 
THE LEGEND MIRROR

• book one •

The Beast of Callaire

Saruuh Kelsey

For James.

Because I knew you I have been changed for good.

Copyright © Saruuh Kelsey 2017

Smashwords Edition

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The right of Saruuh Kelsey to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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About The Beast of Callaire (The Legend Mirror, book 1)

I'm Yasmin Wikke, daughter of Venus, and even armed with a beastly alter ego, I'm badly outmatched.

Not only is someone draining magic from people like me, but a human girl keeps reaching out to me telepathically. Which should be impossible. She doesn't know anything about my world – the Legendary world – but somehow she has power. And worse, that power is drawing dangerous attention to our town. If I'm not careful, my connection to her may put me and all my family in the path of a supernatural murderer. If human hunters on the warpath don't kill me and my fellow shifters first.

READ THE ENTIRE LEGEND MIRROR SERIES:

Book 1: The Beast of Callaire  
Book 2: The Dryad of Callaire  
Book 3: The Powers of Callaire  
Book 4: The Divine of Callaire  
Book 5: Coming soon!  
Book 6: Coming soon!  
Book 7: Coming soon!

Table of Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty One

Twenty Two

Twenty Three

Twenty Four

Twenty Five

Twenty Six

Twenty Seven

Twenty Eight

Twenty Nine

Thirty

Thirty One

Thirty Two

Thirty Three

Thirty Four

Thirty Five

Thirty Six

Thirty Seven

Thirty Eight

Thirty Nine

Forty

Forty One

Forty Two

Forty Three

Forty Four

+

...

Beware the chaos with two faces

...

+

ONE

THE ELUSIVE CONTROL

I'm so tired of hearing the word new. New resolutions, new goals, new personality. New lives all magically conjured into being as a clock strikes twelve in London and Sydney and New York. But there can never be a new life for me—I can't escape the one I already have. The beast itches at my skin, trying to get free. Its claws run down my spine like a shudder, testing the seams of my Legendary body, of the girl I am. For the next day, at least.

By the time the sun sets tomorrow, my skin will rip, bones will break and reform, and I'll be the Manticore. But until then, I'm still Yasmin, and I still have to face Yasmin's problems. Namely, getting to the kitchen and out the back door without running into my brother—who hates me—or Minnie or Vic—my best friends who want to draw me out of my protective shell and back into family issues—or worst of all, Mavers—who took me in when I became too much for my Legendary foster family to handle, who is every bit as much my brother as Guy, even if he doesn't have the God Venus for a mother.

I do.

Venus, legendary myth taught in human classrooms, Goddess of beauty, love, sex, and fertility. Venus, who from my two experiences meeting them—both in dreams, both fraught with misery and anger—is nothing like the fair maiden of the good tales and more like the vengeful, jealous woman of the worst myths. They're my mother, the God who gave me my power, my Majick, but ... I'm not sure they could be called nurturing. I'm not desperate for another dream.

I hold my breath as I slink on tiptoes past Amity, her blonde head visible through the arch doorway to the the living room, on my way to the kitchen. I don't think Am would let me go out this late, even if I don't plan on going past the garden. I wish I could do this in my room, but for what I'm about to do, I need the moon.

"There's pasta on the side," Amity says without turning her head. I wait for the creak of the old sofa as Mavers gets up to see if I'm alright. It's all he ever asks me, if I'm alright, if I need anything, if I want to eat dinner with the rest of the Red—the motley crew of Legendaries who live here with us. We're all descendants of Gods and Creatures, collectively known as Numina.

I can't really put into words why I refuse, why I lock myself away from my friends, my family. It's just ... I've been there before, let myself get close to family, let myself rely on them and take them for granted. I'm still hurting from it, every day. It's not that I don't trust Mavers, or Minnie, or Vic, it's just ... my heart squeezes tight thinking about it. Losing them when I become too much trouble and they decide they don't want me.

And it's more than that now; I've spent years in my room on my own. How am I supposed to break that habit now? Just walk into the dining room on a Sunday tea time? No, thank you.

"Thanks," I mumble, quickly making my way to the kitchen and the aforementioned pasta, wolfing it down. I need the energy for what I'm about to do anyway.

A snort makes my shoulders tense up, my stomach slosh with dread. I make myself eat the rest of the food slowly, aware of footsteps padding to the fridge, the creak of the door opening, and the crack and fizz of a can being opened. I want to flee out the door but that might draw more attention than just standing here.

"What're you doing out of your cave?" Shane asks, and I flinch at quick movement as he leans against the kitchen table beside me, a fall of messy dark hair hiding part of his pale face. "Didn't think animals like you could be spotted in the wild."

I don't know how to reply. I just ... stay silent, my head down as I finish my meal. It's not that Shane is threatening exactly, it's more that he's a typical lad and his idea of joking around usually ends with someone offended. Talking to him always makes me wish I could spontaneously combust, makes me feel small and sick with nervousness. Like an animal in a cage being gawked at. Rowan and Fearne, his friends and two other Legendaries who live here with us, are bad enough when they whisper and laugh between themselves, but Shane always makes me feel worse. It's something to do with how he talks, loud and brash and carelessly.

"No words?" he presses, tilting his head so I have no option but to meet his eyes.

"Didn't know what to say," I mumble with a shrug.

"Fair do's. Just making conversation." He pushes my shoulder, something he always does with not just me but the rest of us. This is another thing that makes me uncomfortable about him—I don't like to be touched unless it's on my terms and by someone I really trust. Shane touching me, as thoughtless and harmless as it is, makes my stomach cramp and the beast in my blood stretch from its slumber. "What do you do in that room anyway? Must be boring as hell."

I shrug again, eating my last few bows of pasta as slowly as possible, needing that excuse to not have to talk.

"Anyway." He slaps me on the shoulder and I lock my body so I don't flinch. The worst thing is I know he doesn't mean to make me feel so small and intimidated, and he doesn't realise he does. It's the only reason I push down on the beast in me instead of letting it lash out—not that it can form claws or fangs but it can twist my temper until I snap with words. "See you later. Or probably not."

And then he's gone and I can breathe again. This is why I keep to my room, why interacting with the Red never goes well—not because of them but because of me. Because I'll flinch or stay silent so long it gets awkward. Not that staying quiet and reclusive seems to keep Minnie away from me—she's my most stubborn friend.

Before anyone else can find me and instigate conversation, I rinse my plate and duck out the kitchen door into the garden. Unlike the courtyard out front, the back garden is no bigger than a standard garden. Bordered on three walls by trees empty of leaves thanks to it being winter and the house on the other side, the garden is a bare grassy slope with a shed at one end and a few metal benches closer to the house. The most interesting thing is Amity's flowerbed of herbs; she makes them into sludge-coloured pastes that speed along our healing.

I sit cross-legged in the shadow of the shed at the end of the garden, near where the bushes break for the small wrought iron fence I sometimes sneak out of. An owl hoots somewhere behind me and the night is full of sounds—cars driving along the main road at the bottom of the mountain, the chatter of a bird somewhere in the distance, the hum of the Academy's generator—but I block it all out and centre myself the way Mavers taught me years ago.

When I first started shifting, it was ... horrific. Worse than Vic and the Hannam sisters when they changed. My skin bled as claws tried and failed to push through, my spine somewhere between normal and fur-flecked, and I screamed so loudly that everyone else heard it, both through the Academy walls and through my Psychic Majick, which I'd used unconsciously. Mavers taught me how to claw my way back from that pain, to rely on the pattern of breathing for focus, to find the ultimate quiet inside myself so I could silence the beast. It took three weeks, and I was between forms for all those days, but I finally managed a full shift and became the Manticore for the first time. Even back then, I could never control the creature, and it was the beast that walked around this garden, prowling, and killed a rabbit; not me. But those weeks taught me this: to still myself, steady my breathing, and find control.

For months, I've been trying to use that control of myself to control the beast. If I can call it up now, a day away from the Crea moon, maybe I can wrestle some control when I shift. Maybe I can stop it hurting someone else.

But like last night and all the nights I've practised before, the beast rumbles and presses against my skin like a cat, amused, brushing my ankles—and it refuses to bow to my will. I want claws to slice through my fingertips, but nothing happens. I want to pull the beast to the surface of my mind, feel that consciousness there, but it laughs and stalks out of my reach. And when I try to push it down, it rushes to the surface and refuses to move. Further proof that the few times I've managed to exert my will over it, push it into silence and submission, it has only worked because the beast allowed me to.

I stay out there until midnight, breathing rhythmically, focussed inward, but even hours later, the beast is teasing me. If the beast wants to kill someone tomorrow, it will. I have no control.

TWO

THE LOVERS

I have hours to kill before the sun sets and my body rips itself into a different form—into the Manticore. I could march down to Almery Wood where I change, where the trees and foliage might mask the sight of me, the sounds my beastly alter ego growls and hisses, threats and warnings and teasing yowls designed to draw prey or scare it into running. My beast enjoys the chase.

I shudder, slamming the romance book in my hands shut. It's not distracting enough. I'm too much inside my own head, the thoughts edged with poison, every last one. Instead, I use the telepathic power—the Psychic Majick—I have because my mother is a God and tentatively reach down the links between me and the members of the Red. I find Harriet first, our youngest member. She's Crea like me, but instead of changing into a Manticore, she becomes a Faun—half girl, half goat. Unlike me, she doesn't have a drop of Majick, thanks to the Creature in her family line being her great-great-great-etc. grandmother. The further away from a Numen you are, the less powerful. Harrie has enough to change, but nothing else.

Me, daughter of an original Creature and a Goddess ... I have a lot. Too much, I think sometimes when I lose my grip on my Psychic and get drawn into thoughts I don't want to know, memories I don't want to see. Or hear. Last week, I was falling asleep, my hold on my Majick tentative, and one of Rowan's memories drifted to me. A really recent memory of him and Fearne having sex. And the noises they make ... Gods, they don't hold back. And worse, that horrifying sound of their bodies meeting... My stomach tightens just thinking of it, sickness starting to roil in my gut. I don't get it—sex. Too loud, too sweaty, too much.

I grab a glass of water off the bedside table beside me, laying my abandoned book on top of my precarious to-read pile, and take a long drink to settle my stomach. Reaching again for my connection to Harriet, I strengthen the link with my Psychic until I can work out where she is, what she's doing. Ah. She's sat at the mahogany table in the dining room, her hand over her mouth to avoid choking on incense fumes as Minnie lays out her arsenal on the lace tablecloth: tarot pack, cones of smoking incense, little golden icons of Apollo that she swears help her focus, a velvet bag with a set of runes inside in case the tarot don't work for Min today.

I don't really want to watch this, but it's better than lying in bed, waiting for the Manticore to wrestle my body from me. Gently, I let go of the link between me and Harrie, following my bond with Minnie instead. It feels ... wrong, to occupy the mind of a thirteen year old kid. Minnie, I know better—and she's told me before she doesn't mind me seeing through her eyes, her mind, as long as I'm taking an interest in the Red—in family.

She's doing a Crea moon reading, as she always does the evening before we violently change form. Most of the Red are gathered in the dining room, sat at the scuffed oval table from my childhood. Vic and the Hannam sisters—who need water for their Crea forms—have already gone with Mavers to the nearest private lake a few miles away. Mavers actually owns it; he bought it when the Hannam sisters first came to us, when it became clear they weren't like the odd person we get who's just passing through on their way to somewhere bigger and better—there are rumours of a place down south, a tiny village, that's a hundred percent Legendary, where people can openly do Majick and Change in the middle of the street and not risk exposing themselves to humans, not risk drawing the rare sect of humans who hunt our kind—that the sisters were staying. They became part of our irregular family.

Minnie's voice rings out in my head, as clearly as it would if she stood beside me. If I didn't know what to listen for I wouldn't be able to tell, with my eyes closed, if she was here or thirty miles away. It's the slight ringing on the end of each word that gives it away. Telepathic voices ring.

"Do we have to do this every month?" I hear Fearne complain via my link with Minnie. I'm careful not to communicate back, so she won't realise I'm listening. Numina knows what would happen if she knew—she'd come drag me out of my room and sit me down at the table with all the people who hate me. With Guy, my brother, who would rather I didn't exist.

"Yes," Minnie fires back. She splits the deck of cards and does a reading for Harriet, and then for Vic, a seal-like Selkie and one of my best friends—or he used to be. I'm not sure he—or Minnie—can still be friends with me when I keep myself shut in my room twenty four seven. But if I let them coax me out, it'd be like Guy all over again. I'd have them, then they'd realise they didn't want me after all. I can still remember the sharp spear of pain that went through my heart when Guy shrugged me off, told me to leave him alone. We'd been close before that—he was my brother, the sibling I'd found after six years of thinking I was alone in the world. I thought he was just messing at first, when he told me to sod off.

The next day, I sat down beside him and launched into conversation, the way I'd done for months and months before, and again he told me to sod off. I couldn't accept it—wouldn't. I guess I thought I could stubbornly get him to like me again, want me around again, so I kept following him around, talking to him. On the fourth day he told me to piss off, said he didn't need an annoying little sister following him like a creepy stalker, didn't need a little sister at all. That's when I actually got it—he wasn't playing around, wasn't joking at all. He really didn't want to see me or talk to me again.

I was only seven then, so it took me a long time before I properly understood: I'd found my brother, after years of being the only one like me, the only one with Venus as their mother, and then I'd lost him.

After that ... it left a scar, just not a visible one. I became friends with Minnie by accident. I kept bumping into her on the way into Almery to change, or in the library, or the kitchen, and like my stubborn younger self, she'd just start talking and keep talking until I responded. I couldn't help myself; Min's infectious. By the time I realised what was happening, that she was tricking me into being friends with her, it was way too late. Vic came to us not long after that, and the three of us just sort of ... hung out together. Minnie would barge her way into my room or drag me out into the garden, and I'd sit there, saying little, and Minnie and Vic would fill the silence. They're my friends, even if I'm difficult and I don't get why they like me.

Now, Minnie reads the cards for me, checking that I'm not gonna get badly injured and planning for if I do—they'll bring down bandages and a suture kit and patch me up right there in the wood if it's really bad, as soon as I've turned back into Yasmin. She's also watching for hunters, the tiny number of humans who have discovered the Legend Mirror—the world we come from, that encompasses all Legendaries on earth too—and want us gone, wiped off the face of the world. There have never been hunters in Callaire, but still Minnie checks for them. If she sees them, everyone else will bring swords made of Majick and Mavers will bring the gun in his top drawer—and they'll stop the hunters until Cornelia and Priscilla Hannam can get here and use their Persuasion Majick to make the hunters forget us. Mavers has a plan for almost everything—it's how we stay safe, stay alive.

Most of the time, nothing bad happens at all, and we don't need to do anything like that.

Min shuffles a pack of cards that are hand-painted and passed down the descendants of Apollo, the Roman god of truth and prophecy. Minnie's a Divine—someone who can see people's pathways and actual glimpses of futures. She has an overwhelming enthusiasm for tarot cards, runes, and choking everyone on incense fumes.

There are less dramatic ways to look into someone's pathways—I have a friend who sees flashes of visions by looking into a still bowl of water. It's less theatrical than Minnie's technique.

With a flourish of her wrist, Min halves the deck and whips the top card face-down onto the table.

"Get on with it," Fearne whines. I gnash my teeth. "I want to know mine."

"You don't even Change." An edge of anger creeps into Minnie's mind.

"I want to know my future as much as anyone else."

"Yes, Fearne," Minnie fires back. "Want. Not need." She aggressively flips the card over.

The Lovers.

Minnie murmurs to herself, so obscure even I can't hear, and puts another card on the table.

The Ace of Swords, reversed.

She inhales sharply, drawn into a vision, as everyone else makes confused noises. I'm dragged along with her, glimpsing a series of images I don't have the Majick to interpret—someone's dark hair on a pale green pillow—the snarl of a hungry mouth—two hazy figures locked in an embrace—blood pooled carelessly on a laminate floor.

Ignorant to the violent pictures, Rowan—Fearne's boyfriend and partner in crime—says, "Man, that's ridiculous. The Lovers? Maybe if she wasn't a hermit twenty four seven."

"And a weirdo," Fearne adds thoughtfully, chewing a fingernail.

Rowan elbows her in the side.

I bristle. The beast in my system, so very close to the surface, goads me into bloodlust, persuading me with the seductive colour of gore as my claws tear into Rowan's neck. It would be so easy. Effortless.

I wrench myself forcefully out of the clutch of the beast and blink at my room, the pastel walls, the mirror above my bookshelf, late afternoon light falling across the rugs on my floor. I've lost my connection to Minnie but it's better than losing my last precious moments of awareness because of the beast's hallucinations. Within an hour—maybe less—I'll be forced to relinquish control of my limbs, my thoughts, everything. The beast in me will take over my body with glee.

But for now, I'm myself. I'm myself. I repeat it until it sinks in.

