Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

T hey share a knowing look, apart from my creature who comes closer and sniffs me, wrinkling his nose. "You smell like death and blood."

"What is it?" I ask of Phrixius and my demon when they remain silent.

They turn back to me. "He knows who you are," Phrixius murmurs as they watch me.

"What?" I snap, panic lacing my tone. I don't like the way they are eyeing me like they pity me. "What is it?" I press, my heart still racing so fast, my body is shaking.

"Freya, I need you to calm down," Phrixius says, placating me.

"Stop talking down to me and tell me!" I shout, and my power bursts from me in a wave of black magic. It slams into them, sending them flying back as I gape. Lifting my hands, I see smoky, black shadows dancing around my fingers. "What is happening?" I cry, looking at them as they get to their feet.

"Little witch." My demon comes closer, taking my hand and allowing the shadows to crawl up his arm, and Phrixius takes the other, absorbing the shadows into his skin. It lessens my load, letting me think clearly, as if they are taking it into themselves. "Breathe, that's it, in and out."

I nod, sucking in desperate breaths.

"I am not talking down to you, Freya, I promise. I just want to keep you calm. I do not want you to get hurt."

"Or more likely, have me hurt you," I whisper, realising I could have without meaning to.

"Hurt me. Kill me. I'll come back because I am a god." He shrugs. "I could not bear you hurting yourself. That's it, breathe for us. We are right here, and you are safe. Everything will be okay."

"Please, tell me what the hell is happening to me. What is this power inside me? Why can I see him? Why can he see me? What's happening?" I whisper, glancing between them. It's clear they know.

"Freya," Phrixius begins.

"Please," I beg, meeting his eyes. "I need to know what's happening to me. I feel like I'm going crazy."

"You're not crazy," my demon replies. "You are just coming into your powers—the ones you have held back for so many years. They are getting stronger, and it means you're losing control more often, but you are doing an amazing job of holding them back. It's why you've been needier and reaching for us, letting us help you subconsciously without realising it."

"What powers? My witch powers?" I ask.

"Freya, you are not a normal witch. You are a necromancer," Phrixius tells me as he watches me with a sad look.

I laugh. "I'm not a necromancer. I'm a witch, a dark one for sure, but I'm just a witch." I trail off as they stare at me with stern expressions. "I can't be. They would have killed me. Right?"

"No, because I protected you," my demon mutters as my eyes swing to him.

"You can't be serious. This isn't funny," I snap.

"It's not a joke, Freya. I wish it were. Don't you feel the call to the grave? This darkness inside you is waiting to be used. When you were in the graveyard with your demon, did you not sense the bodies there? When you touched the metal bars, you felt the zombie calling to you, reacting to your magic. You can see the necromancer because his magic calls to yours. It's the same as yours."

"I'm not like him?—"

"No, you're not," he murmurs when I start to panic again, "but you are a necromancer, Freya. I sensed it the first moment I met you. That's why I stayed, worried about your powers overwhelming you."

"Or more likely what I would do," I whisper, my eyes going to my demon. I beg him wordlessly to tell me this is a joke.

I can't be, right? He's so serious for a change, and he's right. I feel everything he said. I always thought I was just a really dark witch, and I tried to ignore it, but what if they are right?

What if I'm a necromancer?

"How long have you known?" I ask, my voice cold.

"Since I met you," my demon admits, and my bitter laugh makes him wince.

My gaze goes past them, unfocused, as I try to put the pieces together. "Why am I alive?" All necromancers were killed, so the fact that I am alive, even with the demon protecting me . . . There has to be a reason why I was kept in this coven when I should be dead.

Agatha . . . She came here after the mask.

Does she know?

Do they all?

"We can get into that, little witch, but it's going to be okay. We are right here. You need to know, you're right, because if he knows who you are, then he'll come for you. He'll want you, and we need to keep you safe, which means not keeping you in the dark . . ." His voice carries on, but my ears refuse to work.

They are serious.

Necromancer.

The word rings in my head, and my soul revolts. No, I can't be. I'm not like him. I don't kill people and bring them back. I'm not evil.

No, it can't be true.

I'll prove it.

I leap to my feet and rush to the zombie, pressing my hand to its head to prove to them and myself I'm not evil .

That I'm not a necromancer.

"No!"

I ignore their bellows.

As soon as my hand makes contact with the zombie's decaying skin, I regret it. All that power flows through me, and something within me reaches for the spark within the zombie. I can see it, like a flower or a vine dying and decaying, but that darkness within me feeds it. It grows, blooms, and spreads, and when I jerk back, the zombie turns its bright eyes to me, it's skin fuller.

It's more alert as it waits for me to order it.

I can feel its life force like a shadow, a whisper in the back of my mind.

Oh gods.

I turn and throw up, understanding what I did and what I am.

I look to them to see their horror, and I can't handle it.

I run, but this time nothing is chasing me except the truth—the truth I wish I never knew.