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  My arms tingled.

  Live to be free, whispered the memory of my dad.

  “You’re in pain.”

  My heart catapulted into my throat as I spun to face Ethan Accosi. His aura was a dim glow around his shoulders, bathing his features in a sinister light. His posture, at least, was nonthreatening, hands tucked into pockets as he leaned against the opposite railing.

  “I’m fine,” I said shortly.

  “You’re shackled, Fiona. Virtually imprisoned by the Omega.”

  “There are reasons,” I said with a calm I didn’t feel. “What do you want, Mr. Accosi?”

  “Call me Ethan.”

  I nodded. “Fine.”

  He smiled and pushed off the railing, closing the distance between us with measured strides. The shoulders of his tux were wet from the rain, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.

  I had the sudden premonition that this conversation wasn’t going to end well and eyed the door, estimating how many steps it would take to get there. And while I didn’t truly think Ethan meant me harm, I nevertheless crossed my arms, angling my fingers beneath my wrists. Just in case.

  “What do you want, Ethan?” I repeated.

  “I want what everyone wants,” he said with a small smile. “Knowledge. Power.”

  “Let me rephrase. What do you want from me?”

  He halted several feet away, the intent in his gaze warming my face. “I’d like very much for us to be allies. Unfortunately, I don’t see that happening today. Just remember that what I do, I do for the good of humanity.”

  “What—”

  “Your mother sends her regards.”

  His hands whipped from his pockets and I pressed the releases on my bracelets a second too late. I glimpsed a test-tube right before clear liquid hit me full in the face, steaming on impact with my charged skin.

  I tasted… licorice?

  Dragging my fingers over my eyes, I blinked at Ethan. “What the hell was that?”

  “Just relax,” he said, a strange, echoing quality to his voice. “It will be over in a minute.”

  The spell hit.

  I staggered as white-hot pain pierced my temple, tearing a ragged moan from my throat. My knees buckled and I hit the terrace floor, my ankle twisting with a pop. The breath was knocked from my lungs. Animal noises of misery met my ears; dimly, I realized they were coming from me.

  My vision spiraled and went dark, then burst into precision.

  I saw Connor in the ballroom. He was dancing with Samantha, a detached expression on his face. The real-time image flickered to Declan, who glanced at his watch before looking toward the stairs. Another flicker, then Adam, stiff and bored, speaking with a nameless man.

  My vision blurred, then reset.

  I saw Mal, pouring over texts in the Prime’s library. Then my father’s secretary, Rosie, driving a car on a dark highway, singing along to country music.

  I saw my mother, her face as familiar as the one I saw in the mirror.

  She was smiling.

  “Live to be free, Fiona,” she whispered.

  Another excruciating bolt of pain tore through me. I felt myself being lifted, unable to fight, barely able to breathe.

  “It will be over soon,” said Ethan, his voice coming from the end of a long tunnel. “You’ll never be shackled again.”

  I dragged air into my lungs and screamed, “CONNOR!”

  His name brought me focus and I saw him again. His head whipped up, green irises blowing black. Then he was gone, and Samantha gasped, her dress swirling and arms hanging suspended around the space he’d occupied.

  The door of the terrace blew off its hinges, smashing into the railing ten feet away.

  “What have you done?” snarled the Prime, his voice dark as midnight, his power a leviathan—endless, radiant space. I writhed at the smothering magnitude of it and wondered if I was about to die. Or if my brain was already fried.

  “I’ve freed her,” said Ethan breathlessly.

  Connor growled, “If you want to live another second, you’ll give her to me.”

  I moaned as my body passed between the men. Pain flared, bowing my back with a convulsion. Ethan said, “She said it would be difficult, but I didn’t know—”

  Adam’s Opal aura blew across the terrace like a wind, warm and vibrant. “What did you give her?” he demanded.

  “Forgive me, Fiona,” whispered Ethan.

  Sapphire and violet lights blinded me and when they dimmed, the mage was gone.

  “Fiona,” said Connor. “Open your eyes.”

