47. Marassa

Chapter 47

Marassa

LORI

F ighting Iris for control is exhausting. When we're both too tired to truly hold the reins anymore, our shared senses become dull and painful, and just keeping our eyes open demands a buttload of energy.

We're at such a crossroad, now, our body curled around itself, waiting for the rematch as Damian instructs us to dress and get ready for traveling. I obey in a robotic fashion, each movement dragging on like I'm navigating a murky lake.

When we woke up this morning, I let Iris believe she was in control only to keep my strength and warn Elio. She was eager to get some time alone to practice and access my magic and skills.

While we were in the shower, she quietly ran through possible violent scenarios, plotting the best way to kill Elio. His touch repulsed her, so she distanced herself mentally to avoid revealing her true intentions. I took advantage of the moment, disrupting her plans before she could act on them.

I'm damn proud of myself, but terrified.

"I died too young, but the curse has allowed me to possess my successors for a reason. The Gods must believe I deserve a second chance, or they wouldn't have made you," Iris whispers.

Your curse made me so I could save Elio from this dreadful fate you inflicted on him.

"Let's agree to disagree, sister."

Don't call me that.

"Why not? We're twins. Stranded in time, maybe, but twins all the same."

I bite my bottom lip, a headache pounding against my forehead. As much as my love for Elio drove her to say things she didn't want to say earlier, I also share her bitterness and blinding hatred for the Winter King. I feel her emotions and hear her thoughts, and her crushed hopes for a new chance at life are debilitating.

"Should I be worried that you're going to attack me?" Damian asks, his voice tinged with concern. "How much does she know about your powers or how to use them? Do you guys share memories in there?"

My tongue feels heavy in my mouth as I answer, "Yes and no. I don't seem to be able to access hers unless I'm sleeping, but she's persistent."

"Then you'll forgive me for my prudence." The Shadow King tucks my mask in his jacket and hands me a scarf. "I'll escort you through the sceawere myself. Whatever you do, don't lie or play on words. The Old Queen can always tell when someone is lying." He angles his mask to Elio, my husband keeping close to our rear. "Ready?"

"Yes," Elio says, his voice faltering. The distance between us feels like an insurmountable chasm, and it breaks my heart to see him so broken and distant.

With my eyes closed and the scarf securely fastened around my head, I let Damian guide me inside the sceawere.

A soft, almost timid knock echoes in from our side of the glass, and I hold my breath. Damian never knocks. The Shadow King typically strides in—and rightly so—like he owns the sceawere and anything connected to it, never bothering with such formalities.

"Mabel? Are you home? We're coming in," he announces, his voice carrying a rare hint of uncertainty.

The space between worlds leaves a cool, tingling sensation on my neck, but the usual sting is absent thanks to my new magic. I adjust the scarf on my brow and look around. We've emerged from a round, wall-mounted mirror into a quiet living room. A plush purple corduroy couch sits in front of a sleek plasma screen TV, and a bowl of fresh wildflowers adds a splash of color to the serene space.

The scent of dried herbs soothes my raw nerves—lavender, sage, and thyme mingle with hints of patchouli and the subtle sweetness of rose petals. The bay window reveals the overgrown green bushes outside, framed by a tall rowan tree. The red, orange, and yellow leaves block the view of the street beyond the rusty iron gates. Inside, the multi-level Victorian house exudes old-world charm, with its wooden sash windows and grand high ceiling.

"And to what do I owe this…polite intrusion?" a woman's voice calls from behind us. We all turn to face our hostess, who stands poised and curious.

The elderly woman we came to visit is holding a dark wooden cane, though her grip wavers as her weathered gaze finds Elio. She pauses, both hands resting on the carved raven adorning the tip of the walking stick, her thin lips pressed together. "Surely, if you were here for my soul, you would have been enough of a gentleman not to bring guests into an old lady's home?"

A dry grin curls Elio's lips. "I have better manners than that."

Mabel appears to be around seventy years old, but given that she's Morrigan's grandmother, she must be way older. Her bite of power is faint—almost imperceptible, really—but I suspect it's a deliberate disguise. Despite its subtlety, it has a strangely comforting effect.

"I can't believe you've never heard of Mabel Bloodsinger," Iris chokes out, her inner voice laced with a mix of fear and awe. "She's the most powerful witch to ever live."

I dig the balls of my feet into the thick cream carpet, Iris's panic prompting me to run. But as Mabel's gaze crosses mine, the blazing impulse to flee dims into a warm haze.

A few gray streaks are peppered throughout Mabel's white hair, and she squints at Damian with a careful, muted expression. "What has my granddaughter done now?" she asks, heading for the cupboard and retrieving a plate of biscuits covered in transparent wrap.

"For once, Rye isn't to blame for my visit," Damian says quickly.

"But she's alive?"

"Yes. I have her in my custody," Elio answers.

"Why is she alive, if you finally managed to catch her?" the witch muses, her wide hazelnut gaze fixed on Damian.

The Shadow King shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "She joined her fate to that of a Shadow seed who is precious to me."

Mabel's wrinkled hands still over the plastic wrap covering the biscuits. "Are you saying my granddaughter bound herself to a mortal?" She sets the plate down in the middle of the dining table and motions for us to sit.

"Yes."

