Whoa. Yep. No messing about with guys this old. I let out a long, hard breath.
“Amara, my dear, sweet girl.” He appeared beside me, slowly taking my hand up to his lips. “You know I love you—” He kissed it, “—as if you were my own blood. But I will not stand by and see you make the mistakes your ancestors made. You cannot perform that spell, and if you do, your soul will pay the price.”
“It’s white magic, Arthur. It uses the will of Mother Nature. It can bring things back if She gives them passage.”
He nodded. “I know. And I happen to know that Drake has searched for this spell for some centuries. But I know God gives no man right to play his game. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. You know this.”
“I do. But I’m willing to suffer any consequence to save David—to bring him back. Even if it means the price for balance in the natural order of things is my own life.”
“What if it wasn’t?” he said, and paused. “What if it was the life of someone you love? Your father, perhaps? Could you live with the guilt?”
My eyes drifted slowly down to my feet. “But, what if the spell can also cure immortality—help the Damned?”
“Immortality is not a disease, my dear.”
“No. It’s a curse. And it haunts those children, Arthur. I can’t bear the thought of them never growing up,” I cried, pointing off to the side as if the Damned House was there. “I don’t want any more pain for them. I don’t want anyone suffering. I just want things to be normal.”
He swept in and embraced me, pressing his lips to my hair. “I wish I could go back and stop David before he gave you blood that first time, Amara. I want normality for you more than you could possibly know. But we have to accept what we cannot change, and change only what we can.”
“It is possible to change this, though, Arthur. I can do this spell. You know I can.”
“I know you are more powerful than you realise. But I have to ask you not to try it. I’ve given my reasons.” He stepped back from me. “And you will either listen or you won’t.”
“The thing is, Arthur, I’ve heard you, but I don’t agree with you.”
“Well, you always have had a mind of your own, my dear. What am I if not a man who has lived many centuries and experienced all walks of life? Why should you believe anything I have to say?”
“Because I feel it in my heart that this is the right thing, that this spell can help.”
“You feel that this spell can bring David back, and that is all you care about: consequences be damned.”
“Well, you got me then, don’t ya?” I said sarcastically, turning my palms up. “Guess you do know everything.”
“Amara, you know I feel the same—we all do. We all want him to live as much as you do—”
“No.” I held my index finger up. “Not as much as I do. You cannot comprehend how badly I don’t want him to die, or what I’m willing to do to stop it.”
He looked deep into my eyes, right past the barrier I forged, and pierced my soul. “I do see what you will sacrifice for this, and I understand it. You know I do, so do not accuse me of ignorance, my dear. I know better than any man what it means to lose those you love.” He wiped a hand across his mouth and turned away, the breath he exhaled coming out jagged. “I just don’t want to lose you in the process.”
“You know you can’t stop me.”
He nodded but didn’t turn around—didn’t look at me. “I wouldn’t think to.”
“Good.” I nodded once and, with fists tight, turned away like a solider with marching orders.
The forest leaned in as I entered, watching me walk the path toward the Stone. I felt my way along the columns of trees, pulled by the force of Nature surrounding everything in this place, keeping my eyes closed until the radiant warmth emanating off the Stone marked the end of my journey.
I sat down against it and pulled the rumpled paper from my pocket, angling it so the sun lit the page. The first item the junction spell called for was something dead. I frowned, chewing my lip. I really hadn’t thought this one through.
“Dead things . . . dead things,” I said to myself, looking around. The only dead things at the manor were the drained humans in the feeding block. And the idea of digging through a pile of rotting corpses was not really all that appealing. “Any suggestions?” I asked the forest.
A cool breeze settled around the base of the ancient trees then, flicking crunchy leaves toward my feet in a small pile. I tilted my head back and looked up at the sky, casting my eyes quickly back to the ground after. “I don’t get it.”
The leaves flickered in the wind again, the corner of one so dry it snapped off under my bare foot, and at the same time, so too snapped a conclusion: dead leaves. Of course.
“Thanks.”
With the spell in one hand, death in the other, I read the words aloud, feeling the pull of nature surge through my feet, up my legs, into my heart and down through my fingertips, charging them, making the energy within burn like fire. And at the point I expected the brown leaf in my palm to ignite, it came to life: green starting up the stem, spreading out like rivers of water along the veins, bringing moisture and elasticity back to its surface until, finally, I felt its spirit again.
The blue light in my fingers receded, leaving me open-mouthed and breathless. “You have got to be kidding me.”
