Prologue
The sun caressing the large wooden structure created interesting shadows on the dirt floor in front of me. It was something I would normally bask in, taking in the beauty that nature provided—the art of Gaia herself. Today, however, I found no splendor.
I looked up and into the cold, dark eyes of the man in front of me, his expensive linen shirt dirty and pit-stained, his face filled with an expression of both lustful want and loathing. But he didn’t desire me for my body or my mind. No, he wanted me for my magic. And that disgusted him—though nowhere near as much as he sickened me.
I’d suffered at the hands of this man and his sycophants for twelve years. But I was done. I wouldn’t take any more—Icouldn’ttake any more. I was exhausted and weary and soul-shattered. I loved my momma, but even she wasn’t worthy of me enduring this kind of abuse and torture. While I’d come to know and even love many here over the years—despite most of them now being gone—I had to put myself first this time. I had to break free of this ugly and evil cycle before it killed me. And itwouldkill me.Hewould kill me. I could see it in his eyes every time he looked at me. Feel it every time he touched me.
I scanned the faces of the inner circle around me, their glazed, thousand-foot stares chilling me to the bone as they seemed to lookthroughme and not at me, tuned into an internal television station that only they could see. Paired with their always-present smiles that seemed at odds with the reality they lived, it was disturbing. I’d known most of these people for my entire life. Hell, half of them had had a hand in raising me, yet very few felt like family. Not anymore, and not for a long time.
As I felt a tug on my wrists and ankles, I panned right, my gaze clashing with eyes the color of spring clover. She looked on dispassionately, seemingly not fazed at all by the fact that her only child was being tied to a damn chair. Part of me broke inside—for that and for the fact that I wasn’t fighting. But I knew better. I’d done it enough times in the past to know that it only led to more misery and prolonged torture. I could disassociate and take whateverFatherLionel Broussard had to dish out today. Hopefully. As long as I kept my temper in check. And once I got free,ifI could get free . . . I was gone. For good.
“Ah, such defiance, little bird.” Lionel’s woodsmoke voice coasted over me, bringing more disturbed goose bumps to my flesh. I shifted my focus from my mother, feeling a pang of hurt and regret even though I tried to push it down, and locked my gaze with eyes the color of soot—a gray so dark it was almost black. They’d always disturbed me. Nobody had eyes like that. Honestly, it shouldn’t even be possible, gray eyes being the second rarest of all eye colors—and most were varying shades of light gray. It wasn’t natural. Actually, it was probably more unnatural than I realized, given what I knew of the man and the things he’d done.
I narrowed my eyes and spat on the ground at his feet, the glob landing on his Italian leather loafer.How’s that for defiance, you bastard?
The backhand came fast and sharp, the blow sending screaming pain into my temple and forehead, my teeth aching nearly immediately. I gave my head a quick shake to clear the fireflies from my eyes and met his gaze once again, willing my magic to rise. I’d never use it to hurt him; I had rules and followed a creed, but it was part of me—maybe thebestpart of me—and I would use it to bolster my strength and resolve.
“Mmm.” He hummed. “There she is. I see the fire in those eyes. Like flames through acid. That’s what I want. And youwillgive it to me. As much as I despise the evil inside you, I can use it and wield it for the good of the family. And I will. After all, your life is mine, little bird. Like everyone’s here.” He flung out a hand and snapped his fingers, and my mother immediately went to his side, her demeanor meek and subservient, nothing like the strong, independent dreamer I remembered from my early childhood. Even for the first few years we’d been here. He had truly and thoroughly broken her. And for what? The absolute bullshit lie of life everlasting, Zen, and so-called salvation?
“Dawn, can you talk some sense into your daughter?” he said, hooking an arm around my mother’s waist and bringing her close to his body. “Explain that she wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you and your devoted husband.”
My stomach roiled. He was right. Iwouldn’tbe here if it weren’t for them. If my mom had been stronger, hadn’t caved to the manipulations of a psychopath, hadn’t given her life to a cause that had meant the deaths of so many—something that I wasn’t sure she even knew or internalized—we might be living happily somewhere, enjoying a quiet and magical life full of quick smiles and simple pleasures. Instead, we were on the outskirts of New Orleans behind razor-wire-topped walls and inside locked gates, forced to abide by the sadistic whims and lascivious assaults of a madman. And the worst part? I seemed to be the only one who was woke enough to realize that. The rest actually believed that Father Lionel Broussard was only looking out for them and guiding them to eternal salvation and utter bliss in the here and now.
I wanted to vomit.