Breathing deeply, sure of my tenuous control for now, I reach out to Minnie's mind again while I still can. I need to leave soon, trek to the spot in Almery where I change. In the dining room, I find the Lovers card still a hot topic of debate.

"She does seem worryingly anti-social for a card like this." Amity's voice, soft as always, breaks Minnie's deep concentration. "Do you think we should do more, try to connect with her? I don't like that she's alone, it doesn't feel right. And it would be nice to have her around again."

"Not sure, Am," Minnie replies neutrally. But she knows that if even she can't coax me into sharing space with Guy after years of trying, Amity can't.

"Well, she shouldn't be alone, not with what's happening." Amity looks troubled, or that could just be how Minnie's interpreting her expression—everything I'm seeing is coloured by a filter of Minnie's thoughts.

With what's happening. She means the stories of Legendaries disappearing. It started in Spain, a couple months ago, but last week there was a guy reported missing in Gloucester. That's too close for comfort. Hunters, Mavers thinks, but no one really knows for sure.

Guy sighs. "Don't be too hasty, Am. She wouldn't come out of her room anyway."

He's right. I wouldn't. That he knows me well enough to recognise that is disquieting.

Amity's brow furrows. "I suppose you're right. I wonder if she gets lonely, though. Don't you?"

Rowan snorts. Guy glares him into silence.

"Enough." Minnie's voice sends a burst of pain behind my temple. "There's someone in her future. A girlfriend, I think. But I can't see through the darkness."

"Darkness?" Am runs a worried hand through her short blonde curls.

"She's going to die, I think," Minnie says ever-so-quietly. She draws her cardigan around herself, pushing the vision from her mind and blocking me from it as a consequence. I won't go looking through her thoughts. Using someone as a conduit to listen is one thing but total invasion of privacy ... I have to draw the line somewhere. I won't be like my mother.

Silence greets Minnie's whispered omen.

"Yasmin's going to die?" Amity whispers, her face paler than usual. Even Rowan and Fearne are uncharacteristically without comment.

Minnie looks up from the table, staring at the pattern of the wallpaper above Guy's chair. "Yasmin or her partner. I can't separate one from the other. I can't see who's going to get hurt."

Amity pats her hand. "Are you alright?"

"Their love ... it's so ..." Minnie fumbles for words. "It's so powerful. I don't know if that's a good thing—it's going to hurt so much when it ends."

I jolt out of it, out of the telepathy, out of the fear that's enveloping me. My heart runs too fast, throwing itself against my rib cage, and my breathing is doing its best to outrace it. What the hell does that mean? A girlfriend? One of us is going to die?

I'm not sure whether I'm more scared to die or fall in love.

THREE

THE MANTICORE

The floor of Almery Wood is unforgiving beneath my feet. I trudge through the thick covering of snow, crushing dense ground with my boots, trying to shake off the images in Minnie's vision. Trying to shake the certainty that she had—that I'm going to fall in love, that one of us will die. I shudder and press on through the bracken and branches. The snowfall has turned every smell to pure, scentless nothing. I have to rely on my sight and hearing to identify other people and creatures.

None of the other Crea in our group come to this edge of the wood, since it borders a few houses, but I like it because it's lonely. Peaceful. I don't want to run into anyone—friend or threat—and I prefer the comfort of being on my own, unlike the others who stick together at the Crea moon. Besides, too many Crea in one small space always results in scraps and fights for dominance, and they always result in blood and scratches. It's bad enough when I get injured and end up having to sneak into the infirmary for disinfectant and a bandage—Minnie always catches me—when it's just a couple times a year, let alone if it was more often. I might run into Guy, or Shane, or Mavers. With Guy, I'll feel small and alone, with Shane and his 'banter' I'll want to curl into a ball with how it makes me feel, and with Mavers ... guilt, and worse, longing.

Sometimes, I imagine I walk out of my room, into the main living room where everyone hangs out, most playing X-box, Mavers reading, Amity cutting pictures from magazines to collage, Minnie curled up in the big chair with an ancient tome on runes or hermeticism badly balanced on her lap. I imagine I sit down on the floor and join in with whatever conversation springs up, and it's normal. When they laugh, I laugh, and I don't feel like they're laughing at me. When Rowan and Fearne whisper, I don't think it's cruel words all revolving around me, I know it's just them being them. I imagine I'm part of it all.

But I'm never brave enough to venture into the living room one night because I know the truth—it won't be that way. Everyone will stare at me until my face heats, my eyes prickle, and I run back to the dark safety of my room or the library, my two safe spaces in the Academy.

My fingers are already itching when I drop the backpack of usual supplies—spare clothes, energy bars, a bottle of isotonic orange, and heat packs for when the cold has settled into my bones—into the hollow of a tree. I focus on the burning itch instead of the tight thump of my heart, the ache of it.

I wrestle my boots off and stuff them into the tree for safe keeping, standing on a tiny square blanket to keep my toes from freezing off. It doesn't help much. In summer I can stand on the ground barefoot and let the Majick of the Earth into my skin—another thing I inherited from my father. If I stand barefoot on the floor now, the only thing I'll soak in is hypothermia.

My father, the original Manticore—not a God, but a Creature with the body of a lion, wings that when fully mature are like something from a nightmare but are downy when young, and a tail tipped with poison. I'm like him, a weaker, smaller version of his animal shape when I change forms, but I never met him. He knew I existed—before he died, he put money in my bank account—but he never showed an interest in my life. Which, more than Venus's absence in my life, actually stings.

As far as I know, he's the only other Manticore in existence since I'm his only kid and he's the original Manticore. In the Creature world, there's always the original, and any of their offspring are like me—Crea. Shifters who become their beastly forms once a month on what we call the Crea Moon, but who aren't anywhere near as powerful as the originals. Creatures have their own Majick, usually tied to an element, and unlike their descendants' power, it's boundless. It can do anything. Ours has limits.

I can't use my Majick to heat the air around me, or make me stay a girl—push off the Change. Creatures can change at will, their kids have no choice, controlled by nature, forced to brutally twist until they're a new, animalistic shape. I can, through my Majick, sense the beating heart of this Wood—feel the heat and motion of birds, the slow gurgle of roots sucking up water, the gentle watchfulness of the trees, so many different varieties of them, each one individual, with their own fingerprint, recognisable to my Earth Majick if I focussed hard enough. But I couldn't control it—the whole wood—unlike a Creature.

Another shudder wracks my body, the impact shooting down every bone in my body. I groan without meaning to, the pain beginning to build. I couldn't focus either of my Majicks now—the one I got from my mother or my father—with my body quivering, bones creaking.

No. No, I can't, I can't hurt anyone else.

It pauses—it always does. A lull. I grit my teeth, tears pushing out of my eyes because I know what's coming and—

No, please don't, just this time, please don't—

A spasm rips me from head to toe. I'm gone in an eruption of pain and breaking bones. I no longer have to think about the family I can't have.

I'm no longer a girl.

FOUR

THE GIRL IN THE WOODS

The wood is beautiful to these animal eyes but I hate having no control over what they fall on. Anxiety burns through me, the constant panic that the Manticore will snap, the predator will focus on something living, and like last time...

I can't bear to think about it—being trapped here in the confines of a sleek, leonine body not mine as a beast not me rips into cloth and skin and muscle. The edges of the leaves are crisp, distracting the Manticore for now, the flat colours my human eyes would see brought into bright technicolour relief, every insect scaling the huge trees sharp and in perfect focus. The beast in me can see the moss on the furthest tree, hear even a scuffle in the brush, the pad of a rabbit's paws or the scurry of a squirrel in its nest. It didn't take long for these furry ears to pick up the path of the human's boots last Crea moon, didn't take long for its—my?—jaws to close around the man's meaty leg, to drag him onto the wood floor so it—I?—could rip out his throat.

Even now, I could kill someone and I wouldn't be able to stop it. My jaws would rip flesh from bone and I'd be paralysed in my mind, watching the horror as it happens. Six times. That's how many times I've killed someone, how many times I've fought with everything I have to get the Manticore to leave them alone, spare them with just a few wounds, leave them with their lives. Three other people got away with only claw welts and bite marks but not because the Manticore listened to my broken pleading—because they were distracted by the scent of another Crea on the wind.

Six people are dead because of me.

One was a girl no older than nine. I killed her when I was fourteen, before I'd settled into the Change. The second was a teenage boy who saw the beast and thought it was a good idea to take a photo on his phone instead of running for his life. The third was a middle-aged man. He had a knife angled at my friend Willa as she lounged in Almery pool in her oceanid form, humanoid but with her skin tinged the same murky green of the lake, the pattern of leaves and shadows on the pool reflected exactly on her skin, shifting with every minute change of the water's surface.

I'm not sure whether the man meant to kill her for spoils or because she freaked him out but I don't regret killing him. That doesn't mean he doesn't still haunts my nightmares, his glazed green eyes and slack, wrinkled face flashing through my dreams like all the others I killed, victims four and five, a couple of college-aged guys with cans of cheap larger in their hands, and six—just last month—an aging man in a khaki puffy jacket, a hunting rifle in his hand. I panicked, thinking he was the kind of hunter that comes after my kind, and couldn't even scramble to stop the beast. When it was too late I realised he was just a normal hunter trying to shoot a normal beast for his study wall or for kicks. No strengthened canvas uniform, no serious rifle—semi-automatic—no hatred sneered across his face.

I could do nothing but watch, collapsing inside a body that didn't belong to me, while the beast tore limbs apart and left them in an arrangement that satisfied it. Mavers says, with enough effort, I can stop this, bring the Manticore under control, but I know, deep down, he's wrong.

Still—I don't understand why the beast killed to save Willa. Maybe there's the smallest connection, however thin, between the two of us, between girl and monster. I have to hope; it's the only thing keeping me going. That one moment, that one kill—on my behalf, not the beast's. That tiny, momentary connection, that crossover of intent, that's what keeps me trying, fighting, grasping for any measure of control. With every month that passes with no progress, my heart gets harder, my hope gets crushed a bit smaller, but still it's there ... that one moment.

But as leaves and dirt and errant twigs are shredded beneath ruthless golden paws, I'm not so sure. I never am when I'm here, stuck, captive—it seems an impossible thing to get this ruthless force under control. The Manticore is a creature of bloodlust and vicious intentions. I doubt there's any part of it that will come to heel. I've tried threats, begging, bargaining—nothing. No reaction. On the days before and after the Change, when I can feel fur and claws scratching just under the surface of my skin, that's when I need to control it. I need to harness the monster when it's my choice. Not when the moon is holding me hostage.

The Manticore steps into a clearing lit by moonlight and shakes out its fur, the feathers of its wings tickling my ears—its ears. I move my head instinctively to get rid of the irritation but the beast's head stays still. I hold my breath, sensing those ears swivel and focus, scanning for out of place sounds. I hear nothing. If I had a body, sweat would be beading at my temples, my breath held.

The beast trots on, following a familiar dirt trail between towering oaks towards the pool, it's tongue dry, leaving behind paw prints twice the size of the largest dog's that tomorrow morning Mavers and the rest will come and scuff away—lest humans see and grow curious. I can faintly taste the sharpness of the water when my—its—head bends to lap from one of the narrow streams that feed into the pool. Water runs down its mouth when it lifts its head.

The beast pivots suddenly and regards the trees. I feel the sensation of my stomach dropping even if I don't have a girl's stomach right now. A low, guttural growl comes from the depths of the Manticore's chest and I finally see what it heard. A man inches out from behind a wide trunked service tree, vibrant leaves contrasting against the intentionally dark brown of his canvas jacket. He meant to blend in. I thank Legend the beast's eyes are fixed on him because it means I can scan him for the tell-tale signs of hunters—I've never seen one but we all know what to look for. Heavy canvas clothes, scarf wrapped around their lower mouths, a sense of something not quite right with them. This man has all the signs.

Futilely, I urge the beast to turn and run, dragging and pulling with strength I don't have, screaming with a soundless voice, begging with my mind. But I know by the rumble coming from its mouth and the way its claws are uprooting earth that it's going to attack. I'm going to kill another person. Unless they kill me first. The terror and dread wants to choke my breath but my body is out of my control. It poisons my mind instead, fills me with visions of bloody limbs and skin torn open until I feel like I'm shaking.

By the time the man has produced a weapon, it's too late for the beast to react to the real threat—a gun. I tried to warn it, to pull it away, get us to run. The gun—a semi-automatic rifle, matte black metal, long muzzle. Even the Manticore stops breathing for just a second.

The wood holds its breath.

We turn, sensing the bigger threat, to run, but a sharp noise tears the silence in two, scattering birds and animals in all directions. The Manticore flinches at the sound before absolute, blinding agony shocks through me, uniting Yasmin and the Manticore for one second in merciless pain. I scream in silence; the beast lets out a world-shaking roar, flaring its wings—but they're not enough to hold its weight, not enough to carry us far away until the Manticore is fully mature, until they're toughened, moulted, and leathery with spines as strong as titanium.

The hunter sights down his rifle again but the beast is lumbering to its feet, paws gripping for purchase. For once, it's not a terror to be utterly out of control—we both want the same thing. Distance, quiet, safety. The Manticore races out of the clearing, weaving through tree trunks to partially cover us, but its usual speed is affected by the wound, a messy hole in its shoulder. I need to grit my teeth, to clench my fists, to hold onto something physical so I can bear own on this complete agony. The pain seems to pulse louder in my head, turning dark and large and demanding. Sight slips from me for a string of seconds. Blood falls, drop by drop, onto the ground, leaving a trail. I don't know how much longer I can stand this.

I know, suddenly, that I'm going to die, the thought striking my head with as much force as the next blurring wave of pain. And in this moment, as the beast stumbles, as its legs give way, dying as the beast is the worst thing I can think of. I would rather ... I would rather have killed him, that hunter, that man—that person. I would rather have torn his throat out than die myself. I think that makes me a different sort of monster.

The Manticore's ears prick to the sound of footsteps but by now it can't move at all. All it can do is pull downy wings around itself as a flimsy, useless shield, and watch as the owner of the footsteps nears us.

Heavy duty boots on the edge of the trees, striding purposefully closer until, without warning or reason, they stop, slowly backing away. The beast's rolling eyes are still turned in the direction of the hunter, hovering behind a tree, watching, but the man doesn't near. Why?

A larger sound, trees whipping, branches hitting solid flesh, scraping clothes, and then running—feet running. Mavers? Guy? Weakness suddenly takes over the Manticore; maybe it thinks our family is coming, too.

But when a form crashes to the leaf-torn ground beside the beast's bulk, wide green eyes fill my patchy vision. A heart-shaped olive face, bushy eyebrows drawn low, a frown slashed across full lips. Not Mavers, not Guy, but a girl. A girl in the woods. Thank you, I think at this stranger but I have no Majick to grasp onto, too weak to do anything but watch the beast's eyes gradually win the fight against staying open. Blackness covers me too, dragging me down.

FIVE

THE MORNING AFTER

With a groan I open my eyes on a too-bright morning. Rubbing my eyes, I squint into the light, waiting for trees and loam to resolve around me, braced as always for blood and bones. My stomach knots until my eyes focus on ... a kitchen. What?

Anxiety spikes. I try to remember changing back to this form, crawling back to the Academy but my brain doesn't work like it's supposed to. I don't remember getting my clothes from the tree hollow, don't remember stumbling home. And ... this isn't home. This isn't our kitchen, cluttered and well-used. This is glossy and sleek and pristine. Glass sliding doors, clean tiled floor, shining white cupboards, marble worktops. Where am I? My breathing quickens and my eyes finally focus, darting around the room. Where am I?

I try to scramble to my feet but my limbs are weak, wrecked from the Change. I try again and agony spears me, shooting up my spine, arrowing through my shoulder. I let out a whine more beast than girl—but when I reach for the senses I can usually access this soon after the Change, I come up empty. No heightened smell or hearing, not even the prickle of claws under the skin of my fingers, the push of fur and feathers beneath the skin. After the Crea Moon, the beast is hard to control and always in power. But now it—

Scuffling draws my attention to the open doorway and the girl stood inside it. My age, pale olive skin, pretty face twisted into an expression of shock. "Who are you?" she whispers. I shudder—hard.

She intentionally averts her eyes and that's when I realise I'm naked. Sweat breaking along my back, I cover my private parts with my hand, band an arm across my breasts. I want to crawl out of this kitchen and run away. Who is she? Where am I? My stomach twists in on itself, my heart kicking my ribs. My eyes shoot around the room, marking the door she's stood in, the sliding glass doors behind me. I could run, if I was quick enough—

I remember, all at once, the memories like an anvil dropped on my head.

The Change. The girl in the woods.

I stare at her. What do I do? She's human ... right? I'd be able to tell with my Dei senses—inherited from my Goddess mother—if she was Legendary like me. But she saw me ... in animal form. Oh Gods. I broke the first rule of the Legend Mirror, the only rule that matters in my world: don't expose us to humans. My next breath is jagged.

"I asked you a question," she says, strength in her voice. I flinch at the harshness of it in the quiet. "Who are you?"

