Page 55 of Broken

Thanatos gave a jerky nod of his hood. “It was later stolen. But her ally was unable to get Illyria away. Too much of his power had been spent saving that piece of her soul, and the Bright Fae cursed him into oblivion.”

Ireland nodded, her face lighting up. “People still tell that story,” she said. “I heard it as a child.” She quoted, “And such was the spell that was wrought, at such great cost, no sorcerer was able to break it. So she was entombed in a prison of rock, fresh and young as the day she was imprisoned, and there she still lies, from that day to this.”

“Indeed,” Thanatos said, bringing them back to earth. “We can only hope so, and that we can find her.”

He tapped the Dark book. “But unless the Book of Twilight is found, these books are the only known proof that the Bright Fae are wrong. They will do anything to make sure they never come to light.”

Gunn gave a whistle. He said to Ireland, “Do they know you have them?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I thought they were after me, when they sent the Retrievers. I didn’t know the full significance of the books. I don’t think Riker did either. I thought the Bright Book would help me learn how to get the bracelets off, is all.”

Thanatos said, “You are incorrect. As you can see, both books will be needed. And, I believe, both books will be needed to help us free Illyria from her prison. Bright and Dark magic were used to imprison you both, and that is what we will need to free you.”

He looked from her to Cole, and back again. “The two of you must master the power of your bond as quickly as possible. We will begin tomorrow.”

Master the power of your bond. It sounded like such a good idea. But over the next week Cole found out it wasn’t as simple as it sounded.

He’d always been good at the things he tried—at least, the non-interpersonal ones. Athletics. Military training. Hand-to-hand combat. Tracking. Shooting.

But he apparently sucked at magic. Because eighty percent of the spells they tried, he fucked up. And a twenty percent success rate sucked in pretty much every endeavor except junk mail marketing.

Sure, Ireland made some mistakes. There were the expected timing and power regulation issues, between the two of them.

But mostly it was him. There they’d be, out in the middle of the explosives testing field, since that was the safest place on the Ridge for large bursts of power to go very wrong.

Thanatos would be standing there in his damn robe—which didn’t even move when it was windy, which was fucking creepy. He’d explain what he wanted—for them to lift an object, or destroy it. To freeze a person in their tracks. To raise wards in various configurations, or dismantle them, or temporarily bypass them, like Ireland had been doing with the safe. Or just blast other people’s wards into oblivion.

Usually, it would start out fine, Ireland taking the lead because she understood what to do. He’d feed her power, and memorize what she was doing. When it went well, they’d practice passing control to him.

And then.

Cole would feel the barriers going down inside him. The ones he used to hold back his memories, his emotions, his feelings. To hold back his visions of Riker. To not feel the intensity of the connection between him and Ireland—the immensity and totality of it.

To do what he needed to do with the magic, he had to join with her completely. And he just couldn’t make himself do it. Those walls were high and thick and they were there for a reason.

If they went down, they’d annihilate him—and maybe everyone close to him.

So he’d pull back, and the spells would collapse. Except the ones that blew up, making craters in the testing field that pissed Boomer off, because he only liked the craters where he put them.

And it wasn’t any better when DB tried to work with them.

Cole had never felt like such a fucking failure since he was a teenager, before he punched his dad in the mouth and left home.