My mom walked closer and crouched to be at eye level with me. She was so beautiful. Strawberry-blond hair that fell in waves to the middle of her back, eyes the color of spring’s first buds, skin like alabaster silk, and a body that any twenty-year-old would kill for. But the happy woman I remembered from our first days with Balance of Light, the mother who used to dance to vinyl records and bake Mississippi mud bars, who used to end up with more paint on herself than on the canvas when she created, who used to sing me to sleep and tell me the most fantastical stories full of magic and mystery . . . she was gone.
I felt tears clogging the back of my throat and shook my head to clear them; instead, trying to look into my mother’s eyes, willing my magic to help me get through to her. She didn’t have the power that I did, but Mom was still gifted. She was a talented empath. Unfortunately, Lionel had harnessed that for his sick gains, as well. He’d taught her how to use it for nefarious purposes instead of the good she’d always done with it. He’d taught her how to turn those instincts and feelings into manipulation bordering on brainwashing. She’d earned herMother Superiortitle and had made her husband proud.
I braced myself.
“Why do you always do this, baby?” she said, her saccharine voice chilling me instead of softening me as I was sure she intended. “We’ve talked about this.”
Ad nauseum, I thought.
“There’s no point in your constant rebellion. Wouldn’t you be happier if you just gave in? Get rid of the evil inside you. Let Lionel bear that burden, sweet girl. Just think. You could be free. No more slips of control. No more feeling like you have to study and practice so nobody gets hurt. Just peace.”
Nobody had gotten hurt. Nobody ever would. I was—always—in control, but their constant gaslightinghadmade me doubt myself a time or two. And I didn’t know how Lionel thought he could even take what belonged to me. It was a part of who I was. Wove into the very fabric of my being. Still, I had seen him steal others’ power—somehow. None like mine, but things that others had—thefts that never should have been possible. I could only surmise that he’d gotten help from a practitioner of the dark arts who’d taught him how to use a spell to bind and transfer. It was the only logical explanation, but I couldn’t wrap my head around the logistics of it. Maybe someday I would. But first, I needed to escape this hell and this so-called family.
I stared into my mother’s grass-green eyes and pulled up the good memories of her. While I knew she was a lost cause and would never be my mom again—not in any of the ways that mattered, at least—I didn’t want to carry around that burden. It wasn’t something I needed to shoulder. She was right about that, just not about what the encumbrance was.
“I’m good, Ma.” I flicked my gaze to the hand Lionel had placed on my mother’s shoulder, noticing the stuffy signet ring he always wore on his right pinky. It turned my stomach. How many times had I gently run my fingers over bruises in that shape and size? How many times had I unconsciously fingered the brand that every member of his innerflockhad? If I had the capacity for that kind of hate and to wish someone dead, it wouldn’t be a stretch with him.
My mother sighed and placed a gentle hand on my knee. I shifted my gaze to take it in, seeing the strength in those fingers and wishing, not for the first time, that it’d been used to soothe my pains and give me courage instead of to take and hurt and traumatize. I wanted to shake it off. I didn’t want her touching me right now. It just made her gifts stronger and weakened my resolve—she was my mother, after all. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, grounding and centering myself and raising my shields.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed, bringing that hand to the side of my face and running a thumb across my cheek. “There’s no need for that. Let your momma help.”
“Mom,” I said, my voice cracking just the tiniest bit. “I love you. I always will. Nothing can or will change that. But I can’t forgive, and I can never forget. You’ve had eleven years tohelp. I’ll give you that first year because we didn’t know any better, but after that? No. You’ve clearly chosen your affiliations and are either utterly blind to the goings-on here—despite the proof I’ve supplied you with—or are complicit in it. This?” I looked around at the five others surrounding her and Lionel. “These people? This . . .family? There’s no help. And I want out.”
I lifted my head to Lionel then, and the look in his eyes and the smirk on his face made my heart clench. He’d never let me go. Not while I still breathed.
My mother sighed, leaned forward, and kissed my forehead before standing and slipping her hand into Lionel’s. “I’m sorry to hear that, sweetie. I really am. We’ve given you everything and only asked for small things in return.” She turned her gaze up to her husband, and he looked down at her before lowering his mouth to hers. I wanted to puke.
“I think we should give her a little time to think, dear,” she said and looked at me again. “Maybe a night in here with the rats and the snakes will make her appreciate her comfy, cozy room.”
I’d take a night in the barn with the wildlife over another night in that prison any day.
“Perhaps, my love.” Lionel brought Mom’s hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “Unfortunately, I need my lieutenants tonight for the meeting with the Granger family. They’re encouraging postulants, but Luc has a bit too much power for my liking. I’d love to have some backup for our . . . sales pitch.”