The next floor of the cottage was long. Surprisingly so. Maybe even weirdly so. The floorboards gleamed in the incandescent light. The air was scented and fresh. Numerous doors lined the hall on both sides.
Emily stood, startled, as she looked all the way down the corridor. The length couldn’t have been right. This corridor looked thrice as long as the actual length of the house.
Michael had gone three steps into the corridor when he noticed she was no longer following. He paused and turned to look at her. A question blossomed on his face the moment he saw her shock. But then he smiled.
“I thought it was weird, too.” He knew what she was thinking. “I didn’t think much of it, until I came outside. But then I saw the dome and the three and you, so I figured it was some form of sorcery. This is Anastacia’s place, right?”
Emily nodded.
Michael smirked. “I always knew that crackpot was a witch. She managed to deceive the entire town, including my dad. But she didn’t get past me. Just like . . .” His voice trailed off.
“Just like I didn’t get past you, right?” Emily’s anger was beginning to rear its head once again. “You were going to say that, weren’t you?”
Michael looked down. “Yes. But I didn’t. That’s what matters. Now are you going to help me get your father tucked in bed, or are you going to stand there and pout about it?”
Emily balled her palms, trying her best not to let the fire demon take control of her rage. She could feel him knocking around in her mind. She could feel the heat of his power burning in her blood. She could feel his magic; she could hear his promise. It was going to burn all her enemies to cinders. It was going to save her friends. It was going to destroy the Alfreds. It was going to drench the whole town in fire and blood if anyone dared oppose her.
“Emily?” Michael’s voice was tainted in fear. “Can we go?”
Emily grunted and started walking again.
They got to the fifth room on the right. It had Michael’s name clearly stenciled on the upper lintel. Emily frowned at it as they ducked into the small, homely room.
It had a nice king-size bed up against the windows. Emily helped Michael lay her dad on it. She pulled the curtains apart and looked out the closed window. It was a view of the side of the house. There were tall eerie-looking trees. There was also the side of the barrier, which shimmered in the night.
If she leaned against the window and looked down, she could see portions of the front of the house. She saw the dirt path and a side of the Alfreds’ Land Rover.
“Em . . .” Dad’s strained voice yanked Emily’s attention back into the room. She plopped down on the bed beside him.
He turned his neck with great strain until he was looking in her direction. His lips were pinched into a pressed line. His eyes coated with tears. One drop escaped his right eye, rolling down his temple.
“It’s okay, Dad,” Emily crooned. “I’m okay. You got hit by a lightning bolt.”
Dad nodded. It took him a full ten seconds to accomplish it. Emily was relieved for one reason—which was that Dad was recovering. He wasn’t going to be perpetually paralyzed.
“He’s getting better,” Michael observed. “It might take some time for his chemical synapses to stabilize, but he’ll walk again. About ten hours or so.”
Emily blinked at her brother. “How do you know all that?”
He shrugged. “In my dad’s line of work, this kind of stuff happens all the time.”
Dad had already turned to look at Michael, who had retreated to the doorway.
“Hello, Mr. Davies,” Michael addressed him. Emily might have dreamed it, but she could have sworn she heard respect in the young man’s words.
Dad didn’t even try to speak. He only moved his head in acknowledgment.
“We need to go and figure out our next plan,” Michael said to Emily. “Plus, there’s a lot more I need to know. Let’s get started.”
Emily hissed, ignoring the guy. She returned her focus to her father. She wasn’t going to allow Michael to dictate what she did or when she did it.
“Go, Emily,” Dad muttered. “I’ll—be—fine.”
Emily wished Dad wouldn’t be so modest. She wished he wouldn’t send her away. Because she knew what she must do. She knew what must happen. And she wasn’t feeling up to it. Especially not knowing how Michael would react to everything.
15
Emily pulled the duvet over her father, taking her time to ensure he was comfortable. All the while, she thought of how she was going to break the news to Michael.
There were a lot of things to be said. She didn’t know where to begin.
“Emily,” Michael said the third time she was redressing her father’s duvet.
Emily paused and looked back at him. “Yeah?”
“I think that’s enough.” He motioned to the duvet in her hand.
She just sighed.
“Look, I know there’s a lot that has happened that you think I might not want to know, but maybe you don’t know me well enough.” Michael didn’t break eye contact with her as he spoke. “Maybe I’ve suspected a few things and have never really been able to prove it.”
He paused for a moment, then added, “Maybe I’ve figured it all out for myself and just need a little proof.”
“Like the fact you’re a warlock?” Emily stated bluntly.
The flash of pain across Michael’s face was unmistakable. His eyes shone with vexation. She recognized the look. Or rather the feeling he must have coursing through his veins. She had once felt that way, too. When she’d found out about her Owl side, and how she was a supernatural living in a town that beheaded her kind.
She’d had the