I stare at her, trying to cover as much as myself as possible, trying to remember. How did I get here? I remember a dark figure, a hunter emerging with a gun aimed at the Manticore, remember the force and the agony of the shot—I'm still feeling every ripple of the aftermath. Surely the beast wouldn't have been so disorientated by the injury to wander into someone's home. To follow her home? Would it?

Girl In The Woods stares at a patch of wall above me. The hard light coming through the glass door catches in her eyes. They're an unusually dark shade of green, with flashes of yellow-gold around the pupil—but not like mine, which become flecked with metallic gold whenever I'm close to monstrous. Dark shadows beneath her eyes match the bloodshot veins.

What do I say? I'm a creature of myth, daughter of a Goddess nobody believes was ever real, member of a mythical race who live in secret for fear your kind will kill us all. No. There's only one answer I can give. "I'm Yasmin," I rasp.

"That's informative," she retorts, fixes her jaw. Then, "I'm Fray."

I hunt for something to cover more of my body with, too much brown skin on show. All I see is a towel drying on a radiator. I need clothes but I'm desperate. Tense, moving too quick for her to stop me, I flick out my arm and grab the fluffy fabric. The girl takes a step back when I move but the look she gives me is a warning, not fearful.

When I'm almost-decent, I try standing again and find my bones have recovered from transforming and breaking enough to hold me upright. My heart thumps. I stand there like cornered prey. I want to bolt for the door but ... I don't. I need to know how I got here.

I watch her from the corner of my eye. Girl In The Woods. Fray. "Strange name," I say to fill the uncomfortable silence.

"Strange parents." She scratches her arm a bit too vigorously. "I don't mean to be funny but ... who are you? And what are you doing in my kitchen?"

"I'm—"

"Because last night I found a lion ... thing. A winged lion. I get that it sounds insane but—it was bleeding and I brought it here to help. Because I obviously have no sense of personal safety." Fray's rambling. She looks terrified—though I think there might be an edge of reckless curiosity in her eyes as they watch me. I don't like her eyes on me, and not just because my skin is crawling and desperate for clothes—because I feel seen.

"And now you're here," she goes on, gesturing with her hands, "and very naked. And I'm not sure what I'm supposed to think. Did you think it was a fun prank to play? Did you set the whole thing up? Was the uni-lion even real? What did you do with it?"

I mean to say something else, something to cover up this mess—Mavers made us memorise some of the more easily believed cover stories just in case we got in trouble—but that non-word gives me pause. "The what?"

"Uni-lion," she says matter-of-factly. "Like unicorn, but with a lion. No wait." She holds up a hand, frowns. My heart races. I'm sure, suddenly, she knows what I am. Manticore, she's going to say, and then phone the police. Hunters will hear somehow and they'll come for me—and find the Red too. But Fray just rambles to herself, visibly nervous. "That would mean the lion had a horn and it didn't. It had wings. But what kind of animal has wings?"

She's talking to herself but I'm shaking and scared and I answer her automatically. "Pegasus. The winged horse."

"Yes!" Her eyes are so frantic, so wide. "You're right. So Pega-lion. No, that sounds awkward. I'll just call it a were-lion."

"Right." I take a backward step closer to the glass doors. "I-I need to go. I'm sorry."

"Why?" Fray takes a step towards me, expression darkening with suspicion. "Why are you sorry? What did you do?"

When she moves into the full force of the light I do a double take. She looks like a Numen—a Goddess—or a being from one of the old stories, the incarnations of love and hate and hope that died out long ago in the Roman era. I look three times just to be sure, but she's completely pure, completely human.

Distracted by my growing interest in her I almost say, because the winged lion was me. But I can't. I mash my lips together, panicked, and blurt the first thing that comes to mine. "I'm sorry for being in your kitchen. I'm going to leave now." At least I know how I got here—she found me, dragged me to safety, away from the hunter ... not that she knows that.

She laughs, a severe sound more scared than amused. "Here's the problem: I still have no idea who you are or why you're in my house. I'm starting to think you're a serial killer. And if you are a serial killer, I can't just let you go. You might try to kill another unsuspecting girl." She narrows her eyes, squares her shoulders. "I should call the police."

"No." I pull on my afro. It's matted with clumps of mud. Or at least I hope it's mud. "Please," I beg. Scramble for a reason for her to believe me. "I haven't tried to hurt you, have I?"

Her eyes are dangerous slits. "Not yet."

"I just want to leave. Okay? I don't remember what happened. All of yesterday is a blur." It's not a complete lie. I don't remember most of it. But I do remember her standing over me, vibrant and beautiful in the Manticore's heightened vision. I remember the hunter on the edge of the clearing, watching, gun raised. She scared him off; I owe her. The thought sinks my stomach.

"Because that's not crazy at all," she breathes.

I blow out a breath, more self-conscious by the second. "Can I just ... borrow some clothes and leave? Because I don't know where I am and I just—I really want to go home." I'd take off without the clothes but I don't know how far away from the Academy I am. I could be miles away from Callaire. I could be anywhere. Despair presses down on me, squeezing my chest.

Whatever she sees on my face convinces her. Fray spins on her heel and leaves the room, brown hair swaying with the movement. I don't know what meaning she read from my anxiety. I stare at the door until she returns with clothes—and a shotgun.

I suck in a sharp breath.

"Get dressed," she says through gritted teeth. "And go."

I might be descended from a creature of myth and in possession of two kinds of Majick but I can't argue with a shotgun. As I'm getting dressed, my back turned, she asks, "The creature, the lion—did you let it out my kitchen?"

"Yeah," I say, exhausted now I'm covered up, going home. Tired—emotionally, mentally, in the innermost fibre of my being. "That's what happened." I pull the shirt over my stomach—it's too short and tight on me but it's clothing—and then I'm pulling the sliding doors aside and running away on bare feet.

"Wait!" she yells. She has a really loud shout, enough to make my ears ring, but I keep going across the patio of her back garden, ignoring the Girl In The Woods. I can't look back, can't stop now—home, I'm going home. It slaps me around the face how much I want to be inside the Academy, not just because the building is home, but I need to hear their voices, even rooms apart. Mavers and Vic and Minnie and Am, even the others—even Guy. My heart squeezes tight. I just want to go home, to be safe.

"Stop!" Fray comes after me, stomping over the grass. She's brought the shotgun for Legend's sake. "You can't go in there."

Her words draw my thoughts short, but I keep aiming for the trees at the bottom of her garden. I recognise the scent, and my relief is instant. I'm in Callaire—I'm near Almery. Fray's words sound distantly in my head. She means I can't go in Almery Wood because there are hunters in there.

Because it's dangerous for anyone to share space with someone with a gun, or because she's connected the dots and figured out the creature is me?

I stop and face her. For the first time, as I turn, I notice my shoulder has been bandaged, even if it's unravelling beneath my borrowed T-shirt. The binding is too loose—done, I'm assuming, for the much bigger shoulder of the Manticore. But that means...

For some senseless reason Fray saw a monster and chose to give it care. I stare at her, this strange girl, and I don't understand her one bit. It makes my voice gentler when I ask, "And why can't I?"

"There are hunters in there." She's breathing heavily, her skin flushed, but her eyes are flinty. There's strength in her, this girl. The beast rumbles to life, as interested in Fray as I am.

"Hunters who will shoot an animal, not a girl," I point out.

"It's still dangerous."

Why does she care? "What does that matter to you?"

"You're right. It doesn't. Sorry." She walks away, her jaw clenched, and I feel like the most ungrateful person in all of Britain.

"Thanks," I shout. A pathetic attempt at apologising, really.

"Yeah." She throws up a hand in acknowledgement without turning. She's lost the nervous energy and in that one movement I see listlessness. I let her walk away. The Manticore doesn't fight to go after her, to claim a new victim, even aware as it is of everything around me. I'm grateful. I don't want to fight myself right now. I just want to go home.

SIX

THE NUMEN'S PREMONITION

Everything is moss and glitter around me. It's beautiful—as it always is—in Almery Wood. My Crea hearing associates sounds with each colour—the inaudible rhythm of insect feet on amber-lit branches, the soothing whisper of wind stirring leaves on the ground.

My skin pricks, hairs rising as I hear something that doesn't belong. Feet pad delicately, cautiously, towards me. I urge the beast to tip my fingers with claws, even if the skin slicing apart to accommodate them would be painful. The ironic thing is, before the past three transformations, all I wanted was to push the beast down. Now, it's silent and I want it to rear its head, give me some measure of defence.

Right now, against a predator, I would lose. I would die. I have no knife, no weapon, nothing.

I'm bracing to run—my knowledge of this wood is the only advantage I have—but the wind curls towards me and on it, I scent my brother. My stomach dives to my toes, my emotions changing abruptly. My insides crumple, even as my heart leaps to be near someone familiar after waking up in a strange place with a girl threatening me.

"What do you want, Guy?" I rasp, my shoulders drooping.

He steps onto the path, muscular arms crossed over his chest, light through the tree canopy lacing strange shadows across his face—a shade browner than mine but with the same nose, the same eyes. I don't want to deal with his particular brand of indifference right now. I'm too tired to do anything but look at him, every pain written across my face.

"Shane is dead," he says. Works his jaw, won't look me in the eye. "I thought you were too."

It takes a really long moment for the words to sink in, for my mind to place any meaning on the words Shane and dead. When it hits, breath rushes out of me. It's like I've been kicked in the stomach; I fumble for stability against the trunk of the closest tree.

"You weren't in your room," Guy goes on, fury in his voice. "You're usually back by now."

"I..." I'm never going to tell anyone what happened.

"Well." He coughs, huffs a breath. I can't look at him straight on. Tension builds, tight enough to strangle me. "I thought you were dead, so I've been looking for your body."

"No need," I manage to say. Shane—dead. My voice breaks in the middle. "I'm sorry to disappoint but I'm still alive."

His dark eyes glare at me across the woodland path, something about his expression wound tight. "Right." He scrapes a palm over his shaved head. "Well. See you back at the Academy then."

Guy disappears. I stare at the place he stood for a long second before, without warning, his words crush me. I stumble, my back hitting the tree, and slide to my knees on the leaves and fallen branches. A sob catches in my throat, then another is forcing out of my mouth, and the next is loud, echoing around the treetops.

Shane—he's—

Guy re-emerges with an unreadable expression, marching across the path to kneel in front of me. He lays a hand on my shoulder and I squeeze my eyes shut. My whole body shakes as I cry.

He doesn't say anything, doesn't try to hug me, just leaves his hand on me. And that's alright—until he squeezes, about to stand since I've almost got my sobs under control, and I cry out, the pressure on my forgotten wound sending a shot of pain through me so severe that my vision would have blurred even without the tears.

At first Guy must assume grief is hurting me but then he reads something in my face. "Shit, Yasmin," he sighs and peels the borrowed shirt from my shoulder, gentler than I would have expected. I blink so I can see his expression, my stomach dropping. This is the most we've interacted in years. I can't let myself hope this means he's stopped hating me, can't let that brutality crush me again when I realise there's no hope, he doesn't want me, I'm not good enough to be his sister.

Another flash of pain makes me sway forward; a warm palm holds me up as he unwinds the bandage and examines my injury.

"Is it bad?" I croak.

"It could be worse," he replies in a low voice. "At least it's not infected. You treated this in time." He levels his gaze on me, black eyes making my stomach squirm. I can't remember the last time he looked at me like this—really looked at me, not just sidelong or when my back was turned. "Where did you get the bandage?"

I drop my gaze. I'm silent too long for my lie to be believable. "I stole it from someone's kitchen."

"And wrapped and pinned it perfectly with your left hand." Sarcasm bleeds from his voice. "Funny—last I remember you were right-handed."

I don't move, don't speak. I might not even breathe.

"You're lucky I don't give a shit," he says, passing a hand over my wound. I catch my breath as wind stirs around his fingers, sunlight and smoke moving in the air. I feel my skin tingle and knit back together by Majick. He used ... his Majick on me ... to heal me. Hope flops in my stomach but I throw memories of rejection at myself to crush it.

He opens his mouth once, snaps it shut. Eventually says, "Don't get shot again."

I feel sick. "I'll try not to." I attempt a smile. Guy doesn't. He gives me an unreadable look and then he's pushing to his feet and turning away.

"Minnie had a vision," he says, over his shoulder. He looks ... troubled. Tired. "From Apollo themself. They showed her three coffins and three moons. She says it means the hunters will kill three of us before the season is over."

"Shane," I force through my swollen throat, dropping my eyes to my hands, the dirt beneath my fingernails.

"Two more." Guy sighs but I can't look at him. "Don't be one of them. Come straight home."

When I look up he's gone. For good this time.

SEVEN

THE GRIEVING RED

I stumble back to the Academy, up the winding hill road, with my head blazing and my stomach gnawing. Dizzy. I brace myself against the wall that leads to the front gates, trees leaning to brush their branches across my shoulders. Everything is sensitive, this soon after bones breaking and skin ripping, and even the gentle brush of bare branches sends a howl of pain down my arm. I can't ... I can't get around the back of the Academy to sneak in the back way, not like this.

Pressing a palm to my face, even that hurting my aching limbs, I scrounge up my last bit of strength and let myself in the front gate, walking unsteadily down the tree-lined path to the courtyard and then in the front door.

This place is a mismatch of mahogany furniture, cheap Ikea wood, gaudy ornaments, and paintings—most passed down family lines, from Numina to Legendary to Legendary. Ten personalities clash in every room.

All at once the smell of fresh food—bacon and beef and homemade bread—fills my nose, my mouth watering. But I'm not in the mood for being around the Red, especially not if Rowan and Fearne and Shane are there—

But Shane is gone. It's a spike of pain, that remembering. I might not have liked him much but he was still part of the Red, still one of us.

"Whoa," a soft voice says, and then footsteps pad closer. "Yasmin? You look rough."

Leaning against the wall beside the door, all my strength gone, pale with blood-loss ... I bet I do. I peel my eyes open, not noticing when they'd shut, and find Harrie watching me, hovering in the middle of the hall with her hands twisting the ends of her pigtails. "I'm fine," I say because pointing out she looks rough too would be rude. Like me, she changes forms with every Crea Moon, although she's only on her third transformation because of her young age.

She snorts. "Sure. I'm gonna go get Amity."

"Yes?" Amity pokes her blonde head around the doorway of the front room, sees me, and rushes towards me. "Oh, Yasmin." She knows better than to touch me so soon after the Change but her hands flutter near my arms anyway. "Come on, let's get you some food, you look drained." She's only in her late twenties but that doesn't stop her treating me like her kid, or the rest of us younger ones too.

"I'm fine," I protest, attempting to take a few steps—away, towards my room, towards silence and solace. But Amity settles a strong, wiry arm across my back when I sway and I don't even want to fight as she guides me into the kitchen. I look at my feet, not daring to meet the eyes of whoever's in here, but it's just Mavers and Vic. Vic swears at the sight of me and immediately asks where I'm hurt, but Mavers just puts a plate piled high with food on the table, which I waste no time digging into.

A box of painkillers is put in front of me, hard enough to dent the cardboard, and I look up, freezing as I meet Guy's eyes. I drop my gaze quickly, focussing on finishing my meal. They just ... stand around me. Guy, Mavers, Am, Vic and Harriet. It should feel uncomfortable, should make my skin prick, my breath quicken, but after hearing about Shane it doesn't, not at all. I push my empty plate away, taking a sip of the lemonade Mavers wastes no time getting me, and I have to ask, even if I don't want to. I have to know.

"How did..."

"He went into the thickest part of the wood," answers a rough voice behind me. I twist in my seat and find everyone piled into the room. Rowan has his jaw clenched like he's furious, bulky arms crossed over his broad chest, straining his T-shirt, but his eyes ... they're glassy, as if he's been crying. Fearne, clutching his arm, has dark eyeliner smudged around her eyes and halfway down her cheeks too. I nod because I don't know how to reply.

The thickest part of the wood, where the trees are too dense to really run, but the trunks too thin to really hide.

I unstick my swollen tongue to say, "Sorry." If I feel the way I do, Fearne and Rowan were his friends, Guy too ... how must they feel?

"I'm looking for a new place for you to change," Mavers says into the sudden silence. "Even if it means getting a second van so we can drive a few hours away, if it makes you safe, it's worth it."

Rowan's laugh is sudden and harsh. "Like we won't be killed there, too."

"Rowan," Mavers says gently, but Rowan just turns and leaves, Fearne following close behind him. I don't dare speak a single word.

"This is fucked up," Guy whispers and leaves too. I watch him from the corner of my eye, his shoulders hunched, dark head bowed. Hands fisted at his sides. A pang of sympathy, of connection goes through me, urging me to go comfort him, but he's made it clear plenty of times that he doesn't want anything to do with me. I crush the urge, jumping in my skin when Mavers reaches over to clear my plate, every movement a threat to both me and the Manticore under my skin.

