa had been doomed from the start, all so that Storm could have this time with Rowan.

If his dad and Cesa had been allowed to be together, neither he nor Rowan would exist.

Rowan cleared his throat, glancing around nervously when all eyes darted his way. “Because he’s the prophecy child, right? Because he’s part of magic itself and I’m half Copry?” He put the pieces together, but his tone said he wasn’t ready to trust his theory.

“Yes. You’ve both broken the rules of magic,” Asher replied, relaxing against the desk now they’d moved on from talking about his life. He smiled at Storm, full of warmth and admiration. “When you were born, the Fates told us of the life that lay ahead. We let you be a child as long as you wanted, encouraged you to be wild, free, and silly because we knew the burden you would have to shoulder when you were older. As much as we let you get away with, you never purposefully broke the rules. You always knew where to draw the line even when it came to your magic and to your demon.”

“They’re not my demon,” Storm answered instinctively, surprised Yael’s lips twitched in what looked like amusement and pride.

Asher raised an eyebrow in what he assumed was a challenge.

Yael explained with obvious pride, “We’re friends.”

Storm smiled, loving that Yael sounded so happy. He was proud too. Yael may be a demon, but they were the best friend he could remember having, and he never wanted that to change.

Delight danced in Asher’s eyes as he glanced between Storm and Yael, neither of whom had moved, presenting a united front by the study door. He wasn’t sure if they’d decided not to move in case Asher escaped or if the shock of his ghost being here had kept them rooted to the spot. Asher didn’t seem to mind.

“You used to get mad at anyone who called them your demon when you were little. You would tell everyone who would listen that Yael didn’t belong to anyone and never would,” Asher explained, easing the tension Storm had been harbouring and realising his dad respected their friendship, then and now. “Cesa separated you from Rowan, fearing you would go through the same impossible choice of losing each other that we had…” He paused, glancing away as if the thought of what he was about to say brought painful memories.

Storm wanted to go to him, an instinctive and automatic reaction, but he forced the feeling aside and remained where he was—in a position to protect the people he was with. He couldn’t make the mistake of trusting the wrong person again, not even his dad, not with Yael, Kyrie and Rowan counting on him.

Asher shook off the melancholy and met Storm’s gaze. “One night I came into your room to say goodnight and you were tucked in bed reading a book. I was shocked,” he confessed with a chuckle and warm eyes that pulled on Storm’s heart. “A storm blew outside, and you would normally sit at your window to watch the lightning. I decided to wait and used magic to see what happened after I left the room.”

Asher gestured to Rowan, who’d been leaning against Storm’s arm but straightened as though he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Storm went to open the window and asked the wind to bring you to his room,” he revealed, staring at the youngest Copry with the same warmth he’d given Storm. “You came sailing in like a levitating angel and rushed to his bed. The pair of you snuggled in together, and I could see you’d likely been sneaking in for some time. You’d been reading the book together, taking turns reading aloud.”

“I don’t remember,” Storm muttered, more to Rowan than to his dad. Those cornflower eyes were trained on him and showed no recognition of the memory, which was a shame; he would have liked to have one of them remember such an innocent moment from their childhood.

“You were only around four or five.” Asher seemed unaware of how much Storm hated not knowing so much about his life. “Still innocent but determined to be together.”

The fondness and sadness for his loss brought Storm’s mind back to why they were here. He had to stop letting sentiment and the past get in the way. They had a purpose for being here, and he was the one diverting them. No one would stop him from talking to his dad for the first time in twelve years, so Storm had to be the one that put them back on track.

“Dad, where is the amulet?”

“It’s been in your hands all along.” Asher pushed from the desk to step closer. When Storm didn’t retreat, he dug his hands into his trouser pockets as if to resist the urge to reach out. “I had to keep the amulet somewhere safe and hidden. After we learned of the prophecy, I knew you would be the one who needed it most, so I made sure you would always have it with you,” he explained, glancing pointedly at Yael. “All you had to do was ask nicely.”

“I have nothing resembling an amulet,” Yael replied instantly, the indignation making Asher chuckle.

