The Magic of Shadows

Chapter 7

Helaine's POV

Habit had me rising before the sun had more than kissed the edge of the horizon. The room around me was as dark as the sky outside and the temptation to curl back up in bed was strong, despite my history of rising early to burn off excess energy. My sparsely decorated room was littered with shadows taunting me with the secrets they held. Instead of my loneliness being more bearable, it was overwhelming.

I couldn't be blamed for wanting one day where I could sleep in. One day where I didn't have to constantly take considerations for the curse in my life that should have been my greatest blessing.

It's a definite balance of risks, though, and I'm simply more dangerous to them if I haven't rid myself of some of my magic. Breaking Kevin's leg was the most horrific thing I'd ever done, and I'd like to keep it that way.

Reluctantly, I reached out for my bedside lamp, but it wasn't where it was supposed to be. My heart stuttered as I fumbled around for it, needing the light to chase the shadows far enough away for me to get up. My magic went searching for it, a layer of air adorned with purple sparks wrapping around it when I finally located it on the floor. Once the lamp's back on the desk where it belongs, I reach over and turn on the light, illuminating the complete disarray of my room, shadows curling like they've been burned as they shift to the corners.

Every night it was the same—I fell asleep, I dreamed, and I woke up to the few belongings I kept in my room tossed around like they'd been in a gale storm. This morning it looked more like a category 5 hurricane had come through, though. It's hard to say if it's because I'm losing control again or if fear merely has me in its claws again.

The incident yesterday morning shook me enough to believe that either could be true.

And as I did every morning, I used my magic to set everything back to where it was supposed to be. I carefully did my hair, making sure my braids that helped control some of my wayward magic were in place before adding another, just to be sure.

Once I was dressed, I headed down the stairs. Marc already being in the kitchen and drowning himself in a cup of coffee wasn't a surprise, he'd only been here one full day and I had realized he was verging on an addiction. But Brandon, barely awake and sipping his own coffee, and Victor, sleepy eyed but offering me a soft smile after his yawn ended, were completely unexpected.

My chest thudded as the ache I had woken up with eased, loneliness ebbing further away.

"Good morning," I murmured, looking between the three of them. If the Blackbourne's were going to send someone to discourage me from doing my energy shedding, I don't think they'd choose Victor. Fire mage or not, the flames in his eyes were currently at a gentle burn—like coals left over from an evening hearth fire—and he wasn't one to inspire intimidation or obedience. Even so, his presence was making me uneasy even as it warmed me.

"I was wondering if I could join you," Victor explained, the last hints of sleep making his voice huskier than usual. "You can say no, I was just curious about what the morning rite was like when it's actually sincere."

My head cocked to the side, remembering my conversation with Marc. "You were raised Old Order, weren't you?"

Victor grimaced. "In name only. I was born into the Legare Coven," he explained, pronouncing it Luh-gree, and I winced in sympathy. More families in the Charleston elite were witches than they'd care to admit, and anyone who was anyone was a member of the Legare Coven. It was synonymous with old money in South Carolina, and any other social failings that came from having too much money and influence. But Marc hadn't been wrong in his assessment of what Victor's early life would have been like in that coven—it was more about the show than any actual reverence to the earth and magic.