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The door opened and closed. Iris stiffened. The sofa shifted beneath her as a weight settled beside her, and a hand began stroking her hair. A hand that was not Char’s.
She was afraid to look at him.
“I’m sorry. I’m just not good at lying. Please don’t hurt the fairies. I really tried.”
A deep chuckle followed her rushed torrent of words. “Sweet little Iris.” The mage brushed her hair back behind her ear and leaned in, his breath hot on her skin. “Char seems to be under the impression I’m pushing you too hard with our magic lessons.”
Her breath hitched in her throat. Was that good enough? Did that mean the fairies were safe?
She pulled her hands away from her face and looked up at the mage. He wasn’t disguised as Jonah anymore. His frigid blue eyes were hard and inscrutable; his smirk could have meant anything. She swallowed hard, afraid to speak, afraid saying the wrong thing would end in harm for the fairies.
“Smile and wave, Iris.”
Right. Char would look for her through the window when he took off. She hadn’t finished lying to him.
She took a deep breath and turned to face the glass, searching for him down below. The snow was melting, revealing patches of dead, brown grass. Leaves were falling from the trees, shocked from their branches by the cold weather out of season, forming piles of death around the trunks.
It was all wrong. Outside was wrong. The smile she plastered on her face when she saw Char was wrong. The mage sitting beside her, positioned just out of Char’s sight, was wrong.
Char launched into the air, sending leaves swirling from the force of his wing strokes. She met his green eye through the window and wished he knew. Wished she could tell him.
But she smiled at him, and he flew away, taking her heart and all sense of hope with him.
She buried her face in the sofa's backrest. The mage resumed stroking her hair, and she trembled at his touch.
“You didn’t wave, Iris.”
“I didn’t last time.”
“Where is the book he gave you?”
Char told him?
Of course he did. He thought the mage was Jonah, and as a former orphan, Jonah would have been interested in the book, too. The names would have meant something to him. He would have told Iris about the ones he knew who came before her, and she would have told him about Fred, Ginger, and Kayla.
Her heart hurt.
“Iris.”
She forced herself to turn around and look at the mage, past the mage, to the spot where Char had left the book. “I-it was right there.”
The mage clicked his tongue. “Naughty little fairies.”
Panic flooded her chest. “N-not necessarily. They’re always tidying up. I-I’m sure they weren’t trying to hide it from you.”
His hand cupped her cheek. She flinched.
“And even if they were, you’d rather I punish you instead, wouldn’t you?”
She nodded.
He smirked and leaned in to kiss her. She forced herself to hold still, to accept the lie of his false affection in the light kiss, but everything within her recoiled from him.
He chuckled, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “You learn quickly.” Then he snapped the fingers of his other hand.
Iris hadn’t realized the fairies were gone until that moment. A solitary golden orb appeared, darting to the bureau and opening a drawer in obvious haste. It removed the hidden book and rushed it to the mage’s waiting hand.
He dropped it in Iris’ lap. “Open it.”
She did so with shaking hands. He was stroking her hair again. Like Char, but not like him at all.
“I-it’s a record of all the orphans Father John raised. He’s been doing this for fifty years. Or… or he had been doing it for fifty years…” A lump rose to her throat, preventing her from speaking further.
“Show me your entry.”
She turned the pages, blinking back tears, and pointed at her name. He took the book from her, and she covered her face in her hands. She heard the rustling of pages turning.
“Useless.”
And then there was a quick whoosh of flames, and she knew he’d destroyed it. Because he wanted her isolated and alone. The book was a connection to her past, and it had to go.
Char would have to go, too, eventually.
She knew that, and she knew she couldn’t let the mage kill Char, but she was powerless to stop him. At least Char was still useful to the mage, somebody he could hold over her head to make her behave.
“It’s time, Iris.”
The mage slipped his fingers between her hand and her cheek, prying her hand from her face and interlacing his fingers with hers as he stood. She wiped her eyes and nose and followed his lead, gaze downcast to the floor, not daring to look around for the fairies, not daring to look up at him. Obedient and silent.
The amulet felt heavy around her neck. She wished she could wrench it off and hand it over to him so he would just kill her and be done with this.
At the top of the spiral staircase was the study, and in the center of the room was the stone table. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to forget the fairies and save herself, but she climbed onto that table and waited, legs dangling over the edge, watching the mage walk across the room to a row of shelves lined with various liquids in jars, bottles, and vials.
He selected a small vial filled with a clear fluid and brought it to a wooden desk piled high with books and papers. A pitcher and a glass sat on a tray in the center of the mess. He poured water from the pitcher into the glass, or a substance that appeared to be water, and then he uncapped the vial and tipped a single drop into the glass. A cloud of red smoke rose from the surface of the combined liquids, and when it dissipated, the glass held a rich burgundy liquid.
