Page 45 of Endless Terrors
When I’d first arrived, the sun had been hovering over the horizon, bathing the hills and fields in golden light. Now it was halfway down, and the devil still hadn’t come. I’d fallen asleep waiting for him in the loft.
Succumbing to the need to fidget, I pulled some grass from the ground and began to tear the blades apart. I thought about that family meeting for the dozenth time. A frown tugged at the corners of my mouth. After a minute, I threw the handful of grass with more force than necessary, and it fell like confetti.
“There’s something I didn’t tell them,” I said.
Oliver turned his head. “Tell who? Your family?”
I nodded without looking at him. “I think I know whose spellbook was left on Goody Baldwin’s doorstep. In Kindreth’s journals, she wrote of a witch who lived at the Unseelie Court. The witch supported Viessa’s bloodline in their claim to the throne. She used her magic to bind faeries to her, so she could control them and ultimately get Folduin on the throne. Which means that the spell we’re about to do tomorrow will give me the power to do the same.”
“But you won’t,” Oliver said simply, realizing where I was going with this. What I was afraid of.
Nothing was ever that simple, though.
Like a terrible song on repeat, I thought of what Gwyn had said to me. Someday you will know what it is to choose between love and power. Someday you will be just like me.
I remembered Mercy Wardwell’s warning, too. Anyone who loves you will pay a price. It will cost you, as well.
Then Sorcha’s voice slithered through my memory. You’re dangerous. To anyone who loves you or wants you.
My best friend must’ve seen my doubt. When he spoke again, something in his voice made me look at him, and he held my gaze steadily. “You forget, I know who you are, Fortuna,” Oliver said. “I know you in a way no one else does. Not just because I grew up alongside you, and watched you become the amazing person you are now. It’s because I’m part of the world you created. I can feel you with every breath, every heartbeat. Your essence. Your spirit. There’s darkness in it, yes, but there’s also a hell of a lot of light. So when I tell you that I know you won’t abuse whatever power you claim, believe me.”
He said all this so easily, and that’s what affected me the most—Oliver talked as if he was telling me something absolute. These were facts.
My eyes flicked between his. Not for the first time, I thought about how much Oliver had changed. Somewhere along the way, the boy I’d known had been replaced with this strong, certain man. A man I had been keeping at arm’s length, and who I tried not to think about during my waking hours. There was too much going on in my life—survival being a chief focus—and Oliver made everything more complicated.
Realizing I hadn’t given a response, I broke our stare and looked down at our hands. I ran my fingers over his in an instinctive, thoughtless movement, and I heard the sound Oliver made. It was so faint that I knew he hadn’t meant me to hear. Guilt filled my throat. I pulled back and looked away, wrapping my arms around myself.
“You haven’t felt the rush of magic,” I finally replied, resting my chin on my knees. “It turns me into a different person. Someone I don’t even recognize. And that person … terrifies me.”
This time, Oliver didn’t respond right away. Like me, he returned his attention to the setting sun, frowning. I studied him from the corner of my eye. The light made his freckles more prominent. A five o’clock shadow dusted his jaw, and it made him look older. Harder.
“You could be wrong about the grimoire,” Oliver said, oblivious to how intently I was looking at him. “It might not be the same spell.”
I shook my head. “No. I’m not sure how it ended up in Goody’s hands, then in Lyari’s possession, but the spells are too similar. It can’t be a coincidence.”
Oliver started to answer, then something stopped him. His eyes darkened and his eyebrows drew together. He turned his face toward the horizon, and I had a feeling he did it to hide a flash of pain. My stomach sank.
“Ollie?” I said. Even as his name left my mouth, I was aware of exactly why his entire countenance had shifted. That didn’t stop me from hoping I was wrong. But then Oliver looked at me, and I knew I wasn’t.
“He’s here.”
I followed Oliver’s gaze, and I stopped breathing.
A dark figure stood against the horizon.
I’d told Oliver, earlier, not to fight it if the devil came knocking on our door. It was better that he arrived this way. It meant no one else was hurt so Lucifer could have a body.
I turned back to my best friend, shoving down a surge of fear. Don’t let him see. Be brave for Ollie. “You should go,” I said.
I saw the rebellion in his eyes—he wanted to argue, and the old Oliver would have. But after a few seconds, he swallowed whatever he’d been about to say and stood up. Oliver reached into his pocket and pulled something out. A pocketknife, I saw as he flipped it and offered me the handle. The design was achingly familiar, and as I took it from him, I confirmed that it was my father’s.
“I went off your descriptions of it,” Oliver said. “The blade has been soaked in holy water.”
I love you. I swallowed my words, too. We both knew this knife would do nothing against Lucifer’s incredible power, but that wasn’t what it was for. Oliver wasn’t giving me a weapon; he was giving me a reminder. Something to hold and carry during the moments I was afraid or alone.
“Thank you” was all I said. All I could say. I rubbed the handle with my thumb, and then I stood, tucking the knife out of sight.
We didn’t hug, even though I wanted to. Lucifer was waiting. He had to know what Oliver meant to me, but I wasn’t willing to put on a display of it. Oliver knew this, too. We’d discussed it while I’d been filling him in on everything else. He hunched his shoulders—earlier, he’d given me his sweater and refused to take it back—and began the walk back to the cottage. I stayed where I was, watching Oliver go. Wishing I could run after him. His white shirt flapped against his long torso, and he looked back only once, his beautiful mouth a thin line of worry.
