The Sage Page 2

  “It’s good to finally meet you,” she says, extending her hand when they break away. “I’m Willow. Lily’s sister.”

  Clio blinks and slowly returns the handshake. “I’m Clio.” He turns to me. “Lily? I thought you hated that name.”

  Willow turns to me, the smile still there. “You hate your nickname?”

  I shake my head. “It just always felt weird. I guess, deep down, I associated it with you, and I didn’t understand that.”

  Clio pulls his hand back from Willow and takes the smallest step backward. “I… I have so many questions.”

  “I can imagine,” she says, bobbing her head. “And don’t worry, you’ll learn everything in time. For now, though, you need to spend all the time you can with her.”

  He reaches out to clutch my hand. “I intend to.”

  Willow smiles, and I know it’s because a fierce blush has appeared on my face. “You two are such a cute couple.”

  Despite everything I’ve been through, I can’t find the courage to meet Clio’s gaze and see how he reacts to her statement. Even though he’s never given me a reason to think differently, I don’t know what I’ll do if he disagrees. What if he says it was all just a joke?

  So, I disengage myself from the situation. “Hey, boy!” I call to Kado, reaching my fingers toward him.

  Excited yips burst from the dead dog, and his tongue laps over my palm before he sets his front paws on the bed, prepared to jump up with me.

  “No, no,” Willow says and taps him on the head.

  Kado’s enthusiasm fades as he looks up at her, the excited barks fading into concerned whines. He sniffs loudly and nuzzles my hand. Clio takes another step away.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, my own smile faltering.

  “This dog…” He gestures toward Kado.

  Then I remember how jarring everything must be to him. I’ve gotten used to Willow and her resurgence, as well as her collection of reanimated animals and people. I’ve grown so used to death that I barely notice the massive scar across Kado’s torso—the one that had originally killed him.

  “He’s dead,” Willow says with a shrug. “I am too.”

  Clio’s eyes go wider than I’ve ever seen them.

  “He’s harmless,” I assure him. He’s gone as white as Kado’s fur, and I’m a little worried this is all too much for him to accept.

  Kado, sensing the sudden tension, takes the opportunity to lick Clio’s hand. Some of the panic visibly leaves Clio’s shoulders. “I have a lot to learn,” he says at last, running his fingers through the soft puff of fur on the top of Kado’s head.

  I bob my head, and a new flash of memories hits me—Crowe and the file. He saved my life at Headquarters, but the last image I can remember of him is Crowe running through the thick of the battle beside Katrina. “Where’s Crowe?”

  “With Katrina, I’d imagine,” Willow says.

  That drains all my concern at once. Even though Crowe was on the Council’s side before the Battle of the Grove, I hear no disdain in Willow’s voice. For saving me, he’s welcome here. Not to mention the fact that Katrina wouldn’t have it any other way. In the face of everything, it’s nice to think something positive has happened.

  “I’ll go get him, if you want,” Clio offers.

  I shake my head. “It can wait.” I don’t want to say out loud that I was worried Willow had turned him away. I’ll give Crowe his time to settle in, to be with the love of his life. For everything he’s done for me, it’s the least I can do for him.

  “Okay. Whatever you need,” Clio says, squeezes my hand, and sits down again.

  I smile back at him, but it feels a little forced when I look at Willow. Now that my initial feelings of the situation have settled, my brain is diving deep. When I look at Willow, I see Ivy, and then I remember what Helena said—how she abandoned us once again. I was a fool for thinking that a snake emerging from its skin would be reborn as anything other than a snake.

  As far as I know, Willow didn’t see Ivy in Ignis. Helena and I were the only witnesses to the fact that, for years, she was Helena’s pet cat, hiding from the threat of execution rather than letting either of her daughters know she was still alive. I wonder if Helena had already told Willow about, or if she thought it would be better coming from my mouth.

  Just as I make the decision to ask, the door once again slams open. Clio hops to his feet, he and Willow forming a protective wall between whoever is entering and me. Annoyed, I glance around them as Ambrossi runs inside.

