11. Morgan

Newly determined,I stride into the bathroom, situate myself in the center of the jacuzzi, and pull out my dagger. I figure the dry tub is a reasonable way to go about this, since I don't imagine Damien would be happy with me for staining the desk or the floor with my blood.

Then I slash the dagger across my palm, make a fist to squeeze out as much blood as I can, and let it drip onto the porcelain.

The droplets spread and swirl, creating a pool of blood with a dark image inside of it. If I squint hard enough, I can make out blobs that sort of look like people. It's like staring into a murky lake, trying to see the fish beneath the surface, but being barely able to make out their shapes.

I push harder, straining my magic, needing to see.

Come on, I think, moving closer to the pool of blood, hovering above it in desperation for the vision to become clear. I push harder, until my head feels like it's about to explode, and my blood's creating so much pressure under my skin that it's trying to burst out of my body.

It's not going to work.

Then, as I'm leaning back in defeat, the vision clarifies.

It's Willow, in the cathedral, the shadows deep and threatening around her. Her normally soft face is gaunt, her eyes hollow.

She's a shell of the sister I've always known and loved.

In front of her, lying on a stone slab, is Ambrogio. The original vampire is as pale and unmoving as death itself. The tip of Ruby's arrow is still embedded into his chest, and he's unnaturally chilling to look at, even through the lens of my blood.

Willow's hands hover above him, encased in a shimmer of pale light that struggles against the darkness.

Beside her, Zara watches, her face drawn with concern.

My heart twists at the sight of them. Not just with pain from how much I miss them, but also with a strange sort of jealousy. Because they're together, and I'm here, without them, for the first time in my life.

The others in the coven move in the background. They're blurred and indistinct, since it's Willow that the spell focuses on, her every strained breath visible in the unsettling clarity of the vision.

"Willow," I whisper, as if she can hear me through the magical channel.

She can't. My visions only go one way.

Zara leans closer to her, reaching for her, but stops herself before she touches her.

I'm not surprised. Zara's never been the touchy-feely type. The reminder of it as I look down on them now almost makes me smile.

"You need to rest," she says, her voice echoing through the vision.

"No." Willow shakes her head stubbornly, a lock of her auburn hair clinging to the sweat on her forehead. "Not until he's back. I have to bring him back."

"You will bring him back," Zara assures her, as confident as ever. "You've been doing better every day. But you've pushed yourself enough for tonight. You can try again tomorrow."

Someone else moves into the vision—Tristan. One of the three vampires of the Blood Coven. He puts his arm around Willow's shoulders, coaxing her closer to him.

She leans into his touch, as if it's one she knows well, as he whispers something into her ear.

I still, shocked.

Willow and Tristan.

Are they together? How could I not have known?

Easy—because I've refused to check on my sisters since leaving them. And now, at the sight of what's apparently a budding relationship between Willow and Tristan, I feel more guilty about not checking in on them than I did before.

Whatever he says to her makes her pull her hands away from Ambrogio. And from the way he cradles her head, resting his forehead against hers, it's clear that yes, they're together.

Tristan—a man we've just met—is there for my sister when I'm not. She trusts him more than she trusts me.

A sob rises in my throat, followed by a tear making its way down my cheek.

I need to help her.

But how?

The only way to get through to her is to put myself in the path of the Blood Coven. To go there, to them, in their lair.

If it came down to it, I don't think my sisters would hurt me.

But the others?

Three vampires—one of them centuries old—and the most powerful known witch in the world. They're dangerous. Extraordinarily so.

Yes, I'm a powerful witch. But I'm realistic enough to know that if it's me against the entire Blood Coven, I don't stand a chance.

Besides, the reason I checked in on them in the first place doesn't matter. Willow's losing herself to her magic. She's pushing herself too hard with her attempts to revive Ambrogio, not even knowing if reviving him is within her powers to do.

At the rate she's going, she won't have enough magic left to try healing me from whatever curse Blaze accidentally put on my mind.

Assuming it was an accident?

No, I shake the thought from my mind. Blaze didn't do this to me on purpose. He wouldn't do that. He has no reason to do that.

Or does he?

I've only known him for a few days. Yes, they were a few very intense days, but there's no knowing what he's hiding.

I can't let myself grow soft to him because of the stupid crush I have on him.

Maybe that's what the wind's been trying to tell me all along.

Maybe. Maybe not. But right now, my magic's straining to hold onto the vision of my sisters for much longer.

So, I pull back, the image of them and the others fading into a dull, rusty stain of dried blood on the porcelain surface. And, as I stare at it, I feel a sudden burst of gratitude toward Tristan. He's looking out for Willow. He cares about her. Zara does, too.

They won't let anything happen to her. They won't let her kill herself in the pursuit of an eternity of power.

What's the point of seeking immortality if it kills you in the process?

There is none. And they need Willow alive if they're going to succeed.

She's going to be okay. Zara and Tristan will protect her.

I won't allow myself to believe anything else.

And until I figure out how to stop the wind's whispers, I need to make sure that when I'm around Blaze, someone else is always there with us.

Someone who will stop me from losing my mind to the wind, turning on him, and killing him.