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CHAPTER 20
MONUMENT PARK, PROTECTED LAND, DELORNIA
VALEN
The mist is thick around Memorial Park when we arrive in the circle. The cloud blanketing the man-made foothill at the edge of the Astrum Forest consists of more than tiny, suspended water droplets. Whispers hiss from shadows, shapes shifting within our peripheral vision, yet when we turn to look for them, they’re gone.
Lucas’ back presses against mine, and the heat is a welcome pressure against this deep unease anchoring my heart. He keeps his voice low in hopes that no one overhears us. “It wasn’t like this before.”
“It wouldn’t be.” My lips part so that the air washes over my tongue in a deep inhale. The tang of magic is sharp, like I touched a freshly cut lemon. “The dead were disturbed.”
He stiffens. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“The bones of weavers are mixed into this earth. Our bodies are not meant to linger in this world after death. We need to be burned to ash so that our souls can return to the Tapestry with our Soul Threads. The weavers who were not claimed by their family lines, or had no family lines left to claim them, were burned in the humans’ bonfire, but the humans did not care to use a hot enough flame. The bones fossilized from the calcite-rich soil. Now these weavers are suspended in an endless hell, half within the Tapestry, half lingering in this land. My guess is that your fight here with Alasdair disturbed them.”
Lucas whips his head towards me, his hair brushing me from the force of it, and hisses, “Are you telling me that there’s actual ghosts here?”
My hands slide into my pockets, and I lean back against his frame. My head lolls to rest on his shoulder. “I am most definitely telling you that. You humans must know this land is haunted.”
“Yeah, but the ghost stories were supposed to be shit that your parents made up so you didn’t sneak off to fuck your girlfriend in the park, not real.”
I smirk, turning my face towards him. “Don’t tell me the mighty magician is scared of ghosts?”
“I am not scared of ghosts,” he snaps, then jumps when the shadows shift again. It jostles me, and I stagger back to standing upright with a frown. A chill shivers up my spine without his heat.
Lucas doesn’t notice. “Out of curiosity, how many of them do you think there are?”
I shrug. “In the hundreds.”
Lucas makes a strange choking sound, and I chuckle softly, turning to face him. He’s so pale, his eyes too wide. It’s oddly endearing.
He shoots me a glare. “I’m glad you find this funny. Meanwhile, I’m calculating the odds of surviving an encounter with Alasdair and an army of wraiths to save Tori.”
I wave off his concern. My father’s ring is heavy on my hand, and I don’t have the strength to keep it up, so I let it fall back to my side. I keep my left in my pocket, the lightness without my old ring odd and disquieting. “Ghosts cannot harm you, though they are as real as the mist around us. They might try to scare you, but they cannot alter the physical world. Surely, you know this.”
“Yes, I know that. I’m not a fucking idiot. Doesn’t mean I like them.” He shudders and rubs his leather-clad arms. “Let’s hurry up and save Tor before one touches me.”
“Yes,” I say with a hint of my usual drawl. “Let’s make haste to face something far less terrifying, like Alasdair.”
His face heats, and I’m filled with such malicious glee when he snarls, “Fuck off and concentrate.”
Lucas brushes past me to stomp down the platform. My fingers flex, the instincts to grab his hand suddenly overwhelming, but I curl them into a fist. My heart aches with the building pressure behind my eyes. I want to hold him.
I’m going to miss him so damn much. This is what I wanted to avoid. This attachment to him will shred me when he leaves with Astoria. Our time is coming to a close, and I don’t know how I’ll face the next day without him. And without Astoria, though Alasdair’s poison stirs to kindle a building rage at the mere thought of her.
With a slow exhale, I release these thoughts. I’ve already been wounded from my distractions. I cannot afford another. I turn on my heel and follow Lucas.
He walks carefully, his knees bent in a slight crouch. He unsheathes the sword silently, the black blade glinting. His other hand splays and his rings shift from matte black to glowing gold. I don’t have it in me to tell him a ghost is walking in line with him, but my lips tilt in the smallest of smiles.
I quicken my pace just enough to wave off the specter. It fades away, and Lucas holds up a hand to halt me. He crouches down, and when I don’t follow, he grabs my arm and yanks me down. I stumble to my knees and glare at him, straightening my ripped and blood-stained shirt with brisk swipes.
Lucas scowls. “Take this seriously. We might die.”
“Then we can see what all the fuss is about.” I motion to the ghosts shifting in and out of view.
He stares at me. “You’re clearly not okay.”
I pour all the snark I can muster into my tone. “I’m fine, magician. Your misplaced concern is touching but unnecessary.”