"Go get some sleep," Mavers says, his broad shoulders hunched, "all of you. Recover. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Um." Minnie raises her hand. "Pass."

Mavers chuckles, a grating, weak sound but a laugh anyway. It loosens something in my chest, this assurance that everything will be alright. "Okay Minnie, since you didn't change, you don't have to go to bed. The rest of you?" He sweeps a glance over all of us, both caring and commanding.

"You don't have to tell me twice," Vic says, hauling himself out of the chair beside me, looking exhausted. His red hair is messier than normal, and that's an accomplishment.

"I don't want to go to bed," Harrie complains, sounding a lot like a three year old at bedtime. "I'm not even that tired."

I can't stop the amused smile curling my lips. Mavers just gives her a look.

"Ugh," she huffs. "Fine." I watch her storm out of the room, a tattered dress sweeping the floor behind her. I get to my feet before anyone can insist I go and sleep; my body is insisting just fine on its own.

"Need some help?" Min asks, ducking under my arm. I don't mean to, but my strength seeps from me and I end up leaning entirely on her. She grunts but it's good natured and she doesn't let me go. "How do you weigh this much?" she complains as we follow the winding corridors towards my bedroom. "You're like a twig."

I laugh and regret it as my head blurs with dizziness. "Shut up," I mutter, which makes her grin. If it wasn't for her dance training—obsessive and strict and mostly self-imposed—I doubt she'd have the strength in her big body to haul me down the last corridor and dump me on my bed.

"Ow," I groan, wincing as pain spikes in every bit of me.

Minnie throws the already-bent box of painkillers at me and says, "I'm proud of you, Yas. You sat in that kitchen for a whole ten minutes with us. Look at you, all grown up and socialising."

I mutter something unpleasant into my pillow, curling up on my side.

"You have a lovely way with words," Min replies and, laughing, shuts the door behind her, leaving me in blissful quiet. I let out a long sigh and by the end of it, I'm completely asleep.

I wake up at three in the morning with my face plastered to my pillow with sweat, my clothes stuck to my skin. Most of my aches have gone but there's still a phantom pain in my ankle for some reason. I test it and curse into the silence, quickly realising it's not silent. Someone is knocking on my door. At three a.m.? I groan and roll out of bed.

Huffing under my breath, I throw the door open and come face to face with a blank-eyed Minnie. She's in a nightshirt with a dog's face and so pugging cute written across it in sparkly silver letters.

"Min?"

"She will find you on the day of all days, the beginning of beginnings, the end of ends. She will find you, and you will find the heart of her, and you will fall."

"For the love of Legend," I sigh, slumping. She's in a trance, unconsciously stuck in someone's pathway—mine apparently.

"You will fall so far."

"Yeah, lots of falling," I agree, wondering how I'm gonna get her back to her room on the other side of the building.

"Your heart knows her already."

"That's nice."

"You will fall."

"You mentioned that a few times. Gods, Minnie, is that grass on your feet? Did you cross the garden to get here?" I shake my head. If the freezing night didn't wake her, not much will. My Psychic Majick might.

In her head, I shout, Minnie!

She blinks suddenly, her dark eyes focussing, her round face scrunching into confusion. "What the—?"

"Having a midnight stroll?" I ask, trying not to smile. I'm not sure why it makes me feel better that she's having a worse night than me but it does. I'm a crappy friend.

"I .... My feet hurt."

"I bet. You should probably go back to bed."

She massages her head, swearing under her breath. "What did I say?"

"Falling. End of all ends. The usual."

She stumbles through the door into my bedroom.

"By all means—come in." Sleep theft makes me grumpy.

Minnie, half asleep, misses the absolute sarcasm in my voice. "You're an angel," she says, and dives face-first onto my fluffy bed cover.

I drag a hand over my face and shut the door, climbing into bed beside her.

EIGHT

THE ACCUSATIONS

"Cheer up," Minnie says. "It won't kill you."

I flinch, Shane's face flashing behind my eyes, but she doesn't notice.

"Anyway, you hung out with us all yesterday and you were alright."

That was different. It just ... happened. And we were grieving. It wasn't like it'll be now, when I walk into the room at the back of the Academy we use for family meetings. I shake my head.

"Come on, Yas," Minnie says, catching my arm. She looks ... sad. I look away, guilt souring my stomach. "You can't lock yourself away forever. Not with what's happening."

Not with hunters too close for comfort. "I know."

I stalk down the hallway, this one decorated in dark wood doors and lush green carpet unlike any other corridor in the house. I don't want to be here. I never planned to be a part of the meeting but Minnie begged and persuaded so here I am, nervous and unwelcome, my heart drumming.

A deep voice comes from the door at the end of the hall, steady and calm. It's enough to make me feel less out of place. At least one person won't be annoyed that I'm here. But the thought of disappointing him yet again ... that's almost worse than anticipating Guy's reaction, Fearne's.

I pull in a breath, square my shoulders, and walk into the room. Sweat instantly beads on my forehead as everyone turns to stare, shocked no doubt by my untimely appearance after two years of practised avoidance of every family meeting and dinner and gathering. I lower my eyes and slide into a seat at the long table, my shoulders hunched like they can protect me, my face hot.

"Sorry we're late," Minnie says, sitting beside me. She smiles wickedly, daring anyone to say something out of line.

Mavers springs out of his chair, coming to stand behind me, some weight falling off his broad shoulders. His hands rest on my chair as he resumes talking—about funeral arrangements and ways we might be able to track down Shane's parents, both Legendaries, descendants of the Hippogriff and the Centaur that gave Shane his singular Crea form—part horse, part bird, part man.

When the others begin muttering to each other, arguing the way I remember from meetings years ago but with a different tense undertone, Mavers squeezes my shoulders and thinks, knowing I'll hear him with my Majick, thank you for coming. I know it's difficult for you to be here.

No, I lie, it's fine.

I'm glad you're here. Guy has been more ... short-tempered than usual. He'd never admit it, but I know he's worried for you, with the hunters.

I shake my head, fixated on the table. Yeah, right. Guy would never worry about me. He might be my brother but he hates me. He's always hated me, for as long as I remember. The only memories I have of him not being spiteful or aloof are when I first came to The Red. I was six. Mavers had saved me, picked me out of the Legendary equivalent of the foster care system—I'd had twelve carers by the time I was five—and when he brought me to the newly set up Academy, Guy was here. When Mavers told us we were related, I cried because I wasn't alone anymore. And Guy ... he held onto me while I sobbed, really tightly, like he was scared I wasn't real the way I was scared he wasn't. It wasn't long after that that Guy decided I was too much hassle and he didn't need a sister anymore.

"Are you done with the mind talk now?" a nasal voice slides across the table. I sigh, too tired for her tone to really land. Fearne, sounding a lot more like herself than she did yesterday. She coils dark hair around a finger and smirks at me with painted-red lips. Apparently some things never change. When Fearne turned up at the Academy four years ago everyone was mostly friendly to each other, which left a vacancy for a Resident Bitch of the Red. Fearne was only too happy to fill the position.

Rowan backs her up, encourages her, but he's not really mean enough to come up with insults on his own. He's more muscular arm candy than partner in crime. I never expected their relationship to stick, but they've been together years now and it's genuine love between them. It makes Fearne a tiny bit less like an ice queen.

"Fearne, be kind," Amity scalds. She meets my eyes and smiles, her whole face softening. Sometimes she's so pretty, with her golden beauty and honest kindness, that it hurts. Right now she looks genuinely glad to have me here. More guilt works its way into my heart, like splinters.

"Why?" Fearne demands. "Why should I be nice to her when she's betrayed us?"

Cold slides through my veins. I lean forward. "Betrayed you?"

Fearne's eyes are sharp—fiery. "Someone told the people who live near Almery Wood that the beast isn't a wolf like they thought, and they told someone else, who eventually told a fucking hunter. Long story short, the hunters know there are Legendaries in Callaire. They'll find the Academy by the end of the Godsdamned week."

"What?" The Red think I brought the hunters here? That I told humans about us? My chest rises and falls quick, indignation and anger rushing through my blood but—I remember Fray. What if she told them? But ... that doesn't add up. She found me after the hunter did. "Why would I? If they find the Academy, they'll find me too. I'm not that stupid." I don't tell her a hunter already found me, shot me. I'm not sure why.

Fearne's glare intensifies; even Rowan touching her arm doesn't lessen the heat of it. "Don't act innocent. We all know you're the one who told them."

Mavers stalks around the table, his voice commanding but barely raised; Mavers doesn't need to shout. "That's enough, Fearne."

A bulb above us bursts, sparks and glass raining on the table, and I flinch as filaments fall onto my skin. "Is it?" Fearne seethes. "They'll find us, Mavers. They'll find us." Oh. Fearne's anger at me makes sudden sense; she's terrified. No wonder she burst the bulb with her Majick—Akasha, a meld of all four elements that's like all four and none of them at the same time. Forever changing, adapting, shifting forms, Akasha is the most limitless of our Legendary Majick. My brother has it too, used it to heal my shoulder.

"Fearne." Mavers softens. "We're going to be alright."

Fearne gets to her feet, shaking her head, the squeak of her chair louder than a thunderclap. She opens her mouth but slams it shut without saying anything and storms out of the room.

Guy sighs and makes a gesture; the filaments and shards pull together, tiny bits of glass sifting from my skin, from the surface of the table, the funeral directors leaflets in the middle of it, and move back through the air until the bulb is whole again. By my next blink, the light is working and the table holds no evidence of Fearne's Majickal tantrum.

Mavers sinks into a chair, his hands running over the terracotta skin of his face. We're all silent, not wanting to break whatever thought has taken him. After two tense minutes his attention falls on Cornelia and Priscilla Hannam. Of all the members of the Red, I know the least about them. Otherworldly and pale, both in skin and hair, with silver eyes, they unsettle me.

"Girls? Could you use your Persuasion to confuse the hunters?"

The sisters glance at Mavers, their contemplative expressions mirrored on each other's ivory faces.

Cornelia, the eldest, says, "We could make them forget about us. Send them to another wood instead of Almery to keep them from our scent. It'll give us enough time to find a better solution."

Priscilla doesn't add anything; she's a lot quieter, shyer than her sister. Timid. Her eyes flit from person to person, watchful, as her hands flutter like butterflies in her lap.

I think because the Hannam sisters didn't grow up on Earth—they were raised in the Legend Mirror, another world separate to ours, the home of all Numina, a place we're told horror stories of even if we technically refer to our community on earth as the Legend Mirror too—they're less human and more deity. All Dei are blatantly inhuman in some ways, and I know I probably am too, but the sisters don't seem remotely mortal despite their human mother.

I'm grateful I was raised on Earth, even though it means I was rejected by both Venus and the Manticore because at least I have a firm grip on who I am. The Hannam sisters seem to float from place to place, using their Persuasion Majick for anything and everything they need.

"Thank you," Mavers says, interrupting my thoughts.

"Are you done?" Minnie's excited eyes fix on me, the circus attraction who survived her first meeting of the Red in years. "Is the meeting over?"

Mavers's eyes track the Hannam sisters as they leave. "It's over." Rowan has already snuck out to find Fearne anyway, so there's only half of us left. Harriet wastes no time in bounding from her seat and out of the room to whatever business is important to thirteen year olds.

I don't get up. I might live in the same house but right now I feel tied to Minnie, like I'm a guest and can't go anywhere without her permission.

My heart jolts when a lithe figure pushes onto the table next to me, sweeping papers aside as he leans back on his elbows. Floppy ginger hair, freckled face, bright eyes and brighter grin. Vic. My stomach turns over, guilt returning. I've been avoiding him, avoiding all of them, and he knows it. But he says, "Hello, lady," with an easy smile, like I'm not the world's worst friend. "It's been a while."

"Yeah." I grab a sheet of paper and busy myself reading it. It turns out to be a poster recruiting human hunters to 'SAVE THE PEOPLE OF CALLAIRE'. I shove it away in disgust. "I'm sorry." I am. But not enough to change my ways, not really. The pain of losing Guy, never really gone, flashes through me.

"Don't worry about it. You're here now."

I look up at him and frown. "I'm only here because Minnie forced me."

"Oh." His joy fades. I want to leave—this is why I don't do this. I say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, and I lose the people I love because I don't know what I'm doing. I should go, back to my room. But ... part of me doesn't want to be alone again, not just yet. And I missed my friends.

"I did not force anyone," Minnie shouts from across the room, gesturing wildly. "I only influenced. A little."

Vic's chest shakes with silent laughter. I touch the pendant at his throat without thinking. It's a strip of metal bashed and bent into the shape of a wave. I remember when I gave it to him. Vic catches my eye and flashes an optimistic smile.

I release the pendant, feeling my lips twitch. "Still not staying," I say. "I need to ... there are things I need to get done." Not really. I thought I'd work on the poem I've been writing all this week but it's not like it's urgent.

"So do I." He holds a hand to his chest like I've wounded him. "I have a very lucrative job at a corner shop, and"—he leans forward, whispering—"I have a date."

"That poor girl," I say before I can stop myself. It's too easy to fall into the rhythm of being his friend.

He scowls, all exaggerated angles. "I'm a catch. She doesn't know I'm a Selkie yet but I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Oh yeah. You turn into a seal on the Crea moon, no big deal." My laugh is rusty and awkward but there nonetheless. "Everyone expects that bombshell on the first date."

"She doesn't know about the other thing, yet, either." He chews his lip. "I hope she's fine with that too."

And all at once, the distance between us vanishes. Protectiveness chases away my nervousness, my uncertainty. I lay my hand on his, angry at something that hasn't even happened yet and probably won't. But I can't promise him she'll be okay with it. In just the Red, there are people completely unbothered by Vic's gender, but there are others—Fearne, Harriet—who still call him Victoria on occasion. Half of the time I don't think they mean to be offensive. They genuinely don't know how to deal with a transgender person.

"If she's not," I say, "she isn't worth having."

"Yeah." He shrugs.

"I mean it. She—"

Minnie interrupts my answer, materialising at my side without warning—not by Majick, just by being sneaky and light on her feet thanks to her dancing. She clicks her fingers at Vic, shooing him away. "Yasmin and I need to have a Girl Talk."

My stomach flips. "No we don't. We really don't."

Vic is on the verge of laughing again. Min points a crooked finger at him and says, "You. Leave." Glancing into the corner she calls, "And you. Stop skulking around."

I turn automatically and my whole body jolts as I meet Guy's gaze. He looks back at me evenly. My heart tries to beat its way out of my chest Why was he waiting around? Was he listening to me and Vic talk? I look away, confused. Without a word, he walks out the door.

"He's worried," Mavers says, hands clasped as he comes towards us.

I fight back a bitter laugh. "He just can't stand having me around."

"That's bullshit." Minnie sighs, shaking her head at me. "He cares about you a lot."

I get to my feet, tucking the chair under the table. Hurt sharpens my words. "Interesting way of showing it."

Mavers exhales a long suffering sigh, leaning against the window behind me. "I'm tempted to lock the two of you in a room until you sort out your problems."

"No thank you. I'm just gonna ... go to my room. I've got work I need to finish. That essay's due tomorrow." The essay I finished last Friday, the day I was given it. We're all home-schooled here, by Mavers every weekday in a ballroom converted into a classroom, albeit one with elaborate mouldings on the ceilings and a large mirror on the back wall. It's the one time a day I have to spend time with everyone, even if I sit in a chair at the back and focus myself entirely on my work.

"Alright," Mavers says, though he probably knows me enough to know I've already done the homework. For him, I try a smile, but it doesn't last long when I remember Shane gone and Guy stalking around me.

I make it down two corridors before Minnie erupts through the doors behind me. Her presence is big enough to fill the whole hall and her brown eyes scream Girl Talk. I back up, holding out my palms, but she grabs me by the arm and hauls me into her room, a few doors down. Her bedroom is very purple, and very Minnie. Books on foresight and visions and tarot cards clutter bookshelves on one wall, beside a very impressive fairy figurine collection, and her bed looks more like a pink meringue than somewhere you'd sleep. The whole place smells like sugarplum and incense.

"You didn't tell me!" Minnie squeals before the door's even shut behind us. "I saw a girl in your pathway! She saved you from a hunter! And don't think I didn't notice you missed out that detail in the meeting, either."

I take a step back. This is ... the last thing I expected from her girl talk threat. The beast in my blood, still vying for dominance this close after a shift, rages at the continued show of submission, wanting me to overpower Minnie, to make her take a step back.

"She's your—"

"If you say epic love or one true love or anything else from a fairy tale, I will actually genuinely kill you." My heart beats so, so fast. Fear and nervousness and being caught off guard, all clashing inside me.

"Soul mate."

I will melt all of your figurines, I think menacingly.

Minnie gasps in horror, her eyes going to the shelves of tiny winged girls. You will not!

I give her a look that says I definitely will.

"Fine," she huffs, falling backwards onto her over-stuffed bed, sending a poor french bulldog teddy flying off the side. "I won't tell a soul. But you need to find out what she knows."