  I couldn’t.

  Instead, I thought of Ethan and saw him.

  He strode swiftly down the street to a dark sedan. Opening the passenger door, he slid inside and looked across at the driver. She was a pale, dark-haired woman with striking eyes, clear blue and ringed with black lashes, crowned by graceful, sloping brows.

  “Thank you,” said my mother.

  Ethan nodded. “You didn’t tell me it would hurt her.”

  She put the car in gear and pulled smoothly into traffic. “Pain is a cornerstone of growth. She is strong. She will survive it and be even stronger.”

  “Adam, do something!”

  “The bracelets aren’t working. I can’t touch her. Get her out of here before she blows this place apart!”

  Cold wind.

  Pelting rain.

  The sky exploded—I exploded.

  Freedom… then nothing.

  Seventeen

  I dreamed of a sun-drenched glade in a forest. Butterflies fluttered and dove, iridescent wings shimmering. Wildflowers bloomed in riotous patches on the verdant ground. The sky was pale blue, crystalline and tinged with violet.

  I felt him first, then turned and saw him.

  He looked tired. His hair was mussed, tuxedo jacket missing, and bow tie hanging loose. The pale green eyes held an odd, desperate light. I took an uncertain step toward him. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  Connor shook his head minutely. “You haven’t stopped screaming for an hour.”

  I stilled. “What?”

  He broke eye contact, tilting his head to gaze at the dream-sky. I stared at the strong column of his throat and remembered.

  “Did you fry my brain with your aura?”

  He huffed out a mirthless laugh. “No, but you’re currently frying the ears of everyone in the compound.”

  “You’re exaggerating,” I breathed.

  He looked at me. “Somewhat. Did Accosi say anything to you, before he hit you with the spell?”

  It was my turn to look away. “Yes. He said my mother sent her regards.” I paused, picking at my ruined dress. “I . . . I saw things. People. I saw Ethan get into a car with Delilah after he disappeared. Did she do what I think she did?”

  “It seems that way.”

  I looked at him sharply. Instead of the relief or excitement I’d expected, there was only fatigue.

  “Shouldn’t you be happy? Your seeing-eye dog just earned her badge.”

  “Yes, I suppose I should be . . . happy. Perhaps I will be, once you stop screaming.”

  I winced. “Do you think the spell went wrong somehow?”

  Connor shook his head. “You’ve been talking between incoherent shouts, sometimes details of the present, locations of people you know. Other times, vague tableaus of the future. Adam is recording it. When you regain consciousness, and focus, you should only have to think of your father to find him.”

  Tears of relief stung my eyes, but my heart was strangely heavy. “I don’t want this,” I whispered. “I don’t want to see the present, the future, any of it.”

  “Neither did your mother. Not at first.”

  “How did this happen?”

  He seemed to understand what I was asking. “I’m not sure. If there’d been a spell in place keeping your ability suppressed, Adam would have sensed it by now. It’s more likely you were born with the power, but it’s been dormant all these years, not even awakening w
ith Ascension. Knowing this, Delilah found a mage who could engineer the right type of spell.”

  My limbs felt weighted. I didn’t fight the lethargy, letting my legs buckle and deposit me on the soft grass. I plucked at the blades near my hip, severing tiny stalks and tossing them aside.

  “Have I said anything interesting about the future? Winning lottery numbers, maybe?”

  “No,” he said, so quickly that I looked up with narrowed eyes. “Nothing but disjointed ramblings. It was like that with Delilah, too, at least until her Ascension.”

  “Everything comes back to that woman, doesn’t it?” I shook my head, communicating that I didn’t want or expect a response. “Did she tell you what she is? Is there even a name for it?”

  Connor lowered gracefully, propping himself on an arm and crossing his long legs at the ankle. He gazed at me with a fixed, solemn expression. It wasn’t the dreaded blankness; almost, it was worse.

  “As a former Statistician, can you accept that Ascension was an accident? A random occurrence with no definitive cause?”

  “Hell no.”