  “I need everyone out now!” he demands, panting. When he catches sight of Willow, he gives her an apologetic blink.

  “What’s happening?” she asks. Helena appears in the room, pushing a bed ahead of her. There’s a witch curled up on it, but I can’t tell who it is under all the blankets.

  “Food poisoning,” Helena says, and the end of the sentence is punctuated by the sound of the witch vomiting.

  Clio crinkles his nose before he turns to look at me. “I’ll come back as soon as I can, okay?”

  I nod but don’t look at him. Willow and Clio hesitate a moment longer before another warning look from Ambrossi sends them on their way. They know better than to argue with such a dedicated Healer in the presence of a sick witch.

  Chapter Four

  Answers

  I’M NOT SURE which is worse, listening to the thoughts inside my head or the witch in the other bed puking their guts out. I stare down at my bandaged legs and experience a moment of pure envy for the other witch in the room. Whoever it is will get better.

  I will not.

  Helena checks in on me and the other witch a few times, but other than that, I’m alone, and that’s dangerous. My mind is in a constant state of wondering, of straying away from what I should be focused on. I need to talk to Crowe, to see if he still has the file. I have no idea what’s inside, what it could tell me about Ivy, or if it has anything to do with why she’s abandoned us again. I could see, but I can’t work up the nerve to summon Crowe.

  Instead, I torture myself with other aspects of my life until I think I’m going to scream. Just for the Hell of it, I try to move my legs—both the one injured at childhood and the one just recently destroyed. They hurt the same. It shouldn’t be possible, and yet it is. I’m curious what they look like under all the gauze and bandages. I picture deep holes and frayed tissue. It’s hard to believe icicles are behind this. I reach down, gently fingering the edge of my bandages.

  As if Helena sensed me about to do something I shouldn’t, she appears in the room and approaches my bed, orange eyebrow raised curiously. “What are—”

  I grab her collar so tightly that I nearly choke her. “Where’s Crowe?” I ask, fairly certain that I’m scaring her but also unable to release my manic grip.

  She blinks, black eyes stretched wide. ‘I’ll get him for you, but first, we need to move you to a new room.’ She projects the thought to me, and I release my death grip, feeling guilty.

  I narrow my eyes, not liking the answer but at the same time wanting to see him too desperately to argue. “Thank you.” Then I pause. “Why do I need to change rooms? What’s wrong with this one?”

  The other witch hurls again, and I grimace. Helena gives me the same look in return. She gently helps me up into her arms. At first, I assume she’ll drop me—that I’m far too heavy for someone delicate like her to carry—but she manages me just fine. As she approaches the door, I send a last glance back at my old bed and the sick witch beside it.

  “Get better soon,” I call, but there’s no response.

  I didn’t expect one.

  I look at Helena’s long red hair as we move easily down the hallway. It seems longer than the last time I saw her, and I wonder if it’ll continue to grow even though she’s technically dead. “That witch must be pretty sick if you’re moving me.”

  She shrugs. “Not particularly. I could put you back in there, if you want. I just felt maybe you didn’t want to listen to another witch pu
king half the night.”

  “See? This is why you’ll always be my best friend. You just know things.”

  She smiles, and if she were still alive, I imagine a fierce blush would’ve overtaken her cheeks. Not out of embarrassment but out of pride for the fact that we know one another like the backs of our own hands. The room she takes me to is across the hall from the last one but a ways down—hopefully far enough away to not hear the vomiting echoing down the hall.

  The new room is small, comfier, designed more as a bedroom than part of the hospital wing. The bed isn’t a tiny one with silver railings at the edges; it’s fluffy and comfortable, and I sink right into it.

  “This is much better, Helena. Thank you.” I hadn’t realized how badly I needed the change of scenery until it was forced on me.

  “You’re very welcome, Li,” she replies and reaches out to swipe my hair out of my eyes. “Did you need anything else before I go get Crowe?”