“Show him your treasure, Yael,” he said, encouraging and fond in a way Storm had come to think of as a dad voice.

A rosy blush flourished over Yael’s cheeks as they reached behind them and returned with their favourite cane clasped tightly beneath their fingers. They offered the cane to Asher, who shook his head and gestured to Storm.

“Reveal its heart.”

With care, Storm took the cane from Yael’s grip to press to his lips for an awkward, brief contact. Show me your heart, he said in his mind, calling forth his magic to seek whatever his dad thought he’d find here.

A flash of images fluttered throughout his mind, so many, moving so fast that Storm had no chance to grasp onto a single one and explore. They weren’t unclear but thousands of images hinted at how long Yael’s life was; the past, present and future zipping through his mind. Storm forced his eyes open, still standing where he’d been but feeling older and confused as though time had passed.

Asher’s gaze was trained to the rounded handle of the cane, open in a petal formation to reveal a tiny black amulet sitting inside its protective cage. Storm wasn’t sure how or why, but when he looked at his dad, Asher smiled in amusement.

Yael stared without comprehension at the amulet sitting on a perch inside the handle of his cane—the one he’d been carrying around for as long as Storm had known him.

“You’ve been protecting Storm all these years.”

Speechless, Storm tipped the amulet into his hand.

“I was a child. I remember nothing,” Yael responded to justify the fact they hadn’t known. They’d never thought to even look inside their cane, because why would they?

When they looked to Asher for an explanation, he appeared sad. “A few days before I died, I heard crying from Storm’s bedroom. Yael was huddled in the armchair by the window, watching Storm sleep,” he recounted, pain clouding his voice as he focused on Yael. “I thought Storm was crying. Then you showed yourself to me. You asked me to protect him, to never lay the Tera legacy into his hands until he was an adult, to keep him safe.” He gazed at the threadbare carpet of his study thoughtfully, perhaps only realising in his last moments that Yael had known he would die and never told him. Demons weren’t allowed to mess with time or any sequence of events involving mages, even those of the dark arts. Even if Yael had understood what he’d seen, he wouldn’t have had the power or ability to hint at what might come.

Storm wanted to cry. A child—demon or not—had known something awful was about to happen to Asher but didn’t understand or wasn’t able to tell him. The burden of that knowledge must have been so heavy on their shoulders as a child alone in the world. Storm had never heard Yael mention a parent or guardian, and considering how much time they’d spent together as children they likely had nowhere else to go. Maybe that was why Asher had never asked Yael to leave Storm’s side or to stop being his friend.

“When I asked what danger he faced—” Asher stared at Yael with sad, fatherly eyes that wished he could take the pain away from the child they’d once been. “—you cried and told me that Storm must never hold the amulet before his eighteenth birthday. Then you disappeared and I never got to ask you to explain. I think you knew what was about to happen but didn’t have the words to explain to a human.”

Storm touched Yael’s arm, not sure how they felt about hearing this, knowing they couldn’t remember being that astute.

“Why the cane?” Yael asked, ignoring everything else in that stoic, brave way of theirs. “I didn’t have a cane until I was older. I liked the style, and it fitted my clothing preference.”

“You always did,” Asher replied fondly. “Whenever you played dress-up with Storm, he would tell me how you looked, that you loved a sharp suit and a long cane. You had found one in the attic that you liked, and Storm wanted to give it to you. I knew where to hide the amulet because I knew you would keep both the cane and amulet safe until you were reunited.” He turned his gaze on Storm as his eyes clouded with a deeper emotion.

Something spoke to the kid inside Storm who missed his dad and wished for more time with his family, the little boy who had hated them for leaving. Resentment throbbed painfully in his chest to the beat of the amulet’s magical hum.

“You kept your promise,” Asher said after clearing his throat. “For my son, for your best friend, for someone you loved and who loved you. You kept the amulet safe; then you kept him safe, even if you didn’t understand why.”

The weight of his words had an immediate effect on Yael’s tender emotions, the side they tried not to show. When they turned away to find Kyrie gazing at them with adoration, Yael stared at the carpet as though hoping no one would notice they were crying.