  His lips curved slightly. “What popular theory do you ascribe to?”

  “I don’t think the truth has been discovered yet.”

  “Mmm.” His smile grew. “Perhaps there were forces at work that cannot be quantified.”

  I snorted. “I’m a little surprised to hear the God angle from you.”

  His brows lifted. “Because vampires are damned, hellish creatures? I have a soul, mo spréach.”

  I couldn’t hold his gaze, so I stared at a nearby tree, tracing veins of moss on its pale, peeling trunk.

  He continued softly, “Supernatural powers existed in this world long before Ascension. Long before the first vampire, shifter, and mage. There are Fae races, mythic beasts, monsters of the sea . . . and before the concept of one God, there were many gods, and those gods procreated with mankind.”

  I stared at him. “Are you saying my mother thinks she’s the daughter of god?”

  “Not necessarily. I’m saying there are mysteries in this world that will never be discovered. In ancient India, Indra was the god of lightning. In Rome, it was Zeus. In Greece, Jupiter. In Norse mythology it was Thor, son of Odin. The concept of beings holding elemental powers is not new.”

  “You’ve lost me,” I said weakly.

  “There are gods of fire, of the sea, of the earth . . . Masters of the elements. You were struck by lightning and survived, Fiona. You hold its destructive power in your hands, control it, channel it. You’re not a vampire, shifter, or mage, but you are supernatural. Maybe you are the progeny of godkind. Maybe you are not.”

  “Wow. Just . . .wow.”

  He smiled softly. “It is the same with prophetesses. Oracles, Sibyls, Seers, Visionaries. They’ve peppered the timeline of the world, noted in nearly every culture. Rare creatures, who see the warp and weft of time, the tapestry of future days as it is being woven. There’s no telling what culmination of genetics and fate birthed you.” He paused. “Nor can we know the secrets Delilah keeps.”

  My spine stiffened. “If you’re implying what I think you are, you can stop right there. I’m Frank Sullivan’s daughter.”

  Those solemn eyes just watched me. Patient. Gentle.

  “Enough, Connor,” I whispered. “Enough.”

  I jerked at his sudden presence on his knees before me, then froze as he caught my first tear with the pad of his thumb. And when his palm grazed my jaw, and his fingers sank into my hair, the world went soft and hazy.

  I had the nebulous thought that this moment had already been written. That everything was exactly as it should be, each second a culmination of all seconds before and after, and the present but a small thread in a tapestry of infinite scope.

  He said my name.

  Cool, soft lips pressed onto my closed eyelids, the tip of my nose, and each cheek. Long fingers held my face gently. So gently.

  When his lips grazed mine, electricity veered from my body in small snaps of sound, and I finally understood the danger that was Connor Thorne.

  I wanted him. Mind, body, and spirit. As naturally as a flower wants sunlight, as inherently as every living creature’s desire to live. To feel and rejoice.

  Shadows blotted out the sun overhead, and a name filtered through my mind.

  Gabriella.

  “No,” I said, jerking back and scrambling to my feet.

  He whispered my name on a small, broken exhale. I memorized his expression—vulnerable, naked with desire for me. Only me. Then I packed it away for a rainy day and straightened my spine.

  “Get out of my head, Connor.”

  He vanished.

  The glade vanished.

  I was alone. And empty.

  Eighteen

  As Ethan had promised the night of the gala, I was incapable of being shackled again. His spell—thrown in my face at my mother’s behest—had worked. Too well, it seemed.

  Adam’s efforts to heal my sprained ankle were futile, his spells sliding off my body like water. Likewise, the bracelets no longer equalized my charge. The Opal mage had spent the morning crafting an amulet, pouring huge amounts of power into it, only to have it rendered inert the moment it touched my skin.

  My new reality? Painful.

  I limped across soggy grass outside the compound, a crutch braced under one arm. Declan walked beside me, vibrating with frustration because he couldn’t offer support.

  When I stopped to rest, he asked with forced levity, “Who’s winning the Super Bowl next year?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know. Sorry, no future-tripping since my Sibyl frenzy last night.”

