We made our way toward the back garden. I was last to leave, glancing one last time in the direction of the magnolia tree, knowing I wouldn’t be back to visit her tonight. That kind of thing would have to stop—it wasn’t safe, because I was still unsure whether or not I could be trusted to be there alone. It might have lessened now that it was out in the open, but the tree still drew me to it.
As I crossed the overgrown lawn, I wondered again about what the last Daughter was capable of. Was she a warrior? The only one with the skill to vanquish Azazel? Or was it all part of some prophecy we knew nothing about, that her waking was a sign of Azazel’s rule coming to its end?
Why had the other Daughters looked at me with such interest when we went to visit them?
We needed the Druid to tell us about the last Daughter—the full, uncensored truth this time. We couldn’t afford to remain in the dark on Eritopia’s matters, not when we were the ones seeing visions and being called to strange trees and discovering women in the earth. We needed to know what was going on, and how much hope of getting home we actually had.
Aida
After complaining that I was tired during dinner, once I got into bed, sleep completely evaded me. Vita dropped off straight away, and Serena must have been sleeping in the armchair downstairs. We’d asked her if she wanted dinner, but she wasn’t hungry and so we’d left her to her night-time vigil over Draven.
I lay back on my pillow, looking up at the ceiling. Vita had left the lamp on, and so I could see the moldy and peeling paintwork. I was sick of this place. The heat, the humidity, the inability to roam anywhere we wanted to, having to stick within the confines of the garden. Tomorrow I would explore the front garden—at least it would be something new, and I doubted, with the way Draven was, that we’d have Oracle training. I felt bad for the Druid. The Daughters were cruel and vicious. I’d never seen a creature be so calmly methodical in their destruction. To me, their attitude was scarier than the act itself.
I tried not to think about the voices of the shape-shifters that had called to me in the mists—I even hated that they were called that. It was another name for werewolves, but I couldn’t imagine two species less alike.
They had known I had werewolf blood in me. They had called me weak, because I couldn’t change form. Their taunts had gone on and on, always the same, telling me to shift, telling me I was a sub-species because I couldn’t do what was in my nature. That had been bearable. It was when they’d called me to join them that I’d felt like I was going mad. They promised that if I followed them, I could take on my true form—become what I was meant to be, had my blood not been diluted.
I had wanted to follow them so badly. Even if rationally I had known that it was just a ploy, that I would become nothing but dinner, their cries had been so convincing. On the way back through the storm, I had felt something. A jolt in my stomach, like something was moving inside me, something primal and instinctual that wanted out.
Enough.
I sat up in bed. I wasn’t going to lie here all night dwelling on falsehoods. I would go and see if Serena or Draven needed anything, try to be helpful and get out of my own head.
I got off the bed, careful not to wake Vita. I took the lamp with me, hoping she wouldn’t mind. It would only be a problem if she woke up in the night, but she seemed to be in a deep sleep. Creeping out of the room, I jumped as a floorboard creaked underfoot. I paused, making sure it hadn’t woken my friend, and then continued. I averted my eyes from the ceiling or the shelves as I hurried down the hallway—this was the spookiest part of the house, and I could practically feel the beady eyes of the preserved animals following me.
Hurrying down the stairs, I held the lamp up high, slightly wary of the shadows and groans of the house. As I reached the main entrance, I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. I spun around, my heart feeling like it had jumped into my mouth.
Idiot.
It was my own reflection, staring back at me with wide eyes from a large, age-spotted mirror. I sighed, irritated at almost giving myself a heart attack. I was about to turn away when I saw a movement in the mirror. I watched open-mouthed as black shapes moved across my bare arms and chest. I crept closer to the mirror. They were runes, flitting across my skin as if there was an invisible hand writing them—a constant stream of symbols and icons appearing and then vanishing again a moment later.
Was the change happening? Had the physical side effects of becoming an Oracle begun?
The lamp trembled in my hand. I looked down at my skin, and saw nothing. It was completely clear, devoid of the runes. When I glanced back up at the mirror, they were still there.