"She doesn't know anything."

"Not yet. Like it or not, the pathways showed me a future for the two of you. Two futures actually."

I wrap my arms around my middle, not liking how vulnerable this conversation is making me feel. I can't think about love, about falling for someone who has the power to hurt me beyond repair. Minnie's prediction the night of my Change is brought into sudden, terrifying clarity.

She's going to die, I think.

Yasmin or her partner. I can't separate one from the other.

Their love ... it's so powerful. It's going to hurt so much when it ends.

Her? Fray? That's who Minnie saw?

"I have to go," I tell Minnie and before anything else can happen, I lock myself in my room. This can't happen. I can't fall in love—I'll be hurt, ruined, wrecked. The way I was when Guy rejected me. That's what happens when you love someone; you tear yourself open for them to see every part of you, and they either accept for you what you are or they rip out a piece of you and run.

NINE

THE VOICE

My Majick manifested seven weeks after my thirteenth birthday, at the dining table. One minute my head was filled with my own thoughts and quiet, the next I could hear everything—voices I didn't recognise at first, some I did, all of them shouting inside my head, so loud I covered my ears and screamed. It didn't matter that I silenced everyone sat at the table; I could hear all their thoughts. Guy's vicious thoughts about our mother turned to confusion when I screamed. Mavers's worries that Amity would never love him back became acute fear for me. Lem, an old resident of the Academy, had been thinking about my brother before he was suddenly beside me, his thoughts revolving around a Numen attack.

It took me a long, long time to calm down, and almost a year to manage to quiet their voices in my head. I had headaches every day, but worse were the cautious thoughts everyone began thinking, trying to conceal them whenever I was near, the way they looked at me—scared I knew their secrets. As if I wanted to know them.

With my family's voices in my head every moment, their eyes on me whenever I dared to venture out of my room, I began to have nightmares. I remember thinking a God or Goddess must have infected me with hysteria. There was no other way to explain the force squeezing my throat or the pressure in my head.

Mavers was the one who made me feel safe again. He was the only person who thought to comfort me when I screamed—Amity hovered instead, unsure—and he was never angry to be woken at all hours of the night by my howling. I used to hold onto his chest, my fingers tangled in his necklace—a ring with an arrow through it; a symbol of his ancestor, Mars—and he'd tell me that nightmares were perfectly normal, nothing to do with Numina at all. I didn't believe him for a long while.

I'd been at the Academy of the Red for seven years at that point, and I had nobody. I didn't have friends because I was too timid, too scared to get attached to anyone. I didn't have family because my brother ignored my existence, and the rest of my half siblings—the ones who Venus created and discarded like me—lived halfway across the world, anonymous and so secret even Mavers couldn't find them. Or they lived in the Legend Mirror, with our mother, wanted and accepted.

But Mavers came when the nightmares woke me, and he became the brother I needed. He still is my brother, even with the distance I've put between me and him and the rest of our family.

I can still feel his phantom hands stroking my back, soothing, still hear his voice. The Majick is yours, Yasmin. It doesn't control you—you control it.

I whisper those words to myself now but it doesn't quieten my mind, the thoughts not mine.

There's a voice in my head.

I wasn't sure at first if I was imagining it—the loud shout in my head woke me from a dream, so I was in between the unreal and the real—but it's too clear now for me to be making it up. And I'm fully awake, sat upright in bed, staring at the four walls around me in panic and paranoia. But it's ... different to when I pick up thoughts of people nearby.

Still, I throw a dressing gown over the T-shirt and shorts I slept in and pad into the corridor, being as quiet as possible, my ears strained for any out of place sound. It's utterly quiet until I reach the corridor where Rowan and Fearne's room is, and then I speed up just to get out of range of their moaning, a shudder trembling through me. I'm relieved to get back to the night silence until more words and thoughts tumble into my head.

Please. Don't.

I stop in the middle of the kitchen, frowning out the window. The garden's empty, thank Gods, but the voice in my head ... it's not the usual cry for help. From time to time, I hear the voices of the Lost, souls that haven't passed to the Otherland yet, still clinging to something here on Earth. But those pleas are always for help connecting them to their wife or son or friend, or asking me to fix something for them—a business deal going south, a relationship, a crumbling grip on someone's sanity—so they can finally find peace. This ... it's not asking for anything from me. It's begging for mercy.

I pull my dressing gown tighter around me, leaning against the worktop and staring at the trees dancing in the garden, the opalescent sheen of Akasha barely visible—a very recent shield Fearne and Guy made together, just in case. I don't follow that line of thought, still feeling the phantom ache of my shoulder.

The voice is female, young, and nothing like the faint, papery voices of the Lost. What do I do? If I was sure this was a Lost girl, I'd talk back or, depending on how miserable I was feeling, just block them out—a talent that took two full years to learn. But there's something about the desperate cry of her voice that holds me back from shutting her out. She sounds scared.

Don't what? I think in her direction. What else can I do? I don't recognise her voice but still, she sounds distressed and it worries me. I'm not entirely sure how to talk to someone like this. I usually just think the words at whoever I'm talking to and they hear them. But that's when it's my family, or a friend. How does this work with someone I've never met?

Don't hurt me, the voice begs. A sensation in the back of my head suggests she's crying.

I won't, I say. I try to sense more from her but all I can tell is she's crying and scared. Should I wake Mavers? I take a step towards the hall but what would I say? There's a girl talking inside my head and she's crying? He'd believe me—there's little we don't believe, being kids of Gods and Creatures—but what could he do? No more than me. I'd just worry him. Are you alright? I ask the girl, urging the Psychic Majick tethering us to form a stronger connection so—

What the hell?

There's nothing, no bridge or column of Psychic between us, not even a string. How is this possible? I have two Majicks, both of them capable of a lot of different things, and I have friends who each have their own power, but I've never heard of anything like this. Majick not leaving a trace.

I start to ask her name but without warning, I'm dragged into her mind. My heart hammers against my ribs; I can feel it even as the kitchen dims and darkens around me, even as my awareness is pulled elsewhere. It feels like there's a rope around my neck, dragging me headfirst into an endless pool of water. All I can hear are my breaths scraping up my throat. The hush of the wind outside has muffled, the trees slapping the kitchen window silenced. I shudder hard as a sensation rolls over me, and it feels, impossibly, like I open my eyes. But I'm inside someone's mind... aren't I?

Blackness darker than any normal shadow encloses me. My eyes feel open but I see nothing until a tiny point of orange light expands and I can see my arms. My body—how do I have a body here? It should be like any other time someone thinks, indistinct, unsolid. But this is ... different. I can see my arms clearly. Held in front of me they look the colour of pumpkin instead of their usual brown. My body is a hundred percent here as I test my weight by taking a step.

I blink and the rest of the scene—daydream, imagined room?—is suddenly around me. I'm in a corridor hollowed out of stone, with fire-lit torches lighting the path in front of me like a scene in a fantasy film. The bricks beneath my feet are blurry, nowhere near as solid as I am, and with sharp relief, I recognise it for what it is. A dream.

It's someone else's dream, not mine, which must be why I'm so present and aware. If it was my own, I'd be blurry, unsure.

A girl cries out piercingly loud, the sound coming from the end of the hewn stone hall, and I'm running before I've even thought to move my legs. My breath is short by the time I stagger into a chamber made of damp stone and go completely, beastly still. In front of me, a child has been laid upon a slab of rock. Ropes bind her arms and legs, hold her captive. For a second, shock silences everything in me, and then fury drums through my blood as I march forward, not recognising the incongruity until I'm right beside the girl, touching her, asking, "What happened? Who put you here?" and testing the tightness of the knots in the rope.

The girl's screams stop—she was the one screaming but the voice in my head was older, closer to my age. I try to coax my beast awake, asking for claws to cut the rope, and I'm too busy trying to free the girl that I don't notice when two men appear beside the rock, bent together in discussion. My heart lurches as they come into focus. Robed, tall, of differing ages but with their faces covered and speaking in the same bleak intonation. They look exactly like a Legendary scary story told to keep kids in line. Don't misbehave or the Shadow Ministry will come for you.

A chill runs down my spine. I was wrong before—it's not a dream, it's a nightmare.

I flinch, inhaling a sharp breath when a man staggers into the chamber, his dark hair mussed. Without fear, he marches up to the robes, shouts, "You can't do this!"

The taller robe replies with indignation that they most definitely can.

"If you won't take her, what am I supposed to do with her?" The man gestures wildly at the girl; at the reminder, I try again to free her. She's stopped crying but she's looking at me with a pleading expression, silent tears streaking her face.

"She belongs in your world, with creatures of mortality, not creatures of Legend," says the second robe.

"She doesn't! She's one of you."

"Almost. She is almost one of us. You would not listen, Malach, and the consequences of your choices fall to your daughter."

His daughter? Is this man—Malach—trying to ... get rid of his own daughter? The robes don't look impressed. They look downright disapproving and the expression—visible only as pursing of their lips because their eyes are covered by their hoods—makes me shiver again. Just because they're robed doesn't mean they're the monsters we only whisper about, the secret council who rule over all living beings, even Gods.

"But her sister!" Malach is shouting. "She's not the same. She's not one of you." He looks around himself, his eyes skipping over his daughter, laying there like an animal offered for sacrifice. Passing right over me, as if I don't exist. In this dream, which must be the girl's dream, maybe I don't. "Take her," he begs. "I can't."

Coward, I try to snarl, but my words come out as the almost-there sound I associate with thoughts, not speech. What is happening? This dream is unsettling. I want to get out. For the first time I ignore the robes, the cavern, the girl, and pull on my Psychic Majick to get me out of here. I feel it respond sluggishly but it doesn't take hold. The scene around me only wavers, like an image under water.

"We can do nothing for her," the robes say in unison. I go cold, tug harder at my Majick. The room sways again.

Malach, his image blurring, shouts now. "She can't stay here. She's an abomination. She's started doing things."

Still urging my power to remove me, I pause. Is the girl a Legendary? I look at her, still shaking and crying on the rock, but she feels utterly powerless to me, my Dei senses picking up nothing of my kind.

Finally, the dream stops fighting the tug of my Majick and all at once, like falling off a cliff, I wake up. Or rather—come back to myself. Gasping a heaving breath, I wait for my eyes to adjust even though I recongise the shadows of the cupboards and cabinets around me, the window in front of me. When everything's back in focus, I wait for relief to hit me, but it's slow to come, the unease of the dream clinging to me. The dream I had while standing upright, the dream that wasn't mine at all.

I grip the counter digging into my stomach hard enough that my bones creak, my fingertips scream and pull back, tearing apart to let out claws. My breath comes fast. What was that? What the hell was that dream?

I want to run to my room and barricade myself in bed, but what if falling asleep puts me back there? Instead, shaky, I go to the library, the tall, wide room full of bookshelves and safety. I curl up on the window seat, the sun rising at my back, but not even the romance book in my hands can chase away my fear.

TEN

THE HARBINGER

Five days pass without consequence. I venture out of my room again, for Shane's funeral. If it seems strangely soon to the funeral directors and the vicar, they don't say anything to us. For us ... it's better if Shane is put to rest. Numina have been known to do strange things with the bodies of dead Legendaries, and the old stories of beings that existed long before Numina were even worse. Violence and bloodlust given form, those old creatures, and the things they did ... no one's ever spoken about them. I've only heard of them because of the time I spend in the library and an old book I came across; Mavers probably knows about them though, and the Numina definitely do. I bet the Numina took tips from those ancient things. We can't risk them getting hold of Shane, recreating those gruesome scenes...

The funeral is bleak, and wet, and even though I never really loved Shane, I still cry as he's lowered into the ground. Minnie on my right and Vic on my left cry too. I think we all do. Afterwards, we walk the winding roads of Tabor's Foot, the village at the base of the immense hill the Academy stands on, silent, our heads down. But we stick close together, even Fearne and Rowan and me.

My heart has a permanent ache by the time we get back to the Academy, through its gates, and into the stifling heat of too many radiators left on. I go straight to my room without a word, the hurt spreading for a reason I can't name. For the rest of the day, I lay on my bed and stare out the window at the trees, empty.

A strange thing happens at teatime: Amity knocks once and invites herself into my room. She gives me a long, sad look, and leaves a plate of chicken salad on my dressing table. "I thought you'd be hungry," she says, and comes over to me, pushing my feet aside so she can sit. It's almost like by venturing out of my room and spending time with them, however miserable, I've invited her to venture into my room to spend time with me. I expect some emotion but nothing comes. I'm too hollow to be afraid of loving and losing her, of the consequences.

"Thanks," I say, my voice a bit scratchy from hours of disuse and crying.

She sighs, reaches across to move hair out of my face. "Come sit with us later. Mavers and me. We'll be in the living room, probably watching Yesterday, you know what he's like for history."

I smile before I realise it. "Okay," I find myself saying. Even with all my fears, I don't want to be alone right now. The memory of that waking dream, being dragged into it by a force stronger than anything, is pressing on me. I'm more afraid of that than I am of the hurt I'll feel when Am and Mavers realise they don't really want me.

"Kang Soo-Min." Amity sighs, facing the door. "Stop eavesdropping, you know how rude it is."

Minnie pushes my bedroom door open further, looking rueful. "Sorry. I wanted to talk to Yas. About the—you know."

Amity sighs again, this time like something is weighing on her.

"What?" I ask, pulling myself into a sitting position. Minnie shuts the door and lowers herself onto the bed at my side. Usually Minnie glares at people who use her full name, but her expression doesn't waver at all. She looks ... daunted. Afraid. Does she know about the dream, the voice in my head? Did she hear it too? Another thing occurs to me, alarm shooting through my bones.

"Did they find us? The hunters? Has someone else been hurt?" Guy's face flashes through my mind, the way he was at the funeral: stony-faced, with rain dripping off his cheeks, his nose, but a storm of feeling in his eyes, Shane's loss clearly hitting him like a lightning bolt. I can't lose him. That's the thought that strikes into me, as if I have him now, which I don't. But he's alive, and I know where to find him, and I don't want to live in an Academy where my brother is ... gone. Like Shane, put in the ground. Like Shane, shot to ribbons.

"No," Amity says quickly, squeezing my hand. "It's not the hunters."

Relief fills my lungs, at least until Minnie says, "It's something else. Something's going on in Europe. Portugal, Italy, Czech Republic, and now France. No one really knows what's happening, not even human police."

"What?" What is happening?

"Legendaries are waking up with amnesia," Amity continues, her eyes downcast. "And without their Majick."

Breath leaves my lungs in a ragged exhale. I knew Legendaries were going missing but not this. "No." That's not ... without their Majick ... that's not possible. We can't just lose out Majick, it's part of us.

"How?" One word, but with the beast's dread and violence thrown into it. It emerges as a dark, mangled drawl.

"We don't know. Mavers is..." Am takes a deep breath. "He's appealing for an audience with a Numen. Someone in France could do it, represent their own country, but you know they won't. They're too solitary. And since that man went missing from Gloucester, it's safe to assume it'll start happening here too."

She's right. No one will come out of their secret lives for another person, even if they knew them. They'll keep quiet and hidden. It's how they stay safe. It's how I stayed safe when I was younger, living with Legendaries who pretended to be human, even to their wives and families in some cases.

The Red is a rare thing among Legendaries. Most of our kind stay alone, blending in with the humans so we aren't hunted. Others live in twos or threes, masquerading as human families. Banding together like we do in the Red is unheard of, but necessary. For a reason we can't figure out, Yorkshire has more Legendaries than anywhere else in the country, Callaire especially. Mavers thinks it's to do with the wealth of countryside, but if that was the case Wales and Scotland would have as many Legendaries as we do. I think it's to do with Almery Wood, but that's just because of the way it makes my hairs stand on end.

"When's he meeting them?" I ask.

Minnie shrugs. "Sometime this week if he gets approved. Never if he doesn't."

Amity runs her hands through her hair, unsettling the neat waves. It makes me feel ... worried to see her like this and not know what to do to fix it. "If the Numina refuse to intervene or help us investigate ... we're on our own."

I take a tight breath. I have to ask it. "What if it's drawn to all of us—the thing that's taking Majick?" Because being together in one group isn't smart, no matter how many Wards we put around the Academy to protect us.

Minnie twists her fingers together, not looking at either of us. "Then I guess we'll lose our Majick. We won't be Legendary anymore."

*

The snow of the past week has given way to a sheet of rain and a darkness caused by low clouds. I watch more rain fall outside my window, shivering with the fear of having my Majick drained, even hours after Min and Amity told me.

It's not as if I'd die without it—it would be like losing a kidney, not a lung—but my Majick is personal. To lose it ... I wouldn't be me anymore. Even the Earth Majick I rarely use is as much a part of me as my personality, my soul. I've grown with my Majick, become so used to its presence that exercising my ability to communicate mentally is second nature. And my second Majick is becoming something more as well. Developing Legendarily, Mavers calls it. Different people come into their Majick at different ages, in different ways, and my Earth grows inside me, allowing me to control a bit of the nature around me instead of just sensing it, with every Change I spend inside Almery Wood. I'm not sure, without shifting every month, if I'd ever have accessed it.

