Spring Rain (The Witchling #4)(40)
The tree sent him a picture in response, that of its birth when it pushed through the dirt, transforming from a seed into a tree.
Despite his distress over the attack, Beck smiled. The elements rarely spoke directly in words or scenes that didn’t require some sort of interpretation. Their language was very different, but he guessed the tree was assuring him it would grow anew.
After healing it quickly, he summoned his fog.
This time, he had it take him home, to his room where the fire burned and Grandpa Louis had left his dinner on a hot plate. It smelled of roast beef and mashed potatoes. His adrenaline began to wane, and Beck sat down near the fire before recalling he was soaked from his day in the rain.
He changed and sank into the chair once more to eat dinner and check his cell. He had several, short messages from Morgan. One telling him she was alive, another that she was heading back from her trip and a third asking if he was okay since he hadn’t responded all day.
I’m great, he texted back with a small smile. You?
Despite the time, she responded quickly. Don’t worry. I’m working on protecting you.
Beck chuckled, always touched by her insistence she had to take care of him. He was learning more about himself, his magick and what it really meant to be the Master of Light. She had to distance herself for the time being, but he would never give up his hope of finding a solution soon that would let them be together.
Somehow. Whenever he thought on it too long, he became concerned and distressed once more. Tonight he felt … different. Confident. Energized. Certain where he hadn’t been before. The circumstances hadn’t yet changed, but …
“I have,” he murmured and drummed his forefingers on the table. He didn’t quite know what it meant, though. The soul stone was every bit as dangerous as it had been, and Morgan’s duty to it was still an issue. He typed a response to her. I think it’s time for me to take care of you for once. He tapped send then took a huge bite of tender, flavorful roast beef.
Whatever, she responded.
Beck laughed, always intrigued by her combination of sweet and spicy. Morgan was a good person. It had to be enough for her to pass her trial and turn Light. His hope flickered whenever he remembered who and what stood between her and the Light. It wasn’t just Dawn but the odds of a fire witchling choosing Light.
“You can do it, Morgan,” he whispered. “You have to do it.”
Whatever it was. He had no way of knowing what her trial would turn out to be. He hated feeling helpless, that his own fate was tied to what she chose to do.
He stared at the screen of his phone, not wanting to release the connection to her yet not able to tell her what he wanted to. Finally, he typed what felt like the lamest text of his life and sent it.
I believe in you, Morgan. You won’t face the Dark alone. I swear it.
The words were meant to be said aloud while gazing into her eyes, not in a message.
“One day at a time,” he said, uttering the family motto. Soon, Morgan would be at his side, and he’d never have to worry about losing her again.
Chapter Fifteen
Morgan read the text in the darkness of the coach of the bus. She was scrunched up in her seat, her flames warming her while the bus’s air conditioning blasted. Her eyes misted over at Beck’s message. She wanted it to be true with all her heart, but as far as she knew, it wasn’t possible that she’d end up with Beck while carrying the soul stone.
Not that she would stop searching for the means to be with him and protect the Light. She was already wading into territory that left her scared of making yet another mistake to destroy the lives of those she cared about.
Her gaze went to the sleeping form of her mother in the seat beside her. Tandy McCloud had insisted on returning with her. At first reluctant, Morgan felt grateful for the company. She had rarely seen her mother since the divorce, which occurred long before she knew about the soul stone and its impact on the lives of those charged with guarding it. Her mother was taller than her with fiery hair two shades darker than Morgan’s. A Dark fire witchling, she was nonetheless a good person, one whose hidden struggles with the soul stone were revealed only when Morgan confronted her the day before.
The edges of the anger she felt after the divorce, the sense of abandonment and helplessness in the home of her disabled father and abusive uncle, had softened when she began to understand her own mother’s struggle with the stone. Her mother suffered bouts of depression and loneliness in a duty she couldn’t share with anyone. Morgan hadn’t learned what she needed to about possibly containing it, but she had learned more about the history of female fire witchlings tasked long ago with safeguarding the dangerous talisman.
Nothing her mother told her, though, gave her even the slightest bit of hope or insight into what she was supposed to do to help Beck. Every woman in her family for at least three generations before her had suffered in her role as the caretaker of the stone. The others were sources of bedtime tales where the truth of who they were was as fanciful as a Disney movie.
She read Beck’s message again, and her throat tightened. She wanted to respond, but none of the intense emotions confusing her would translate into anything she dared send him.
She locked the screen and gazed at the highway flying by outside the coach. The soul stone was sucking up her body heat, and she absently increased her magick to counter it. The stone was hungry, always hungry.