Page 46 of Devoted

One moment, I was staring at the beamed ceiling of the villa, listening to the distant crash of waves; the next, I was sinking into the warm embrace of a familiar darkness. When I next opened my eyes, cold, misty tendrils curled around my feet, and excitement shivered through me.

If I could find Emilia… maybe I could wake her up.

Which was a big, fucking ‘if’. This realm felt limitless, as if I could walk forever and never reach any sort of end. Still…

“Since I’m here, I might as well try,” I muttered, not the least bit bolstered by my pathetic pep talk. I headed off in a direction I supposed looked as good as any other. The ground beneath my bare feet was uneven enough that I stumbled after two steps, nearly faceplanting.

“Way to go, Emberline,” I grumbled, choosing my steps more carefully. “Try to stay upright, or you’ll embarrass yourself in front of the ghosts.”

After walking for what seemed like hours, I stopped. Reassessed. This place—my dream, or the dreamworld, whatever you wanted to call it—was unremarkable enough I could have been walking in circles. Locating Emilia in this landscape of nothingness was going to be impossible.

“Emilia?” My voice echoed strangely back, as if the mist swallowed up part of the sound.

And then I heard them.

Female footsteps.

Light and delicate, heading straight toward me.

I froze as the shifting mists parted ways, revealing not Emilia, but the twin edges of an ancient veil, full of holes, like the winds had worn it down to almost nothing.

And between the fluttering opening, more footsteps echoed from that dense, beckoning darkness.

“Well, at least I know where I am,” I murmured, searching the murk for signs of movement. “Mom? Dad? Is that you?”

If I couldn’t find Emilia in this endless smear of nothingness, I might as well make this trip useful. Blackwood’s cruel taunts had planted jagged doubts in my head, and I had questions.

Questions I only trusted my parents to answer truthfully.

Ottavia materialized out of the dark, beautifully delicate in a pale sundress, moving with a dancer’s grace and the easy confidence of the dead. And why not? Nothing could touch her now, even the darkness recoiling from the faint aura of golden energy still clinging to her form, as though her soul couldn’t let go.

“Daughter,” she intoned, her hands twisting in her bloodied skirt. “Inside the circle lies danger. Remain outside the trap.”

“Can you be a little bit clearer?” I asked softly, wanting so badly to take her fluttering hands in mine. “I know you mean well with these warnings, but they never make sense until it’s too late.”

“Stay outside the circle,” she panted. “There is danger. The circle is danger. Danger, danger, danger.”

Enzo rushed out of the darkness, the smile falling off his face, his holey sweater that familiar, faded blue, coming close enough for me to scent the faint sweetness of cigar smoke.

“Calm, my love,” he gathered Ottavia close, wrapping her tightly in his arms. “Calm, now, it’s just our beautiful daughter, here to say hello.”

He narrowed that knowing stare on me. “Come back to visit us, have you?” A hint of a smile trembled on his lips. “You look too thin, Emberline. Are you eating? Are you in danger?”

“I’m… I need to know something. About… mom.” A sudden wind blew past me, carrying strands of mist through the opening, the silver swallowed by darkness, the second it crossed the threshold.

“Did you die in an explosion meant for father? A bomb planted in his office?”

“Paper,” she murmured softly. “A note to my beloved. You and Luca. The beach. A… family day. But…” She shook her head. “I opened the drawer and…” She released a shuddering breath, her golden aura flaring, then nearly dying out.

A strange quiet spread inside me, hearing the truth at last.

It took me a moment to pinpoint that quiet feeling for what it was.

Loneliness.

The loneliness of never having a mother. Of never sharing a single moment I could remember. Hold on to. Treasure.

Self-pitying tears bubbled to the surface, but they were worthless in this place, worthless in the grand scheme of things. Tears wouldn’t bring my mother back. And they sure as fuck wouldn’t help me get revenge on the bastard who’d taken her away from me.