Some people's latent Majick doesn't develop. And some Crea are never affected by the moon. We don't know why; it's a glitch in the Legendary system. I'm sure if we had a biologist in the Red, they'd study whatever genetic defect sets each Legendary apart. I've always thought it's because the Numina in their family line is so far back, they're not affected by the power. I've always wished the same could be said of my father and me, that I could be spared having the Change every month. Not that transforming is the worst thing, even as my skin splits and agony howls through me; hurting people is the worst thing, and being powerless to stop it.

Staring absently at the rain and trees, my mind wanders to the dream I had a few days ago. It was the same as before: a girl strapped to a rock, her father begging the robes to take her. That I had it again, in the same way—almost asleep but still very awake—means something is wrong. Either with me or with this girl. Whose pleading voice in my head still sounds much older than the child's in the dream.

I've always known Physic Majick makes me a beacon for distressed thoughts; even with no way of knowing for sure, no other Psychic to ask or book to consult, it's obvious. Why else would I hear the Lost when they're desperate and my friends and family when they're at their most angry or upset?

As if thinking about the voice draws it to me, I hear her again. The girl who showed signs of Majick before she should have developed it—the youngest age we know of someone developing is twelve, and the girl in the dream is half that age. She's not speaking to me this time, she's just thinking. Milk, butter, flour... I think it's a shopping list until she swears in her thoughts and I realise she's baking. Just a normal thing, but she's still reaching out to me. Why?

A thought strikes into my mind and my body tenses in response to it. What if the girl is reaching out to me subconsciously because she has Psychic Majick too? What if the reason her coward father took her to the robed council is because she could hear his thoughts? What if she's powerful and she knows things I don't about being Psychic?

My stomach flutters—maybe the answers about Psychic Majick have found me—but it wanes abruptly when I sense the changing direction of the girl's thoughts. They bombard me so fast my head aches with pressure and I lean my forehead against the cold glass of my window, my eyes squeezed shut to ward off the ache. She's frustrated with the hunters in Almery Wood. My excitement stops dead, Shane's coffin flashing behind my closed eyes, Mavers's bowed head, Guy's empty expression, Fearne's complete silence. This girl knows the hunters too? She must be Legendary. She has to be.

I search her mind for clues to her Legendary lineage, but find none. There's no indication that she even knows about us. But why else would she be annoyed at the hunters? Wait ... annoyed, not scared, not nervous, not angry?

Her voice spikes in volume. Why can't they just stay out of the woods? It's stupid. They're going to get themselves killed and for nothing! The beast might not even hurt anyone else.

The urge to respond, to speak to her, grabs me by the throat, but if this is my only chance to find someone else like me, with the same Majick, I can't blow it. And ... there's a connection between us, however strange. I've seen her fears, her nightmares, and her voice has somehow burrowed into my mind. Part of me doesn't want to lose that. I hold back the desire to reply, instead dissecting her thoughts. She's not Crea—she wouldn't have thought 'the beast'. Which means she's descended from a God or Goddess. She's Dei. My heart expands with hope. I wonder if the girl has one Numen parent or two, if she has human family in her line or just Legendaries. I don't suppose it matters.

I skim her mind for a location, an address where I can find her, not that I'm brave enough to turn up at her house and tell her I'm the girl she's been pulling into her dreams ... I just want to know if she's from around here or further afield. But I remember her thoughts of the woods. I listen harder, not really needing confirmation—coincidences don't really exist in the Legendary world—but seeking it anyway. I glimpse a familiar line of service trees, the light falling onto a tangled pathway that's as familiar to me as the Academy. Almery Wood.

She lives in Callaire.

My breathing races. I should talk to her, tell her I've seen her dreams, heard her calling out, that I want to help and think we're connected by more than just this weird dream—by both being Psychic.

I'm about to scrounge up my courage and say hello when without warning, a hundred worries crash over me and drag me deeper into her mind. I press my face hard against the condensation on the window, gritting my teeth at the flare of pain as so many thoughts hit my mind like arrows. This is different than being swallowed by the dream—I'm still here in my room, still aware of the things around me, but the foreign anxiety is so heavy and suffocating that I struggle to breathe for a vast moment. I pull my Majick as hard as I can until a wall as thick as stone slams into place around my head, locking out the girl's thoughts.

My heart beats so fast, close to palpitations, and I bite my lip just to convince myself I'm still here with the flash of pain.

My hope of finding another Psychic shrivels up—it comes at too high a price.

ELEVEN

THE DARK DREAM

I've fallen into a pattern of denial. On weekdays I go to classes in the morning, listen to Mavers go through lessons on trigonometry and Shakespeare, concentrate with Vic on the science experiment we do on Wednesday that Mavers says will definitely be on our exam so we'd better pay attention. After, I go on the obligatory P.E. run down Mount Tabor and crawl back up again with Rowan and Fearne—neither of which are as fit as Minnie, Cornelia, and Guy or as spry as Vic, Priscilla, and Harriet. I sneak lunch from the kitchen and hole up in my room with a stack of books, Netflix, and my spiral bound poetry notebook for the rest of the night.

I do everything as normal, pretending no one is hunting my kind, hunting me. Trying to finish the job he attempted last time. I pretend the dream won't consume me each night. Pretend the voice of the girl in the back of my head, each string of thoughts lasting longer every time, getting louder every time, will go away. Pretend Shane isn't gone and his absence doesn't hang over the Academy like a burial shroud.

I tell myself if I ignore Minnie pounding on my bedroom door, she won't go outside and come bang on my window, but that last part is pure pipe dream.

"What?" I snap, the sound of a fist on glass loud in the quiet I need to read.

I set my book aside, throw my legs over the side of the bed, and snap open the window.

"She lives!" Minnie throws her arms up in rejoice.

I sigh, my only reply, just levelling a look on her.

"Oh, alright. I'm sorry for nearly destroying your window. I have a heavy hand."

"Sure."

She holds up said hand, pudgy but not nearly enough to destroy my window unless she hammered at it a few hundred times. Which she did.

The humour fades from her face, turning serious. "I just thought you'd want to know the hunters have gone. The Hannam sisters Persuaded them to move to Henacre Wood on the other side of Callaire."

"But what about—"

"The Crea who Change there? Yeah, we thought of that way after. But don't worry, they've been warned. They'll Change in Almery from now on."

"Like it's not crowded enough already," I mutter. There might only be a few Crea in Almery—the others being inclined to the sea—but the Manticore has been in more than one fight in the past. It'll be even worse if there are creatures we don't know. Someone will lose an ear or a finger, and that's best case scenario.

"Stop whining," Minnie chastises, sounding more like a frustrated mother than a teenager.

"Sorry. Thanks for telling me." My head feels fuzzy, stuffed with whatever clouds are made of, or candy floss. I shake it to get rid of the sensation but it only intensifies.

"No problem. Listen..."

I open my mouth to tell her I am listening, when my stomach jolts and I realise she's in the middle of a rant. From the sound of it, she's been speaking for a while. I shake my foggy head, trying to hold the words she's saying in my mind but they slip right out. I must have zoned out. I try to focus on Minnie's voice but can't.

I open my mouth to say something but my mind gives me nothing to speak. I feel ... weird. Heavy and dizzy. The beast is clawing at the back of my mind, weird since we're over a week away from the change.

I think Minnie says my name but it sounds like gibberish.

Something is very wrong with me. I try to lift my hand, touch my head, my face, check I'm not bleeding from my nose, but my arm is too heavy to lift. I shuffle my foot forward but gravity wraps me in its force before I can take a step and I fall. I smack into the carpet, blacking out instantly.

*

I find myself not in the cavern with the robes and the tied-up girl, but in a large chamber. A current of air floats from somewhere above, cold wind raising goose bumps on my arms. It's dark but even though it makes no sense, I can clearly see every step I take, every bit of rough stone floor my bare foot falls on as I stumble forward, pulled by a feeling I mistake for desperation. My heart is racing, though I don't feel scared yet. My lungs are tight, though I'm not anxious. There's a pain more immense than anything I've ever felt sitting in my chest.

It's only when I drop to my knees in front of a raised dais that I realise grief is the emotion crumpling my body.

"Please," I rasp. "She's not meant to die. She's not meant..." I can't finish, bursting into tears for a reason that's beyond me. Who? Who has died? Minnie? I wait for panic to spear me but the grief consumes everything. My heart squeezes so tight, I doubt it can carry blood around my body.

I raise my head, vision blurring, to look at the man on the throne above me. I know instantly they're a Numen, a God. They're twice the size of an ordinary man and there's an aura around them and their lacquered black throne. Darkness framed by light. Power presses into my bones, vibrating through my ribcage like loud music.

The God speaks into my mind. I offer you a bargain.

"Anything," I choke, tears coming fast. I try to close my mouth, to stop the words, but I'm detached from myself. I'm not in control of this grieving Yasmin. Sickness roils in my stomach—not my sickness. It's so close to being the Manticore that I expect my lungs to clench, my breaths to thin, but grief overrides even base fear. My mouth forms words against my will, my better judgement. "I'll do anything for you. Please. Bring her back."

The figure nods. Dark hair over aristocratic features, strong shoulders, elegant hands. Beautiful but fatal. Yes, you will do anything. Yes, I will give the girl back to you.

I look at them, hopeful and dreading. The beast inside me is so silent that it must be dead. Now it's just me, alone with the wild determination driving me, me and this other, grieving version of myself. I have to know something bad will come of this but I can tell, under the desperation in this dream shade of me, there's not a shred of me that cares.

A life in return for the great power I have lost. Retrieve it for me, and I shall free your girl from this prison.

I reach up a hand, not sure what for, but I'm jerked back abruptly. It feels like I tumble into true, unadulterated darkness, not even stars in the sky around me.

I come to, gasping, in a hospital bed, my whole body wracked with shudders.

*

"What the hell, Yasmin?"

I throw an arm over my eyes, my whole body groaning like I've just shifted. I want anything but to hear that voice right now.

"You're going to explain what happened, in precise detail, or I'm going to tell Mavers you passed out. You're lucky Minnie came to me and not him in the first place, or you'd be in a real hospital bed."

So I'm in the infirmary? I exhale in relief. We don't really know what will happen if human doctors take our blood, if anything shows up as different, but it seems safer not to risk it. That Mavers would risk it ... it's bad. There's a lot we can treat here but brain injuries aren't one of them. But is that what happened to me? Or was that ... It comes back to me, bits and pieces and then everything at once. A dream. From Pluto, God of the Otherland. Oh Gods. Someone's going to die...

"How long was I out?" I croak. My eyes sting but I don't want to cry, especially not in front of ... him.

"Five hours."

I pull my arm away, shock drumming through me. I drag myself upright, propping myself against the four pillows that were apparently under me. My brother is sat in the lumpy, uncomfortable chair beside my bed, leaning over his knees to watch me. "Five hours? Are you serious?"

"Do I look," Guy says, "like I'm joking?" His whole face is set in anger.

I avoid his glare, searching my body for real injuries. When I'm sure I'm not hurt, just disoriented, I take a long breath, preparing for the wave of dizziness I expect to hit me when I swing out of bed. I wobble a bit but that's mostly because I moved too quick; Guy catches my elbow, steadies me. I meet his eyes automatically. Under a thick mask of anger I swear there's worry. It's not the first time I've thought I've seen it, which probably makes it real. I drop my gaze, guilt heating my face.

"I gave you one of Amity's tonics," Guy says in a gruff voice as awkward sounding as I feel. He scratches the back of his shaved head, looking anywhere but at my face. "You might feel dizzy for a bit."

Another worry eases. So I'm not dizzy because I hit my head falling or the dream messed up something inside me. It's just the side effect of Amity's healing. She has no healing Majick but that doesn't stop her experimenting with human Wicca and herbs and pastes. Because she heats everything in water using her Temperature Majick, the medicine she makes always seems to work.

When I get my feet steady on the ground, I slowly get out of bed, leaning against the frame for support.

Guy sighs through his nose. "I'll help you get back to your room."

"You don't have to," I mumble. My head is swimming but not too bad. I could probably make it back alright. But there's the small matter of me feeling like crap and the obvious fact that Guy's been here for five hours waiting for me to wake up. In the chair we commonly refer to as a torture device.

"Shut up," he grunts, and I'm feeling confused but warm inside so I let him take my arm and guide into the hall and across the Academy.

"Thanks—for helping me."

"No problem." He wrenches a door separating hallways open and holds it for me, his hand a fist around the handle. Guy is seriously pissed at me and I'm not sure what I can do to fix it. It's an entirely new feeling to want to fix it, instead of ignoring it like I usually do.

"How did you get Minnie to..."

"Not hover around you like a vulture?"

I flinch at his tone. "I was going to say protective mama bear."

He snorts. "She's waiting for you in your room. I'm guessing she's sleeping there tonight."

"Oh." Why does that seem like something they've worked out between themselves? Like they're ... both looking after me.

Guy holds open the door to my bedroom's corridor and I duck through. Indecision whirls through me until I just blurt out, "I've been hearing a voice. And having dreams that aren't mine. Bad ones. That's what happened—I had a dream. I don't know whether it was mine or someone else's, but it was..." I can't put the grief, the desperation into words.

"What happened?" His shoulders drop a bit of their tension, but not much.

I chew my lip but admit, "I think I made a deal with a Numen."

His head whips around to stare at me. I feel pressured into pointing out, "In a dream! It wasn't real." It wasn't real. It couldn't be. No one I know is dead. Yet.

"You know the power of dreams, Yasmin."

"But it wasn't ... me. Not really. I mean it was, but I wasn't in control, and I was ... I think I was grieving. I said 'bring her back'. Begged them."

He pulls up outside my door, keeps his voice down. "You'd better hope it was just a dream. What about the voice?"

I shake my head. The voice is too personal.

He pushes a pissed off sound through his teeth. "I just want to know what's going on, Yasmin."

"Why?" Guy isn't the only one annoyed now. All this time glaring or scowling or sneering at me, or worse—blanking me completely. And now he wants to care about me? I don't get it.

He lets out a growl that's pathetic in comparison to my own and lets go of me. Running his hands over his face, he says, "Are you really that clueless?"

"Clearly," I bite back.

Guy looks me in the eye, his clear brown eyes utterly serious, and my insides writhe with discomfort. He turns away a minute later, disappointed.

He walks away without another word.

TWELVE

THE GIFT

I'm barely asleep an hour, fighting for real estate on my bed—Minnie is a duvet hoarder—before someone taps on my door. Minnie doesn't even snort in her sleep, completely out of it as I roll out of bed and throw open the door. I glare down my intruder, heedless of my fluffy top or bunny-patterned pyjama bottoms.

"Oh," I say, losing steam. I stand for a second, staring in confusion. "Did something happen?"

"No." Guy leans against the doorframe, looking more tired than usual. Has he slept, or just stayed awake all this time? Judging by the exhaustion written on his face, I guess the latter.

He holds up a silver cord necklace, a pendant spinning on it that catches my attention instantly. A glass ball is suspended inside a gold ring, Akasha clearly visible inside it. I stare at the combination of the five elements—earth, fire, air, water, and spirit. It looks like a tempest in a marble, black smoke constantly in movement with slivers of fire like lightning bolts running through it.

"What—?"

He doesn't look directly at me, his jaw clenched. "It's a talisman for malevolent forces—to prevent mind invasion. It'll keep the visions and voices away. I figured it'd be useful."

"You're giving me this?" I watch the tiny storm sceptically.

He nods.

Hesitantly, I take the pendant, waiting for him to snatch it back and laugh at me for getting my hopes up. But he lets me take the necklace; I hold it like it's fragile china in my palm. "Did you make this?"

Guy snorts. "You think I made a talisman so quickly? Do you really think I'm that powerful?"

Still looking at the Akasha, I deadpan, "Yes."

"Fine." He huffs, shoving his hands in his jean pockets.

I can't look at him—he'd see the tears pricking my eyes. I'd like to blame it on the emotional day I've had, but the only reason I'm close to tears is because Guy made this for me. "Why did you bring me this?" I ask quietly, trying to hide the weakness in my voice. "I don't understand. You hate me."

"I do not." He sounds angry. No, that's not right—offended. I daren't raise my eyes. "Yasmin, look at me." When I don't he grabs my chin and forces me to meet his eyes. Solemn but honest. "I don't hate you."

I take a breath, trying to keep the tears off my face. I curl my fingers around the Akasha talisman, not willing to release it. "Oh."

He releases my chin and whispers, "You idiot." He takes a step back, running a hand over the back of his head. "Honestly? When I was younger I was jealous of you. You spoke to Venus—"

"Twice! And it wasn't ... great." That doesn't even cover it.

"You still got to speak to them, to see them. I never did." He shakes his head, looking right at me for once. "You knew what they looked like, what they sounded like. I never had that."

