Unbound (Unbound, Book 1) ~Formerly Casting Power~

Chapter 48

"Practicing isn't the same thing as being able to practice, especially with the bloodline you're descended from."

"Conjecture."

"Noreena, do you have any idea how this looks for me? I have a daughter nobody knew about and she is acting like a powerless nobody!" he exploded. "You need to fix this opinion that people have of you."

"Or else?"

"Forget, just for a minute, how this looks on me," Devland said, fighting for calm. "Did it ever occur to you that Duvessa might leave you alone if she knew that your abilities surpassed hers?"

I fled the room as the power finally regenerated, and the house lit up.

* * * * *

Twenty minutes later, I was sinking deep into a relaxing hot bath filled with lavender-scented bubbles. I lay my head against the head cushion and tried to concentrate on the book I'd brought with me: a sappy teenage romance where the geeky girl always gets the hot, unobtainable boy.

Nothing that required brain function.

It didn't matter. I could think of nothing except for the predicament my mother's death had left me in. In less than a year, this would be a memory. I would be eighteen, living my life as I wanted. I was afraid that staying away from Briarville would cause my memories of home to fade, forgotten in the time and distance that was forced on me. I feared letting go, as if letting go meant giving up. It was what Devland wanted from me, damn the consequences.

I closed my eyes and tried to picture it. I could smell the fresh air in our open backyard, enveloped in the woody scents wafting from the forest. My mom and I were having a picnic, the go-to of our relationship. I was about twelve, and her smile when she looked at me was all that I required to feel special—I had still been young enough to think of my mom as my hero, which I'd never truly outgrown. It was a playful look, full of love and pride, though how she could she feel that way about me when I denied the part of me that she'd worked a lifetime to perfect within herself was anyone's guess.

I sat up, realizing that the water on my face was not from the tub.

It was a bittersweet moment, grieving her death while remembering such happiness. If she was somehow watching me from the afterlife, I was going to make sure to do something that would make her proud. I owed her that much, and I knew that she'd want me to start by proving my innocence. Jumping up, I ran back to my room in my robe and grabbed my mother's Book of Shadows. Her wisdom would help me from beyond the grave, I was sure. She'd said she'd made sure I'd always remember what she'd taught me.

"Okay, Mom, what secrets have you hidden in here?" I whispered to myself, palming the book as I settled on the floor. I flipped it open to the page that I'd seen with Maible. There was nothing. Maybe I had hallucinated, or it had been a trick of the light from the candles we'd been using. Shadows.

I dragged the circular area rug from beneath my desk and placed it at the foot of my bed, the center of the room. After a quick but thorough search of the main sitting room at the bottom of the stairs, I added five white candles around its perimeter—four around and one in the center. Nodding with success, I sat and picked the book up, fingering its inlaid covering engraved with the letters VKF in gold calligraphy. The value was unmistakable, an uncharacteristic deviation of her frugal nature. In a weird sense, it made me happy that she'd indulged on herself.

"Incendia," I whispered, closing my eyes and envisioning the candles being lit.

Nothing. I took a deep, calming breath, centering myself the way that my mother had advised until my body felt grounded, connected like the roots of a tree spreading down to touch the earth's core. Being at ease was the key to my success. It was a hard trait to learn, she'd said, because you must be able to do it under immense pressure at times. As a High Priestess, she'd had to learn to center her thoughts in a moment. She believed in me enough to think that I could, too.

"Incendia," I whispered again.

I focused my gaze on the candles and envisioned each being lit by an invisible hand. They flickered and then caught, lighting in unison with steady intensity. I held my breath, afraid that they would fizzle out, but they stayed strong.

"Thank you, Mom." I smiled, choking up. "Okay, here I go. I want to receive guidance, so if you could help with that, too, I'd be grateful. I'm finally doing what you'd hoped for."

I opened the book and laid it in front of me. If I was able to control lighting the candles, a simple verse shouldn't be a problem. If I worded it correctly, I would be able to see what might be there when nobody else could. If my mother hid it, she didn't want anyone to be reading it, myself excluded. I hoped.

"From your hand unto my own eyes,

Show what's kept in disguise.

That what's been hidden from all to see,

Reveal now only to me.

Release your bind,

And show me what I wish to find."

I imagined the hidden ink, remembering what she'd said about my being able to visualize things, just like she could do. I didn't need the words unless there was no way of imagining what I wanted. The book didn't change at first as I flipped through the pages, but I soon realized that there was hidden text, it just wasn't on every page. It was a lot different to feel like I'd accomplished something by using my abilities than I imagined it would. It was empowering. It was satisfying. It was good.

My mother may be right after all: I could learn to not only use my abilities, but I might enjoy doing it.

I picked up the book and walked to the edge of my bed. Only as an afterthought did I realize I'd snuffed the burning candles as I left my makeshift circle. I hadn't even imagined doing it.

Skipping what I already read, I dove into the hidden passages. My mother had written of her dreams and fears. She'd gone into detail about her hopes for me, which brought a new wave of tears to my eyes. How could I ever measure up? I was going to try, though, because for the first time I was beginning to realize how important she'd felt it was. The hidden passages were written more like a personal diary than a Book of Shadows, though there were a few incantations, which was the weirdest part of all.

The passages hid guides for rituals and incantations that were considered impossible by the magical community. No one person should be able to accomplish what she'd written, yet a nagging feeling told me she'd done these things. Binding and unbinding people, stripping someone's powers, visualizing instead of using spells—most things that only the High Council would be able to do by combining their powers together.

I knew she had, though. I was proof. She'd bound my powers until the day that she'd died.