She licks her lips. "And where is this special girl?"

How did she know Cece was a girl? My eyes narrow, but I walk around the table to sit beside Elio. A glass curio cabinet set along the wall displays antique teacups with beautiful hand-painted patterns.

"She's safe in my care." Damian takes his seat at the end of the table. "This is the new Winter Queen and one of my Shadow huntresses. She's been possessed by a dark spirit."

"Come here, child." Mabel reaches into her pocket and unfolds her glasses as I walk back around the table to join her in the kitchen. The deep lines creasing her mouth deepen as she examines me. "A spirit, you say? A dark worm is more like it."

She grabs a tissue from the counter and slowly wipes down each of the long, narrow lenses in thoughtful silence. "Alright, I'll help you. But in exchange, I want to meet this mortal my granddaughter entwined her fate with."

The muscles in Damian's jaw tick, but he offers the witch a small bow. "You have a deal."

"So, who are you?" Mabel asks me.

"I'm Lori," I reply, my voice steady despite the swirling confusion in my mind.

The corners of her mouth quirk. "Are you really?"

"I don't know," I admit. "Everything is muddled."

"Two souls, one body. One body, two souls. Such is the Marassa's fate. Two sides of a coin. One light. One dark." The old woman turns to Elio. "I'm not sure why you came to me, King of Death. Witches deal in flesh, blood, and bones. The Dark One himself couldn't touch a soul if we wanted. Only your father, the King of Light, could divide the two twins and kill only the dark half."

"My father would rather burn his cities to the ground than grant me a favor. Hell, he'd probably spare Iris and kill Lori just to spite me." Elio's chest heaves, his jaw clenched on a bitter sigh. "Are you saying there's nothing that can be done?"

"I didn't say that." The witch raises and lowers her hands in an orchestral conductor fashion, a gesture that signals us to simmer down. "The dark twin is weaker than she lets on. She might be persuaded to…rest for a while."

I instinctively walk toward her. "How?"

"Patience." She inches toward the sink. "The Standing Stones won't topple over in the next hour. Help me with the tea, dear, so I can get to know you better." She passes me the infuser and motions toward the glass cupboard. "Eight spoonfuls should be enough." With these incomplete instructions, she clicks on the stove and fills a water boiler to the brim.

I open the cabinet door and grab the closest tea box, but the witch clicks her tongue. "Not that one. It's as dark as the highlands on a stormy night. That one"—she extends her wrinkled hand to the metal box at the very back of the shelf—"will do nicely."

I crack open the lid, and a bittersweet, herbal scent supplants the others. The tiny, dried sun-shaped flowers of the herb ring a bell, but I can't quite place it.

We wait in stifled silence while Mabel adds milk and honey to the table. The metallic teapot shows signs of wear and tear. A bump in its side gleams under the electric lights, while freckles of heat discoloration and welding marks decorate the handle.

The high whistling sound of the boiler sends goosebumps up my arms. Mabel gives me the go-ahead, and I place the infuser into the pot before pouring the hot water over it. The tea steeps, its color gradually deepening as a sunny fragrance fills the room.

We exchange weary glances while we wait. Elio's expression is a mix of frustration and exhaustion, and Damian's eyes reveal a guarded patience. Mabel's gaze, though calm, holds an unspoken scrutiny. The minutes stretch, each of us lost in our own troubled thoughts as the tea continues to infuse.

Finally, I serve us each a cup of tea in vintage porcelain cups. The delicate aroma wafts up, a small comfort amid the tension. After I'm done, I join Mabel and the men at the table, sitting opposite the old witch. She stirs her tea with a small golden spoon, dipping the tip of her biscuit into the cup.

Elio stares down the brown liquid with his brows furrowed. "So… How would you go about making Iris sleep?"

"Tea, first," the woman orders with a scowl.

I swallow a long swig, eager to get this part over with. The beverage's muted floral taste is oddly enticing, and before I know it, I tilt my head back and finish the whole cup in one go.

Mabel sets her spoon down with a satisfied nod. "Well done."

Iris curses me to all hells before she slowly slips away, as the old witch clearly planned. I sigh in relief, finally regaining control over my body. Her influence dissolves, leaving my muscles spent and aching but fully mine once more.

Mabel takes a measured sip of her tea. "I didn't want to alert the dark twin. The tea you've been drinking is made from St. John's Wort. It grows during the summer solstice and brings light and positivity to the mind and spirit. Drink it every morning and night, and it should be enough to keep the dark soul from taking control and spreading its roots too deep inside of you."

"But Iris will still see and hear everything?" Elio croaks.

Mabel shows off her pearly white teeth. "I expect she will remain mostly dormant, with the occasional bout of consciousness."

Elio and I exchange a heavy glance. While that compromise might sound perfectly acceptable to Mabel, it sure as hell isn't enough of a solution for us. But the old witch is not our friend, so I swallow back my reckless, biting comments and take solace in the fact that I can't hear Iris's thoughts or feel her emotions anymore. Wherever she went, she's far enough away for me to feel like myself again.

My hands shake, and the teacup clinks repeatedly against the golden-rimmed plate as I set it down. "Thank you for your help."

"Eat a biscuit, dear, before you pass out." She turns to Damian. "Now… about that meeting."