The Legend of the Eight: The Twisted (Book 3)

11: The Prodigal Son Returns

"What are the chances we end up ordering food again?" Drew murmured when they entered the house through the back door, stepping right into the heart of the kitchen. Phoebe giggled, rolling her violet eyes. In the weeks since their relocation, Walter and Clarion tried to prepare dinner multiple times and almost every one of those times, they ended up resorting to a drawer of takeout menus when their attempts failed.

"Sh!" she hissed through her giggles, hurrying into the house under his arm. They were in the middle of quietly laughing with each other when Phoebe looked over to the stove.

Standing there stirring a pot was a tall figure and at first glance, she thought the man might be Walter. However, the figure was a few inches taller (and thinner) than the King. Her next guess was Damon (who'd been avoiding the main house in the wake of his breakup with Wil) but the man at the stove had hair down to his shirt collar. The man at the stove turned around when he heard Drew and Phoebe enter and his mossy eyes locked on hers.

Her breath caught short and her palms grew sweaty. Oddly, guilt crept up her throat like bile when she realized she still had Drew's arm around her.

She exhaled and then blinked, like she thought her vision was playing tricks on her. But even when her eyes refocused, the man standing there didn't change.

"Leo?"

EVERYONE GATHERED AROUND THE TABLE for dinner (including Damon who stole frequent glances at Wil like some kind of lovesick puppy) and only after everyone was seated did Leo begin explaining the reason for his surprise visit.

"Things in the World of Magic aren't good," he said to which, surprisingly, no one replied with an obvious duh. "Jeremiah has destroyed everything—from the Royal Home to the shops in Alchemy Alley. Even the Academy is practically in ruins. He's enslaved most of the Pures and those he hasn't keep their heads down, afraid. Anyone who opposes his power ends up dead or missing. Every day, more and more people disappear."

"Then we should go back," Cam was quick to say, ignorant to the looks that both Clarion and Walter gave him when he said it. "I mean, if the World of Magic is crumbling, we have to go back and save it. Isn't that the purpose of the Eight?"

Phoebe looked at Drew and then to the plate of pasta in front of her, reminded of the truth. The truth was, the Eight were never designed to save the World of Magic. They were a means to an end—an end to Bartemius Thawne, that is.

"We are not sending you back there," Walter was quick to object, his voice so deep it was almost scary. "It's far too dangerous. You're not ready."

"Then train us!" Drew blurted out and Phoebe hoped he regretted doing so. He swallowed a breath and then in a calmer voice, said, "I'm sorry. It's just... For months, we've been trying to fix things behind the scenes. It's not working. Maybe it's time we do something else. We can take an active role. We can fight."

But Clarion quickly shook her head at him. She dropped her fork, which made a sharp clink! sound against her plate and Phoebe jumped at the sound.

"You are not warriors." She spoke with a sharp tongue, reminding the Eight and company that on the off-chance they'd forgotten, she was still the Queen. "The Eight of you, you are children. This war began long before any of you were born and it is not yours to risk your lives and fight."

"Like hell it's not!" Wil blurted in a way that only she could. No one else dared speak to the Queen like that. "Bartemius declared war because he wanted us. Jeremiah got roped in because of him and now he is taking over our home with my magic. You keep trying to shield us from all of this but we're already in it!"