  I shake my head, feeling that twinge of nervousness all over again, and pull Helena into a hug so tight that she’d be winded if she still needed to breathe. There really are no words to describe how much I love this girl.

  “How’s your pain?” she asks. She pulls away as if she fears she might hurt me with her affection. Her fingers trail my bandages so lightly, I barely feel it.

  I smile or put what I think appears to be a smile on my face. That is one question she doesn’t want me to put into words, and it’s one I don’t want to even attempt. I know it will end with me in tears. If I’m going to see Crowe in a minute, that is the last thing I want to do.

  “Not too bad,” I force myself to say.

  Helena narrows her eyes. “Really?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I just want to talk to Crowe.”

  “Be back in a minute,” she assures me, and she does not lie.

  I count the seconds, and exactly sixty later, she’s back with Crowe in tow. I sit up when our eyes meet. His hair is windblown, cheeks still covered in ash and soot, and I know he’s given no time to himself since we arrived—not even to sleep or bathe. He’s been at Katrina’s side, and this is most likely the first time he’s been asked to leave it.

  Love is a hell of a drug.

  “Thank you,” I tell Helena.

  She nods and curtsies. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  I’ve been stubborn in the past about asking for help, and she knows I haven’t changed that much. She’ll be better off reading my mind if she wants to know my true thoughts, and by the way she narrows her eyes before slipping out of the room, I have a feeling she’s come to the same conclusion.

  Crowe doesn’t greet me or ask how I am. He slips a bundle of papers out from the folds of his cloak and hands them to me before swiping the strands of messy red hair from his eyes. The exhaustion as he plops down in the chair makes him look ten years older at least.

  “Have you slept?” I ask him.

  He smiles and lifts a hand to his face, wipes his eyes, and looks at me carefully. “Haven’t had the time. And I’m guessing you haven’t had much of it, either.”

  “You’d guess correctly,” I say and yawn, as if his acknowledgment of my exhaustion finally makes it real.

  “There’s a lot here to take in,” he admits.

  “Katrina give you a tour?”

  Crowe bobs his head. “It’s a lot different from the Land of Five.”

  That’s the truth. “How’s Dawn?” I ask, wondering if Crowe has even taken the time to inquire about her.

  “She’s… well…” His face twists into an undecided grimace.

  “She’s what?”

  “She’s not handling things as well as you,” he admits, and the corner of his lip twitches. “She hasn’t even been kind to the Healers. She told Ambrossi to never talk to her again. I don’t think she meant it, but she’s struggling with the idea of… well…” His gaze drops to my legs.

  Her struggle is mine.

  “She’ll be okay,” I say at once.

  I don’t know how I know it, but I do. I remember the very first time I saw her, her bouncy walk as she climbed the hill during the Arcane Ceremony. She was a powerful witch then, and that kind of strength doesn’t go away because of one tragic event. “It might be years from now,” I admit, reaching down to brush my fingers against my originally damaged leg, “but she’ll adjust.”

  Crowe smirks at the gesture.

  I jerk my hand away. “What’s so funny?”

  “You… being optimistic. I’m not sure what to do with that.”

  “I’m allowed to be from time to time.”

  “Of course you are. It’s just strange. I haven’t seen it much.” He shrugs, but the irritating smirk remains on his face.

  “Fair enough.” The very first time I met him, I had tried to hit him in the face. I’ve never truly been kind to him, just civil at best. It’s hard to believe we became friends through that.

  Biting his lip, he eyes my legs again. “You play it down, but how are you, really?”

  I look down at the folder, not wanting to see the pity on his face—if there is any. There was a second ago, and I ignored it with the laughter, but now, it’s not so easy. Crowe’s always been a strange one when it comes to emotions, going from hot to cold and back within five minutes. But I can’t handle that kind of uncertainty right now.

  “Have you had a chance to read it yet?”

  Crowe shakes his head. “It… uh… didn’t seem right without you. It’s your mother in there.”