The leaf seemed to revel in the sunshine, the magic of life tingling against my fingertips. I put it down quickly and shuffled back, waiting to see if it shrivelled and folded in on itself, dying without the touch of my curious blue light. But it stayed there, gently blowing in the wind, green and soft and supple. Alive.
I gave life. My body, my power, I gave life.
But it was just a leaf. It had neither breath nor consciousness. Jason said this spell made a path for a soul to cross over, not that it would regenerate an aged, lifeless body. All living things had souls, even the smallest ant or rose bud, but their souls were different to a human’s—they went to a different place. How could this spell to create a doorway or a path be used to restore something physical—to reverse ageing?
“Easy,” said a voice across the clearing. “It wasn’t the spell that did it.”
“Then what did?”
Jason went to speak, his mouth sitting open for a second, but he closed it, shaking his head as he came to sit beside me. “You.”
“Me?” I almost laughed. “I can’t restore life.”
“Not the kind you’re hoping to restore, no. But, you are the Auress of the mortal realm. And with that comes certain abilities.”
“Abilities?”
“They’re different for each of your kind. In my research, when I studied Lilithians back at college, I found that Lilith had the power to restore life to animals. She tried to extend that power to humans and even Lilithians, but it was very limited.”
“So. . .she could bring a dog back to life?”
“Yep.”
“And, what? I get plant life?”
Jase laughed. “I guess so.”
“Great.” I looked down at my fingertips. “That’s gonna come in handy one day, I’m sure of it.”
He laughed again. “Don’t think of it as something useful to you, but more of something that can benefit everything around you.” He motioned to the forest.
I smiled up at the trees. “Yeah, you’re right. And I did see a sad-looking rose bush on my way in. Maybe I can at least help it?”
“I bet you can. Now—” He plucked the page from my fingertips. “What were you hoping to achieve here?”
I eyed the spell. “I . . . I thought maybe, since David’s soul will be ‘disconnected’ from this realm when he uses the dagger, I might be able to bring him back.”
He slowly reached out for me. “Sweet girl, you don’t have this kind of magic.”
“How do you know?” I jerked away.
“This is witchcraft, Ara. You’re not a witch.”
“But I have magic.”
“You have Nature’s magic. It won’t support this kind of spell.”
“Then . . . maybe I can heal his body after he dies. Maybe I can start his heart, and the soul will slip back into the human form—like resuscitation?” I suggested.
“I doubt it, Ara. That’s not what—”
“Why are you so quick to shoot me down, Jase?”
“Because I don’t want you to be disappointed when it fails,” he said in a slightly louder voice.
“When it fails, huh?”
“Yes. When,” he repeated, lifting my chin so our eyes met. “Ara, I support everything you do, one-hundred per cent. But this won’t save David. I know this, to my core. If you keep hoping, all you’ll do is make it hurt more at the end.”
“You don’t know that it’ll fail. How can you possibly know that?”
“You’re right.” Jase opened his arms. “You’re absolutely right. So, try it on me: start my heart. If I’m wrong, I will apologise and we’ll go from there.”
I sat up on my knees. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” He unbuttoned his shirt a little and grabbed my hand, placed it against his heart. “Go on. But if I’m right, you need to drop this and realise that you can’t resuscitate David. And also that if the junction spell were to actually work, it would require a witch, Ara. Not an Auress.”
“Okay.” I nodded, repositioning my hand on his chest. His body felt cool and soft under my touch, the gentle rhythm of his needless breath moving his chest up and down a little faster now than before. He waited expectantly while I focused, feeling all life move from within the forest, through me.
But nothing happened. It was as if I’d poured water onto a lidded container: the power just didn’t go through—wasn’t . . . absorbed.
“I . . . oh, Jase.” I looked up into his eyes, half blinded by tears. “I can’t save him, can I?”
“Not with Nature’s magic.” He scrunched up the spell and tossed it over his shoulder. “But it never hurt to try.”
I took a jagged breath, the air cooling the tears on my lips. “Arthur was right.”
“I know.”
“I just. . .”
“I know.” He cupped my cheek and rolled my face against his chest. And it hurt. It hurt to smell him, be this close to him. It reminded me too much of what would be gone soon, but also, deeper than any other feeling, made me miss him so terribly bad I just wanted to stay in his arms.
“I know,” he said one more time, and I laughed into his shirt, half crying, and completely wetting it with tears. He leaned out a little and the smile he offered made the trees and grass seem yellow with warmth. “Hey, cheer up, m’kay. We got a party to plan.”