  The humor left his face, replaced by concern. “Anything yet on your dad?”

  I shook my head. “Still a blank space when I think of him.” I met his gaze. “Dec, what if that means he’s dead?”

  “Oh, sparky.” He reached for my hand and I jerked away. He froze in understanding. “Dammit.”

  I sighed, pressing fingertips to my eyes. The resulting kisses of electricity triggered nostalgia. And not the good kind.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it in so many ways.

  Indeed, I had substantial regret for not taking him up on his offer of intimacy. I had no doubts he would have been a skilled, generous lover. But the window of opportunity had passed and now I’d never know.

  Before, celibacy had been a fact I’d accepted because there was no choice. The reprieve of the last days, however, had given me hope, which in turn made the renewed weight of an eternity of solitude nigh unbearable.

  In my estimation, the only feeling worse than this would be giving in to my desire for Connor, and the inevitability of my heart being smashed to pieces.

  I wouldn’t go through that again.

  When I had myself under control, I asked, “Any news?”

  He pointed at a nearby gazebo. “After you sit.”

  I hobbled to the enclosure and plopped onto a bench, groaning as I stretched out my throbbing ankle. After the failed efforts of another three mages whose focuses were healing arts, I’d resigned myself to old-fashioned recuperation.

  Declan sat beside me, a safe three feet between us. It felt like a mile.

  “Eve and Charles finished testing the sample ahead of schedule. From the physical description they gave, Malcolm determined it belonged to your father, probably planted as a part of the trap.”

  I nodded grimly. “What else? Did Connor speak with Prime Kilpatrick about . . .” I waved vaguely at my face.

  “Yes,” he said, then paused. “Kilpatrick thinks the Liberati have targeted you as an asset. He tore Connor a new one, accusing him of being reckless with your safety. Adam agreed with him.”

  I blinked. “Say what?”

  Declan smiled thinly. “I heard about it secondhand, but I guess it comes down to something the Liberati said that night in Snoqualmie.”

  Words rang like a bell in my memory.

  Give us the
girl.

  I had, unbelievably, forgotten that fun nugget. Blacked it out, ignored it, shoved it under the same rug with the man I’d killed.

  “Shit,” I whispered. “But why . . .” I trailed off as a sudden image appeared in my mind’s eye: the photograph from my dad’s office.

  “What’s going on in that head?”

  I looked at him, my eyes wide with dawning horror. “I was trying to work through what would happen if someone strapped me to an electric chair.”

  Any other time, I might have laughed at Declan’s expression. “That’s twisted.”

  “I agree,” I said, shivering with unease. “It’s the Liberati. Somehow my dad got a picture of a shifter strapped to an electric chair. He was . . . well, fried. It must have been one of the experiments. Adam said they need catalysts to perform their alchemy . . .”

  “What are you getting at?”

  I swallowed thickly. “My mother told Adam and Connor that I was a catalyst. What if the Liberati somehow know that? It would explain why they want me. But how did they find out about me? How long have they known? Did my dad suspect? Is that why he didn’t involve me in the case when the Prime asked for his help?” I stood up, wincing as my weight hit my ankle. “I need to talk to Connor.”

  Declan’s hands wavered helplessly as I teetered. “Come on, sparky, sit down. You’ll hurt yourself. As soon as you started rambling, I linked up to Connor. He’s listening.”

  I sat, my burst of energy fading and taking my strength with it. “So weird.”

  Declan winked. “Keep talking.”

  I stared at my hands, which were vibrating with anxiety. “It’s genius, really, if I’m on the right track and not writing science fiction. Put me in an electric chair, hook up alchemical tools, crystals, or whatever, and the molecular disruption of a lightning strike—one fueled by arcane power—would be the motherload of all catalysts.”

  I looked at Declan; whatever my expression was, he went a little pale.

  “It’s what they want,” I whispered. “They don’t have to come for me. They just have to wait until I learn my dad’s location. He’s the bait. I’ll walk straight into their trap.”