  My mouth is dry as I stare down at the manila folder. This is the moment I’ve waited my entire life to reach—the minute I would learn the truth of my parents, my leg, everything. Slowly, I open it, and the first thing I see is a picture of my mother. But she looks young, too young, and I wonder when this was taken. I lift it with shaking fingers and turn it over, but there’s no writing on the back.

  My eyebrows pull together, and I hear the creak of Crowe’s chair as he shifts closer, but he doesn’t speak, either. He’s giving me time, as he promised he would. I set the picture aside and pick up the front paper.

  Name: Ivy Paradox

  Eye Color: Blue

  Hair Color: Black

  Mother of two daughters: Willow and Lilith

  Coven of Origin: Mentis

  Power: Shapeshifting

  Tears build in the corners of my eyes. Until now, it was easy enough to think the encounter with my mother was nothing but a figment of my imagination. This proves it was real, that she’s real, and that leaves me torn.

  I set the paper next to the picture and turn to the next page. Willow’s name is at the top, followed by a brief description and the word Deceased after the date and time of her execution. Below that, I see my name, and my breath catches in my throat. The first word after my name is a giant red Missing, and I wonder who took the time to write that down. Had it been the Sage or someone else? Someone I’ve never met?

  I think of the extensive bunker of witches housing all the old members of the Council before the Headquarters were destroyed. There’s no telling who it was, but they didn’t forget about me after I disappeared in the Battle of Ignis. The Council kept me in their thoughts right up to my capture, just as I suspected they would.

  Swallowing, I push the thought away and force myself to keep reading.

  Original Coven of Origin: Mentis

  Last known Coven of Residence: Ignis

  Powers: Many

  First appearance in Mentis, Lilith is believed to have been born outside the Land of Five. Briefly, she was raised in Mentis until Ivy was lost. Lilith was then passed along to foster parents Regina and Howard, UnEquipped Ignis residents, to monitor her for signs of further magic development. While her original abilities are unknown, she was corrupted with Ignis magic at the age of three when Howard disobeyed orders. Her childhood passed without signs of ability until shortly before her Arcane Ceremony. Her results were unlike those we have seen before.

  A drop of water hits the paper,
and I realize I’m crying. I’m not sure which is the hardest part to comprehend—the fact that I was born outside the Land of Five or the fact that Regina and Howard always knew the truth about me. Yet instead of doing what the Council wanted and throwing me to the wolves at the first sign of magic—to be stripped of powers or executed—they disobeyed orders and kept me hidden for as long as they could.

  A sickening jolt of realization flares through me. The Elemental Coven weren’t responsible for killing my adopted mother and father. That was the Council. And the worst part? They did it right under my nose, and I stupidly believed them.

  Eyes burning with tears, I look up and meet Crowe’s gaze. His face is pale, and he glances from me to the paper before asking, “What’s it say?”

  I can only pass the paper to him. He reads it quietly, and I watch the curiosity behind his eyes morph first to confusion, then horror. Finally, he peers at me over the edge. “I don’t understand. If the Council wanted to strip you of your powers, why did they nominate you to take Tarj’s place?”

  “I don’t know,” I say softly, staring at the picture of Ivy again. “I don’t understand any of it.”

  I’ve been passed from home to home to home my entire life. It’s no wonder I have no clear idea of who I am. I’m a mixed creation, holding pieces of all the different witches and homes that I’ve come into contact with over the years.

  Crowe brushes the hair from his eyes again and blows out a breath. It’s hard to read his face, and I don’t like it. I wait to see if he says anything, but he doesn’t, so I try prodding into his thoughts, a thousand questions at the front of my mind. Who wrote this file, and how deep does the information go? Surely, Crowe must have some idea.

  “What is it?” he asks as soon as he feels the intrusion in his head. He lifts a hand to cover the space between his eyebrows and blocks the connection.

  “Did you know?” My voice trembles with so much uncertainty, it’s almost impossible to understand the words.