"I mean what reason did they give for keeping you here?"
His claws click at the bars. Tick. Tick. Tick. The sound is like a metronome lulling me into some kind of trance.
"Oh, little witch-girl, you'll learn fast not to ask so many questions."
"Declan?" My voice hitches as he falls to the ground. "Declan!"
His scream echoes in the dungeon as his body morphs, fur growing over skin, muscles and bone breaking and twisting into something beast-like. It’s different from the first time he changed in front of me. More disturbing, more unnatural. Almost as if his body stops cooperating midway. And I don’t need to ask him to know he’s in pain.
"Help! Dr. Livingstone! Someone! Declan needs help!"
But of course, no one comes. I reach through the bars, trying to extend my hand to his, but we are too far away for me to reach him. I know this, but I still try. "Declan, I'm here. You're going to be okay."
My words lack any authority or truth, but I lace them with as much comfort as I can as he writhes on the floor, moaning and screaming as his body shifts from wolf to man—back and forth, over and over as his bones crack with the effort.
"Dean! Dean!" Through the shadows I see the prone form of his twin on the narrow cot, but he doesn't move.
"What the hell is going on here?" I ask. "Merde."
I don't know what to do. How to help. Clenching the bars of my own cage, I close my eyes and concentrate.
But nothing happens.
I grit my teeth, desperate to help.
Declan gives a yelp of pain that’s more animal than human.
Shutting out everything, I bow my head and pray.
I'm not religious, but I do believe in something. Not some dude-god in the sky, but something. And for the first time in my life, I plead with it for help.
Claim it, I hear a voice in my head say. Claim it and it’s yours.
"Estelle?"
Keep going. Claim your power. Tell it what you want.
“It’s not working,” I say. “Last night—”
Last night you had my help. I can’t come now. But you can do this on your own.
I don't know what she means, but I send out my prayer like a life raft into a tumultuous sea threatening to swallow us all.
And then I feel something waking up inside of me, like a flower blossoming and releasing a glittery kind of energy into my bloodstream.
I open my eyes and look down to see my skin blinking with silver sparkles, like stars shining across my body. As I watch, light pools at my fingertips and into the metal bars I'm still holding.
And then the lock clicks and the door swings open.
My eyes widen and I hear a soft laugh in my mind.
You did it.
I knew you could.
I knew you were the one.
I don't stop to question myself, or the voices. Instead, I grab the bars of his cell, pushing my power into them, and they unlock and swing open just like mine did.
I run straight to Declan, whose moans have faded into gasps as his body twitches on the ground.
Kneeling on the ground, I pull him to my lap. "Declan, I'm here. You're not alone. I'm here."
I don't know what else I can do but hold him and send this silver light I have into his body. I caress his hair, and his eyes flicker open, catching my gaze with his as his form slowly begins to settle into pure human again.
Sweat beads his forehead, and his skin is on fire. I cool him as best I can with my icy hands, selfishly enjoying the heat emanating from him as I do.
While I cool him, he warms me.
“Tell me what your life should look like now if you weren’t here,” I say, holding him as his breathing starts to settle.
“What?” His voice is raspy, but there’s less strain.
“Tell me about your life. What it would look like right now.” My voice is barely more than a whisper, as if talking about life outside of these walls already feels taboo and dangerous.
Declan sighs and leans into me. “Dean and I have always dreamed about starting our own bakery.” He glances up at me, waiting.
“I love bakeries,” I say.
He looks relieved by my response. “Dean is the genius at recipes. I’m more on the business side though I can bake any recipe you give me. We planned to settle down, start our shop, make a life for ourselves.”
“Don’t give up on that dream,” I say, as his body finally relaxes into its human shape and he sits up.“Dreams are dangerous currency in this place.” His expression still bears traces of pain, but when he finally smiles, I melt a little inside. I tell myself it’s the satisfaction I feel at seeing the darkness in his eyes chased away, but the flutter in my stomach says it could be more. Being this close to him, I see details I couldn't from across the hall. Like his dimpled chin and flecks of gold in his green eyes.
"Told ya," he says.
"Told me what?" I ask, my hands still on his, our bodies so close I can feel the energy coming off him in waves.
"You're a witch. And a powerful one by the looks of it."
I glance at our cell doors, both wide open. "Did I really do that? Or am I still sleeping? Or hallucinating? I can't…" my voice breaks. "I can't tell what's real anymore," I confess, voicing my fear aloud for the first time.
He raises one of his hands and caresses my face, leaning in closer to me so that our lips are a breath apart. "Do you feel this?”
“Yes,” I answer, my voice hushed in relief. None of the ghostly voices have been corporeal. Maybe Declan is real after all.
“I'm real, witch-girl. And I owe you one for what you just did."
I swallow. "What happened to you?" I ask.
"They were trying to force me to shift against my will. Again. You helped me fight it."
I shudder as I imagine what that must feel like. To transform into the body of a beast.
“And Dean?” I ask, glancing at where the other twin still lies motionless behind us. “Is he—?”
“He’s just sleeping it off,” Declan assures me. “Lucky bastard. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.”
I exhale in relief.
His finger trails down my cheek, leaving a line of fire in its wake. "You're cold," he says when I shiver.
"Yes, Captain Obvious. I'm in a dungeon. It's freezing here."
His lips twitch in a smile and my belly does a flip. "Close your eyes."
"Why?"
"It's a surprise," he says.
"I don't like surprises." It's a lie. Well, it used to be. I loved surprises before all this madness started. Now? Not so much.
"You'll like this one. I promise."
Unable to argue further with his mesmerizing gaze, I close my eyes.
His finger trails down my neck to the space over my heart, where he presses his palm.
My pulse increases at the intimate contact, but I don't pull away. And then I feel it. A wave of warmth flowing from his hand into my heart and spreading through my body with each pump. My skin tingles, and for the first time since coming here, I'm warm. Truly warm. A cozy kind of warmth that one might experience curled in front of a fire on a cold day, with a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. It's more than just physical, though that alone would have been pleasure enough. It's a deeper warmth, an emotional warmth that I haven't felt since Estelle died.