Storm pulled Yael into his arms for a hug and held on tight. He understood, felt the regret of not having those memories, the bond between them as strong now as always. The pain of knowing they’d been connected their entire lives but someone had stolen the bond from them, stolen them from each other, was insurmountable.

He didn’t know how or when, but he would make sure Gladys paid for what she’d taken. For Yael, for Rowan, and even for Kyrie, who had been treated with the same disregard she’d shown everyone else in her life. He’d do it for Donald, wherever his spirit may be, and for the demon-child who took his place in Gladys’s life, a prisoner in his own mind.

Gladys had a hell of a lot to answer for.

Rowan rubbed Yael’s arm consolingly, murmuring words of support. He said the words Storm should have spoken, but he was scared to open his mouth, afraid he’d be a bigger wreck than Yael if he did and all his conflicted emotions spilled out. Instead, he held on tight and thanked the Fates for allowing this version of his life to be different, for letting him reclaim what had been stolen. He wanted to ask how they could have let him suffer, but the Fates were in charge for a reason so there must be a point to this.

When Yael pulled away, composed and wearing an expressionless mask, they spared a momentary flash of a smile for Kyrie and straightened their suit jacket. Taking the cane from Storm, which he held forgotten in his hand, Yael closed the handle.

“Dad, I think you fulfilled your dying wish. You can go now. I’m okay,” he promised, hoping he didn’t think he was unwanted. Storm couldn’t bear to know he’d inadvertently kept him prisoner in this house. When his dad opened his mouth to speak, Storm cut him off. “Go be with Cesa while you can, go after mum to the abyss, or just leave this house. You don’t need to be stuck here.” There was so much his dad hadn’t seen or done, people he hadn’t visited because he’d been lingering here, waiting for the son who never came. Now that Storm had seen him, had been given his dying message, his dad was free from that burden and duty. Asher had to be curious about the world, about how Cesa was coping with his daily life when he wasn’t locked in grief.

“Will you return? I have so much I want to say.”

“Yes.” Storm was relieved his dad wanted him to come back. He’d been waiting twelve years, but he found it surreal that he could come here and Asher would be waiting. “Maybe in a few days. I’ll come by every day, and if you’re not here, that’s okay. You don’t have to be a prisoner in this house. Go explore, see how the world has changed. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Death was never meant to be a punishment, not even for a dark mage.

Asher nodded, then took a step. When Storm didn’t retreat, his dad came closer and hovered a hand an inch from his cheek. “I will always come back for you, little Storm. Death can’t stop me from loving you.”

He hadn’t realised how much he needed to hear the words until now. He’d never forget them now they were in his heart and head, in his memories. Storm reacted on instinct, lifting his hand in hopes of taking his dad’s, to touch his wrist and prove he was real. The moment he moved, Yael grasped his wrist to stop him.

“That would not be wise, youngling,” they advised, resorting to their habit of dishing out advice like an old woman. “While your father can touch the items in this house, his essence recognises this room as his. I’m afraid any contact between you would be draining for both of you.” The softening in their white eyes let Storm know they regretted having to stop him. “I don’t know the harm that touching death may do a necromancer.”

“Sorry.” He wasn’t sure if he was apologising for attempting to try, for not knowing, or if he was apologising to his dad for not making contact. Storm was so consumed with a mix of feelings he couldn’t separate them.

“I’d say touching you again would be worth any pain,” Asher said with a teasing smile for Yael, “but I want to see you and talk to you for more than just tonight.” He backed away a step to remove the temptation to reach out. “Take care of yourself, and let these three take care of you. Just because you’re a dark mage doesn’t mean you can’t ask for help. Many of us fall into that trap, and it never ends well. Be better and smarter than we were,” he counselled, the we carving a hole into Storm’s heart.

Asher hadn’t asked for help in dealing with Ithen and had lost his life, the life of his wife, the future with his family, and his secret lover’s sanity. He’d lost so much and though Storm knew Ithen was at fault, because of his greed and jealousy, his dad honestly believed that asking for help may have changed his fate. They would never know if he was right, but Storm wouldn’t make the same mistake.

Storm nodded. “I will.”