I lower my eyes. "Sorry."

"Shut up." He gives my shoulder a light slap, like he wants to touch my arm but he's too manly to do it properly. All his anger from earlier is gone and he looks exhausted without it. "It doesn't matter anymore. I was stupid. I blamed you for something you had no control over. It wasn't your fault our mother granted you dreams. I realised that years ago."

"But—"

"For Numina's sake, Yasmin, will you let me talk?" I snap my mouth shut. "By the time I realised what a dick I was being, it was too late to apologise to you."

"It's n—" I press my lips together before I interrupt him fully.

Guy fights a smile. It's such an unfamiliar sight that I don't know what to do. He says, "I never had a chance to apologise, and that was my fault, I get that. But every time I entered a room you left it, and any time we were actually in the same room you wouldn't even look at me. I understand why now, but still."

He thumps his skull with the palm of his hand. "I don't think I ever actually hated you. Well, maybe for a week when I was eleven, but I hated everyone that week."

"Was that the week you broke the door?" I ask, catching myself smiling. "And the X-box?"

He raises an eyebrow. "You're meant to be letting me talk. But yeah, that was the week I broke everything. To cut a long, fucked up story short, you thought I hated you, I thought you hated me, and I never had the balls to apologise for being a shitty brother. So I'm doing that now. Apologising."

It seems unreal. I know everyone insisted Guy gave a crap about me but I thought they were just seeing what they wanted. I look at the Akasha pendant, not sure what to think.

"Why now?"

He looks down the hall, away from me. "You're suffering. It's horrible to watch."

I'm suffering? I frown at him but I'm not sure what he means. Because Shane is dead? Because the hunters are after us? Because of the dreams?

"You wanted to know about the voice." I guide the conversation away from my suffering. "It's a girl. I think she might be Psychic like me."

"Have you talked to her?"

I put the necklace around my neck and tell him, "I don't know how to reply to her. Well, I know how but—if I say the wrong thing, I could mess this up for good. And I want—" I cut myself off before I say too much.

"You want to find someone else like you." Guy nods. "I get it." But he doesn't, not really. He and Fearne have been able to compare notes about their Majick for years. When he's struggling, he goes to her for help and vice versa from what I can tell. I don't have that.

"Thanks for the talisman," I say instead of anything else. The Akasha is pleasantly warm against the hollow of my throat.

He grunts in reply. "You should come to dinner on Sunday."

"Um. No, thanks." Going to meetings is one thing—everyone's too distracted by whatever problems we're having to spend too much time making me feel like a circus exhibit—but a family dinner? Sat around a table with everyone, eating food like everything's normal and we're one big happy family when half of them can't stand me? Well. I guess that's just Fearne and Rowan now, since Guy ... doesn't hate me. That'll take some getting used to.

"Just—come to dinner, Yasmin. I know Am and Mavers are worried about you. And I bet dinner with the Red would keep Minnie off your back for a few days..." I look up and find a smug smile on his face, his eyes glittering. Damn him, but he has a point.

I sigh, the battle lost. Not because of Minnie's nagging—because of the light in his eyes. "That's borderline blackmail."

He throws me a smile and a shrug. Unapologetic. So this is what my brother looks like—really looks like. I can't help but smile back.

THIRTEEN

THE DEVIL REVERSED

The moon is visible even though it's daylight and for once I watch it without resentment. It's only half full, so the Manticore is at its least powerful. This is the closest thing I have to control over my beast, despite nights spent out in the garden, practising utter calm and meditation because a Legendary book I read said the only way a Crea would ever fully control their beastly side is with a clear head and a steady heart. Not that it's working for me yet. I keep telling myself one more session, one more night spent practising calm and calling up my beast, and I'll get it under control.

But I don't even feel in control of Yasmin right now. The hunters have started canvassing Almery Wood again, even though Persuasion should have made them forget about us. If they're in the woods at the full moon, someone else might be shot. I could get hurt again, die this time. My heart thumps dully at the thought, my stomach twisting. The Persuasion was supposed to make us safe; there's no reason it should have failed. But that doesn't change the fact it did.

I lean against the window in my room, perched on the windowsill. I can just about see a car coming around the back of the Academy where everyone parks their cars. Sleek turquoise, classic of some sort, polished chrome accents. I do a double take when I see Vic behind the wheel, his ginger hair in its usual disarray and a grin stretching his face. I crack open the window and when he gets out, carefully shutting the door, I call out, "Where did you get that?"

His smile widening if that's even possible, he lopes over to my window on the ground floor, spinning the car keys around his finger. "It's Harriet's."

I blink at him. "But she's thirteen!"

"A gift from her grandmother." He shrugs, motioning me aside so he can climb very awkwardly through the window, apparently deciding the front door is beneath him, or too much effort.

"Wow." Harriet's grandmother deigns to acknowledge her existence but what about the rest of us, always craving a favour from our Legendary parents? Well, I could easily live without feeling the oppressive aura of power that clung to Venus in my dreams. But it'd still be nice to know they hadn't forgotten about me in the past ten years. "Where's my car?"

"In the shop." He's still grinning, happiness practically bubbling off him. He brushes a few wrinkles from his work clothes—jeans and a hoodie, not appropriate for a Sunday dinner.

I throw a glare. "Hilarious. Are you changing?"

"Yes, mother," he says with a sigh, bending to look at himself in the mirror over my dressing table, trying in vain to flatten the errant strands of hair on the top of his head.

I made an effort with my appearance today. I figured if I'm going to mend some bridges with the Red, the first step would be bothering to get dressed up. Besides, if we're making an offering to the Numina—in the hopes it persuades them to avoid smiting us from existence just for fun—we all need to be in finery. Just in case casual clothes offend. With the stories of Numina we've grown up hearing ... anything can cause offense, from a single misplaced word to a glance to foods served.

Sunday dinner is an ordinary affair everywhere but at the Academy. It's half tribute, half ritual. I haven't done it in years and my stomach is in knots for more than one reason, the least of which being I'm going to spend the next hour sat around a table with people I don't want to get too close to. But I remember the light in Guy's eyes, this stranger that's my brother, and it hardens my determination.

"How did your date go?" I ask Vic as he abandons straightening his hair.

He turns to me, beaming. "Let's put it this way: I'm no longer a free man." He even goes so far as to puff out his chest, which looks ludicrous.

But his happiness is infectious. "And when do we get to meet this lady of yours?"

Vic smiles. Despite his joking and bravado, his cheeks are tinged red. He must really like this girl. "Matronalia. You're coming to that, right? Yas, you have to."

"No." I busy myself looking for a scarf to tie the bulk of my hair back from my face. I pick a gold silky one and spend a few minutes longer than necessary getting it just right. I might be open to spending time with my friends but I'm not attending a party.

But Vic turns pleading eyes on me. "Please?"

I lift my eyes to the ceiling. "No."

"Do you remember how you avoided us for the past two years? How you haven't spoken to me at all? I felt abandoned—tortured!—heartbroken!" His almost-convincing sadness turns sly. "Coming to the Matronalia party would totally make up for that."

He heads to the door. Fingers around the handle, he says, "Bring a date. That girl Minnie keeps telling me about."

I stand there and blink at the empty door frame for seconds before I shake myself out of it. I huff and storm after him, ninety percent sure I was just emotionally blackmailed.

*

"Mavers wants to see you," Harriet says as I come into the kitchen, my arms around myself because of how uncomfortable this feels. Shouldn't it be second nature, letting myself back into the family?

Harrie aims a look at me from where she's sat at the table, weaving her dark hair into a fishtail braid. "He's in his study."
"Thanks." Taking a slow, long breath I fill my lungs, wishing it was as easy to fill myself with confidence. The corridors turn from red to purple to cream before I get to Mavers's mahogany office door. I've barely knocked once before he swings it open with a wide smile. "I had a feeling it was you. Come in, Yasmin."

I edge over the threshold. His study has changed since the last time I was here. It's been painted a deeper shade of red, accented with gold. It feels like a study some royal might have had in the twentieth century. Well, except for the bows. The walls are covered with bows in all shapes, sizes, and wood types. Quivers are lined above a bookshelf along the back wall, the light from the window throwing odd rays of light across everything.

"Woah," I say.

He rocks on his heels, pleased. "Collecting bows has become an obsession." He takes the nearest bow from the wall—a pale wood engraved with figures and symbols, as tall as I am. "There's a myth that Mars left behind his Legendary bow after the Battle of Hastings, and that finding it will grant you a one-time meeting with the Numen himself. I've been collecting these for years now, in the hopes of finding it."

I wander around the room, eyeing each of them. There's a cherry wood bow carved to look like it's twisted rope. In the centre, where the wood has been worn down by handling, two stars are engraved. They'd be completely ordinary in any other building, except this bow is in a Legendary home, and I don't believe in coincidence. I run my finger over the marks.

"The morning star and the evening star," Mavers murmurs, confirming my thoughts. "Venus."

I turn my back on it. "Why did you want to see me? It wasn't to show me all this..."

"Ah, right." He perches on his desk, enthusiasm replaced by seriousness. "I was granted a meeting with Sancus." God of loyalty, truth, and oaths. He actually ... met a God? I cross the two foot between us and throw my arms around him, holding on tight. It hits me all at once, how much I love him. Thinking that I could have lost him ... my breath hitches.

"Are you alright?" I whisper, holding on tight.

"Of course." His hand runs down my back. "Yasmin, I'm fine."

"But—" I pull back enough to look at him. He might have the physique of a rugby player and know more about mythology than anyone I've ever known, but he's still mortal. He can still be killed by a God in the space of a single blink.

"Yasmin." He lifts his hand to cup my cheek, looks at me steadily. "I was careful and courteous and Sancus was gracious enough to let me leave even unharmed. I'm perfectly fine, Yasmin."

I exhale a ragged breath. "Sure?"

He nods, let's go of me. Having to peel back each finger individually, the effort of releasing him immense, I take a step back. Stop myself clinging to him like a toddler. "What," I start, massaging my tight chest. "What happened?"

"I went to them last night," Mavers tells me, watching me with soft eyes and a furrowed brow. "The Numina are in disagreement about whether to help us. The majority seem to be willing to but enough of them disagreed. Aggressively."

"Was anyone hurt?" I ask quickly, alarm stabbing into me. When the Numina are angry, people die.

"No. Not yet."

I exhale in relief.

"But if this continues..." He rubs his jaw, eyes glancing over the books and bows of his office. "People will be killed. Legendary and human alike."

I know what will come—war, death, obliteration. It's not something I can really comprehend, not something I can fit inside my mind since I've known nothing like it but ... I've read all the old stories, know all the old wars. And with Shane gone ... it's easy to imagine what it would be like to lose someone else in the Red. "What do we do?"

"There's nothing we can do." He pushes off his desk, muscular arms crossed over his chest. "The Numina have to sort this out themselves. I wanted you to know first because Venus is one of the Numina opposing the decision to help us." He hesitates then finishes, "They assaulted Ceres."

Oh Gods. My breaths are suddenly stretched thin. "Does Guy know?"

"I told him a few minutes ago."

I nod. Thank Legend he's been warned. Not that it'll do much, but at least it won't come out of nowhere if Ceres turns up, intent on killing us. When two Numina disagree, their children are always targeted, either out of spite or to hurt their parents. If this conflict goes on, someone will be killed. Guy and I are at the top of the to-be-killed list, along with the other children Venus has had over the years. Just because Mavers can't track them down doesn't mean a Numen, powerful and endless, can't find them in a heartbeat and kill them half as quick.

Mavers comes to my side, his hand settling on my shoulder. "If it comes to it, there'll be a divide among the Numina. We have Gods on our side, and quite a few Creatures. This wave of stolen Majick worries them too. You'll be protected, don't worry."

I look at my feet. "I'm not worrying."

"Of course." He squeezes my shoulder. "Either way, we'll protect you and your brother. No matter what it takes."

That sounds ... bad. Ominous. What the hell have Mavers and Amity got planned? Because if Mavers is planning something big to protect us, there's no doubt Am is involved. The two of them ... I want that. Even though the thought of being that close to someone sets a note of fear so deep in me my stomach rocks ... I want their intimacy, their silent conversations, their unconscious touches, the way they always seem to know what the other is thinking without being told.

"Don't worry about this anymore. Go find Minnie," Mavers says. "She'll be looking for you, I'm sure."

*

My stomach still knotting itself at the thought of being targeted by a vengeful God, I walk with dragging steps into the dining room. One inhale of the incense smoke and my stomach flips and I cough, promptly choking on the smoke. "Min," I rasp, my throat raw. "Too much."

She bites her lip, bent over the arrangement of flowers and greenery and incense cones on the big, glossy dining table. "I didn't want it to fade before dinner."

"I don't think it'll fade before Matronalia." I open a window, sucking in a lungful of blessedly clean air.

Minnie grimaces and begins snuffing out incense sticks and cones.

"Why are you using incense anyway?" I doubt the Numina care about that sort of thing, but I guess I don't know.

"I want to show Apollo I'm making an effort." But I can tell by her red eyes that even she's been in the path of too much smoke.

"Could you do that without trying to kill us?" Rowan appears from nowhere and hoists himself onto the fully-dressed table, scowling. The gold cloth ruches beneath him, knives and forks unsettled and glasses knocked over. He looks at the destruction in satisfaction until his eyes fall on something behind Minnie, and I'll bet it's Mavers.

It is. "Set that table right," he says, though not angrily. "Or I might change my mind about the sacrifice and offer you."

Rowan flushes a dark red and hops off the table. I try to hide my smile.

Mavers sets an age-old gilt bowl in the centre of the table as Rowan pulls the tablecloth straight. The bowl takes up as much room as six ordinary ones, its lip bent and hammered into the shape of a gaping maw. I glance away, touching my Akasha pendant for reassurance.

Cornelia comes into the room, her sister behind her and both their attention on the bowl. Their eyes are as cold and calm as a pool of water and just as grey. They claim seats in the middle of the table, Cornelia's eyes scanning Mavers and the rest of us before she turns her attention to her sister and they have a quiet conversation. I try not to stare but it's hard to peel my eyes from them. Crea of the ocean are sometimes less 'human' than the rest of us. There's an old myth that the sea calls to them constantly, drawing their minds and attention away from the Earth, and that even the Legend Mirror can't compete with their pull to water.

They're more inhuman than most Dei, than even me.

I take a seat near the end of the table and Minnie drops into a seat beside me. Gradually as the clock hits the hour, people file in, dressed in finery—silk, velvet, and cashmere; pearls and sparkling gemstones; pressed suits, crisp shirts, and polished shoes. I feel underdressed in my red wool dress and plain pumps, even if there is intricate lace on the collar and sleeves.

Guy drops into a chair at the table's end, opposite Mavers, in a battered blazer and casual jeans. He's only half bothered to make an effort for the Numina. I hide a smile, feeling less out of place.

When everyone is present, Mavers rises and speaks in a language I still don't understand. I know only a few words—gratitude, honour, beg—but I recognise it as the Vow. We swear fealty and loyalty to the Numina and beg for mercy and forgiveness for any sins we may commit. Mavers takes a ritual dagger and slices his finger open, holding it so the blood drops into the golden bowl. He hands the knife around the table, all of us offering up our blood. When it comes to me I do it quick and mutter 'Numina be good' like I'm supposed to.

And then it's done and our fingers are wrapped in orange plasters and we can eat. The food is nothing special, just an ordinary Sunday dinner, but it's difficult to stomach it with how shaky I'm feeling—not because of the offering but because I'm sat here, with everyone, and every second that passes has me waiting for something bad to happen. For Fearne's glare to find me, Rowan's laugh to sound at my expense, Guy's smirk to form, but nothing does. Maybe ... maybe I've been making myself think they're worse than they are. Or maybe they've changed in the years I've spent as little time with them as possible.

I've just finished eating when Minnie darts up, excuses herself, and runs out of the room. I stare after her, wondering if I should have followed, but she comes back with a velvet bag. Now I understand her eagerness.

"Minnie, we've barely eaten," Mavers complains. The others roll their eyes and grumble to themselves. Amity berates a few whose complaints were a little too harsh for her liking.

Min sticks out her tongue. "I'm not reading for you," she tells Mavers.

"Will you read for me?" Harriet pipes up, pushing her plate away. Minnie agrees with an indulgent smile.

Rowan and Fearne leave the table, Mavers pursing his lips at their backs. The rest of the Red filter out until it's just Minnie, Harriet, Vic, and Amity sat with me at the table. Mavers hovers behind Amity's chair, his hands on her shoulders. I don't know where Guy went but he gave me a long, searching look before he left. Checking I'm okay if I had to guess. I never realised he was such a worrier.

Minnie takes the pack of cards from the bag. "Yasmin goes first," she announces, much to my dismay.

"I don't want a reading."

"Too bad, you're getting one." Stubborn as ever. She flips her dark hair over her shoulder and gives me the deck to shuffle and halve. I do as she says, not paying much attention as my hands pull and push the cards. I take the top card, having done this done so many times it's become second nature.