He carried it over to her, and she took it with trembling fingers.
“What… does this do?”
“It keeps you alive throughout the process. Without it, you would die instantly. It took many attempts to perfect this potion.”
She knew what that meant. Many attempts; many lives. She wondered how many.
At least the potion wasn’t bitter or foul-tasting. It was cool and refreshing, like biting into watermelon on a hot summer day. As deceptive as everything else about the mage.
She drank the entire glass and handed it back to him, and then her hand fell to her side, no longer under her control. She felt nothing, no change in her body, no sense of her agency vanishing. One moment, her body responded to her unconscious commands as usual; the next, it didn’t.
The mage maneuvered her into place as before, positioning her flat on her back, arms at her sides, leather straps tightening down on her.
“Permission and trust,” he mused. “So vitally important. I learned that with my first human subject.” He chuckled. “Little Alana. She showed great potential as a mage, and she never suspected her devoted older brother would want to bring her harm. But I didn’t take her far enough out into the wilderness. Our parents heard her screaming. Not that it mattered much. I was done with them, too.” His hand caressed Iris’ cheek. “I can see why you reminded Jonah of Alana. You have the same sweetness and innocence about you.”
Iris’ wide eyes stared up at the mage’s dilated pupils, ready to devour her like he devoured his sister. His parents. With no remorse whatsoever.
“I never introduced myself properly to you, did I?” He dragged his fingers across her prone body to the amulet. “I don’t give my name out often. In old, forgotten magic, a name means power. But you’re in no position to use it against me, are you? And you never will be.”
He smirked. Heat radiated from the amulet.
“My name is Micah.”
Iris squeezed her eyes shut as her heart burst into flames again, as the darkness reached out for her.
“Jonah’s older brother.”
She was burning alive from the inside out, fire tearing through her veins to the tips of her fingers and toes, rending her asunder. If he was still talking, she couldn’t hear him anymore. She writhed and screamed on the outside, the agony so great, her body’s reflexive reactions to pain broke through the effects of the potion.
But inside, she had control. Inside, she knew what to do.
She fought and struggled to find the whispers, clawing her way through the abyss toward the distant, indistinct hissing. They were reaching for her, too, coming closer, becoming clearer, and when she found them, they took her by the hand, pulling her free from her body and the endless torment, up into the sky above the tower.
She’d never heard their individual voices this well before.
Iris, it is time for the crystal to go home.
Where?Where do I need to take it?
Come.
She followed them east, over the dark, snow-covered forest until the treeline broke and the plains began. There was no snow here, but the grass was dead and brown, trampled underfoot by cattle stamping and pawing at the ground to find a bit of greenery for sustenance. The drought had taken its toll even before the cold snap killed whatever grass remained.
She stopped to look at the poor, pitiful creatures. Their ribs showed; their lowing broke her heart.
This wasn’t right.
It’s over, Iris. Time to go back.
The scenery flew by in a blur, her return rushed by the whispers and a pull from her own body, something she hadn’t felt before. It yanked her back, and then she felt the searing pain, felt herself heaving and gasping for air.
Micah dropped the amulet and patted her cheek again. “Another hour. I didn’t expect you to tolerate another long session so soon after the first. But you are so motivated to please me, aren’t you? To keep your precious little fairies safe.”
He unstrapped her and scooped her into his arms, carrying her out of the study and down the staircase. The sweat was drying on her body, making her shiver, each involuntary movement sending another wave of fire through her. Her eyelids were heavy, her consciousness fading.
“Compassion. Such a useless emotion, and so easily taken advantage of. It made Jonah easy to find out here in his tower surrounded by an enchanted forest full of magical creatures. He was trying to save them from me, and he made himself a target. But I needed to finish the job, didn’t I? I let him go once, when he fled our home to seek safety with Father John.”
He laughed. The sound sent a chill down her spine.
“You should have seen the look on Jonah’s face when he came to the magic school and saw me. The shock, hatred, and revulsion. And hopelessness, because I was already so powerful that nobody dared to even question me, let alone try to stop me. I insisted my master take Jonah as his junior apprentice. I enjoyed tormenting him daily. It’s really a wonder my dear little brother didn’t go insane.”
Micah laid her on her bed and sat beside her again, brushing her hair back from her face. She had to force her eyes to stay open, force herself to continue listening. If she ever escaped—no, when she escaped—this would all be important.
“Compassion is your weakness, Iris. It makes you soft and pliable. Cast it aside, and there may be a chance for you to escape from me.”
He leaned in to kiss her. The pain she felt from that brief, soft contact was more truthful than the gentleness of his touch.
“Of course, if you fail in the attempt, you know what will happen, don’t you?”
He chuckled and patted her cheek. She wondered if he knew how much that hurt in her current state.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Iris. Be a dear and try to be conscious for me."7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡH7xvP1g1DF