The card I put down is right-way-up, which is I think is good. When cards are upside down their meanings tend to be sinister. Harrie makes an oooh sound.

Minnie touches the card with her left forefinger, narrowing down the card's meaning. As far as I can gather, a card can mean a few different things. But with Minnie's Divine Majick she can pick out the exact meaning of a card for a specific person by looking at their pathways—the many different futures open to them.

"It's good," she says, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Tarot cards are a fun look into your past or future—unless you have a friend whose predications and observations have never been wrong. "The Wheel of Fortune means chance, an opportunity, a new beginning. For you it stands for new relationships."

I open my mouth to say something but she shushes me. "It doesn't just mean romantic relationships. It could be friends, family, co-workers, neighbours. But in the next month you'll find a new relationship or new relationships." She glances up at me. "If you pick another card, I can tell you more." Her grin is eager.

I indulge her against my better judgement and take a second card—the Devil. And it's upside down. "Great," I mutter.

"It doesn't mean it's bad," Min insists as she touches the card. She draws her finger back sharply without spending even a few seconds in the pathway. "Except that it is. Your new relationship will bring darkness into your life, into the Red."

My stomach churns, my big dinner suddenly a curse. "Then I won't make any new friends."

She taps the card with her nail, careful not to touch it with her skin. "It represents manipulation—an imbalance of good and bad intentions. It's bad, Yas, really bad. Something dark is coming into your life, and it won't leave without taking something from you."

I swallow, not letting my thoughts take the obvious route to Ceres killing Guy to spite Venus. It could mean anything. There are a million things I could lose. It doesn't have to be drastic.

"I could be wrong," Minnie says desperately. "I don't always have a clear read on you. You're difficult."

"Thanks." She lets out a frustrated noise; I smirk to let her know I'm teasing. "How many bad readings have you given me?"

"Three," she answers instantly.

"All of those came true, and I'm still alive aren't I? This time will be fine as well."

"It's still shitty luck, Yas," Vic says. I start, remembering Minnie and I aren't alone like we usually are when she reads for me. Everyone's eyes are on me. My stomach takes another nosedive.

"Do you all have to look at me like I'm dying?" I mutter.

Harriet saves me by begging Minnie to read for her next and I flee the room. I take refuge in a dusty old room we use for storage—broken chairs from the classroom, a washing machine that only works if you kick it, a graveyard of at least ten different hoovers.

Guy appears behind me right as I'm shutting the door. He pushes into the small room and closes the door behind him. The dust in the room lifts off countless old things. It gathers in a cloud of grey smoke as Guy sends the dust out a tiny window behind a broken ironing board.

"How's your shoulder?" he asks even though he already knows.

"Healed," I respond, picking up a wind chime that's mostly intact. I don't know how this got here—it's mine, a gift from Vic for my fourteenth birthday. Bells and chimes collide with sea glass as lift it into the light. "Thank you for ... healing me," I say, awkward.

"Look at me."

Reluctantly, I turn, meeting his eyes.

"You get hurt again, come straight to me." When I don't immediately respond, he touches my arm.

"Okay," I agree, marvelling at him touching me. When was the last time he did that without being pissed at me? I can't remember. "I don't plan to get hurt again, though."

He snorts a laugh. "You're Crea, Yasmin. You'll get hurt."

He has a point.

"I'm glad you came to dinner," he says, almost blurting the words out. "It's good to see you with us. I mean it."

I nod, my throat going tight without warning. "I'll ... try to do it more often."

He nods, opens the door to make a quick exit from the awkwardness clinging to us. "Good."

I shut my eyes when he's gone, trying to sort through what he said, the things he didn't say, and my own feelings. But I'll be here hours if I want to get through all that. With a sigh, I let myself out and go to my bedroom. I put the wind chime in pride of place in my window.

A few hours later, Minnie lets herself into my room without knocking, taking the book from my hand and thrusting a voile bag into it instead. "Runes," she explains. "So you can read yourself. You might have more luck than me."

"Minnie you don't have to give me these. I'm not bothered by the reading. Really."

But she won't back down so I just accept the gift.

FOURTEEN

THE CONFUSION

I'm on my way into Callaire's centre, the bus a rickety growl around me, when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I half expect it to be a message of encouragement from Willa, my only friend who doesn't live at the Academy, but I frown at Amity's number.

Another person has woken up without their Majick. A Crea called Jonathan Hamm. 40 y.o. from Lyon. Mavers says it's strange he's a lot older than the others.

I frown, the nerves already slushing around my stomach getting faster. That's the first Crea who's been drained. All the others have been Dei. It makes sense—every Dei is born with Majick. They inherit their parents' power. Minnie, for example, has Divine Majick because her many-greats grandfather Apollo was an oracle, among other things. Sometimes Dei inherit Majick that doesn't make any sense; Guy has Akasha Majick and I have Psychic Majick, despite Venus being the Goddess of love and prosperity, and in no way associated with any of the elements Akasha consists of.

But no matter what, Dei are usually born with power. Crea are only born with Majick in rare circumstances—when they're descended from a God or Goddess, or their particular Crea form is connected to an element. Like me. And Vic, whose Selkie nature means he has Aqua Majick at his disposal. But even then the Majick is sporadic, developing in some people and not in others.

If whoever is draining Majick has targeted a Crea, they've either run out of Dei to hunt, or they're taking more and more Majick.

Sounds like they're stockpiling Majick, I send back. Within five seconds my phone buzzes with a phone call. I keep an eye on the streets outside—we're about five minutes out of the centre, the college at the far end of town—and my appointment with their open day—looming nearer.

"Stockpiling for what?" Mavers demands, sounding worried.

"I don't know." I lean my head against the bus window, watching houses blur past. "Maybe they need Majick to live. There've been creatures like that in the past, right?"

"Centuries ago! It's unlikely those Crea still exist. Their bloodline died off long ago." He lets out a breath. "I thought you meant stockpiling for an attack."

I inhale sharply, my stomach turning over. "I never thought of that."

"Sorry." I imagine the look on his face—crestfallen. "I didn't mean to worry you. I'm being overly cautious. I feel ... because I'm the head of the Red I'm responsible for every Legendary on Earth."

"You can't look out for everyone on the planet."

He sighs.

"We'll find out what it is," I tell him. "We usually end up finding trouble. This won't be any different." The bus turns down the street into the bus station and my stomach does another acrobatic move inside me. Tutors, unfamiliar campus, lectures given by someone other than Mavers. My hands start to prick with sweat but ... I want this. They have an English Literature course, and two of their modules are about poetry. From what I've read on their website, it seems like they'll be both reading and writing poetry, as well as short stories and prose and more. I want that, even though this new place, with new people, scares the crap out of me.

"Gotta go, Mavers." I end the call instantly, forgetting to wait for a reply as the bus stops and I get to my feet.

Deep breaths, Yasmin. I hear Minnie's voice as if she were beside me, the spirit of her saying, you got this, and Vic's, knock 'em dead, Lady.

*

By the time I leave Callaire College and University, I feel sick. But I've also got a prospectus and spoken to the tutors who run the course I want to do, as well as a couple others as back up. It was horrible, but it was also useful. I don't regret going, even if I don't think I'll ever be able to hold down a full meal again.

I make my walk back across Callaire to the bus station really slow, gulping down as much fresh air as possible to steady myself. It's done, I tell my body, you can stop freaking out now. But for some reason, it's worse now than it was when I was talking to the professors.

I get a bottle of water from a newsagents tucked between a charity shop and a McDonald's and sip it as I walk past the row of shops, a strange mixture of modern units with glass panels for doors and old buildings with their original, warped windows and old brick walls. I love this town, how the old sits right beside the new, how down the road, there's a jewellers that doesn't sell anything under ten thousand pounds at the side of a grungy clothing shop that attracts every sort of alternate person from goths to rock chicks to this one guy who hasn't outgrown scene, and both sets of customers look at the other like they're the weirdos.

I smile to myself at the thought but my eyes stray to the sky in front of me, the faintest white outline in the grey-blue. The Crea moon is just over a week away, and the beast is stirring again. I feel it in my moods, slowly shifting from tiredness to anger, and my hunger, which is becoming impossible to sate. I'm not sure what I'm hungry for; it's not like I can tap into the beast's mind and ask what it craves.

I know I need to stop thinking of myself and the beast as separate. I know the beast isn't a disconnected creature that takes over my body when I stop fighting—Mavers says accepting that is the only way to gain control over my transformation—but it feels that way. I'm as much beast as I am girl but when I change, it feels like the girl I am is pushed down, away. But all my complexities and wants and fears and physical forms are wrapped up in the Manticore. I am the Manticore, even now. I don't know why it's so hard to think of myself as the beast, as girl, as Manticore. I'm all of those things, all at once, but it feels like they're all disjointed.

Right now I am 'human'. Next week, at the Crea moon, I'll be beast.

I sigh, watching that ghost of the moon. I have too many identities, too many puzzle pieces to fit into one person. I have all the makings of a human—the Anglo-African heritage of my father, the quick temper of my mother, the kindness of Mavers—but I have Dei qualities—my Majick—and Crea qualities—my curse of Changing—and somewhere amongst is what the Manticore means—to be a mindless animal with the desire only to kill and tear flesh.

How am I supposed to resolve that into one person, one Yasmin?

*

Someone jumps in front of me when I'm about to cross the road to the bus station and I slam to a halt, glaring up at—

The Girl In The Woods. Fray.

My breath rushes out of me as I just look at her. I never expected to see her again. Her expression is a mix of fury and fear, and my blood runs cold at the sight of it. She rummages through her bag and shoves a handful of papers into my hands. My fingers curl around them but I'm going numb with shock. What do I say? What do I do?

"Look at them," she says in that same rich voice I remember. The beast in me slowly wakes, showing interest in the girl who saved it.

Swallowing, I thumb through the papers, and my breathing stutters. Mythological creature after mythological creature stares back at me from the pages of internet research. At the very back are scans of a book I'm intimately familiar with—the only book that accurately recounts my paternal family's history. The fevered eyes of the Manticore are shadowed by the cheap photocopy. I don't ... understand. She knows?

Oh Gods, she knows. A human—knows about me. How did she—oh God—I'm screwed.

"You didn't have a scorpion's tail," Fray says quietly, looking steadily at me when I can't keep my eyes anywhere near her. I'm going to be sick.

I have to be careful about this, clever, no matter how shocked and scared I feel right now. I need to know what she knows. "What are you saying?"

"Manticore," she says. "You're one of them. Aren't you?"

Her eyes ... green and demanding, seeing, I suspect, right through any mask I'm attempting to wear. I drop my eyes, not answering, but that's answer enough. If the Numina find out I've messed up...

"That's impossible." Her hands become fists.

I watch them curl and uncurl, my chest tightening with every flex of those fingers. My voice is crushed somewhere in the middle when I ask, "What made you do all this research? You must have thought it was possible."

She blows out an angry breath; I raise my eyes to hers for a second but drop them again at the anger there. "I thought you were a shape-shifter. A werewolf kind of thing. So I did some research but it didn't add up." She pulls on the sleeve of her coat, though I'm not sure she's conscious of doing it. "Look—the hunters might be stupid but I'm not. There's a pattern. People only get hurt once a month, on one night. The full moon." She laughs. "And that sounds crazy. It is crazy. But then I thought—what if I was right when I called you a were-lion?"

"You weren't." I dare another look at her.

A muscle twitches in her jaw. "I researched every creature I could find. Norse mythology, Egyptian mythology, Japanese folklore, the Inca myths. Roman, Celtic, Hindu, Slavic, Maya—everything."

"Let me guess," I breathe, conscious of an old woman with a shopping trolley inching past us, hoping old age has taken the sharpness from her hearing. "You found an interesting Persian myth that fit all your criteria."

Fray folds her arms over her chest, her chin jutting out. "Pretty much."

"And now?" I swallow, make myself ask the next question. "What do you want?" What could she possibly want? She knows what I am, but she can't get anything from knowing. There's only one thing she could do ... expose me, and in turn my family and Legendaries everywhere.

Our exposure would be a beacon for whatever creature is draining Majick and then we'd all be dead or worse. And if it didn't draw whatever is stealing Majick ... the Gods would come to punish us. Assuming humans didn't drag us off to prisons or laboratories first.

I shudder.

Fray keeps glaring at me, fierce and determined, and the worst kind of thing happens in me—my mouth decides it wants to smile. It took guts for her to confront a mythological creature. And I'm guessing she's been carrying this research around, looking for me, for a while. I hand the papers back and among my dread, admiration blooms.

Until she says, "I want to know how many more of you there are, and if you're a danger to us."

I glance away, guilty, and whisper, "You know I'm a danger. You said yourself people get hurt at the full moon."

"And my first question. Are there other Manticores in Almery Wood?"

With relief, I answer with complete honesty. "No. I'm the only Manticore in Almery Wood." The only Manticore on Earth. Fray doesn't have to know that there are other creatures of myth in the woods. She could tell the hunters, or the police, or someone who might do permanent damage to Legendaries—like, for example, a Numen in mortal disguise looking for a way to get back at Venus. I can't tell Fray the truth. It's better for everyone if she thinks it's just me.

"Good." She takes a step back. "Stay out of Almery Wood."

A full shudder wracks my body. The way she says Almery ... the way her syllables run together ...it's the exact way the Voice thinks it. I watch Fray warily. She can't be the voice in my head. She isn't Legendary. She's completely normal. Human.

"What?" she snaps, her eyes narrowing, picking up my weakness.

I turn my back on her, my confusion giving power to the beast but I clench my stomach against the roiling sensation. I can't Change without the Crea moon. I breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. And I walk away.

FIFTEEN

THE CONNECTION

I cycle harder than I've ever ridden before. The suburban houses of Denham village are nothing but a blur, even with my sight heightened by the Crea moon's closeness. When I see the house I need, I clamber off the bike and let it crash to the ground. I cross the lawn on unstable legs and knock on the door hard enough to break the skin of my knuckles, my chest heaving.

By the time Willa opens the door, I'm on my knees, my breath gasping. She pulls me up and ushers me into the warm living room with a string of questions and comforting words.

As soon as I got home, I set off for Willa's house. I need answers. I need to know if Fray is the Voice. And if I ask Minnie to read for me, it'll definitely be a doom and gloom reading. I remember the last one and shudder, wondering what new relationships I'm going to have, what malicious force is going to find us.

Willa's soft hands on my face bring the world into focus. My breathing is under control now, and I'd guess the hot stone tied around my neck is responsible for it. Heavy fabrics and earthy colours decorate the room, and it usually smells of Jasmine. I wrinkle my nose at the smell of herbs and rot, the slick weight on my head.

"What is that?" I ask. I raise my hand to touch my forehead but it's slapped away. My friend stands over me like a pin-up nurse, a pestle and mortar in her hands and a delicate frown on her face. My head is smeared with something disgusting. Probably green. Definitely staining my skin.

Willa's voice is rich with her German accent. "It helps with the headache."

I frown. "What headache?" I was out of breath and my muscles were pushed too far but I don't remember having a headache.

"The one you will get when we start talking."

Right. That's a very Willa thing to say. I drag myself into a sitting position. "And the pendant?"

"A calming stone."

I touch the stone again, just under the talisman Guy gave me. "How can the Girl In The Woods be the voice in my head?"

Willa perches on a chaise longue that's entirely out of place in this cosy front room. I don't bother explaining everything to her—I'd put money on her already knowing. She likes to keep an eye on me, make sure I'm doing alright, and I don't mind so I let her. She says, "I'm not going to tell you it's fate—but it is fate."

"That's helpful." I resist the urge to smear the uncomfortable paste from my head, which is getting more difficult with every passing second it itches at my skin.

Even though Willa lives separately, she's as much my best friend as Minnie and Vic. Willa is a Crea, like me, but she doesn't Change in the woods itself—she's an Oceanid, one of the million daughters of Oceanus, and a patron of the pool in Almery. After a really bad moon, she found me bleeding and brought me to her home to patch me up. I'd gotten into a fight with another Crea and my skin was shredded. I barely noticed her moving me, I was in so much pain. At the time I didn't know there were other Legendaries in Callaire; now I know there are a handful at least, living among humans.

Willa and I have a lot in common despite her being eight years older than me. Like me, she's been searching for a way to control her transformation for years, she was abandoned by her Legendary parents, and she has a love of literature.

Willa grimaces as I sit up, wincing at the flare of the predestined headache. "I'll be serious. First, I want to say how upset I am that you haven't visited in weeks. Second, I can only think to Scry your mind."

I sit up further, unnerved at the idea of having my mind searched. But if this is the only way to find out if Fray is the voice... "Do it."

She brings a clear bowl of water from the kitchen, telling me to focus on it. My body tenses, nerves shivering through me, but I do as she says, frowning at the water until she snaps at me to clear my expression and my mind.

Willa doesn't know her lineage, only that her father was a human who must have been at least distantly related to Apollo. That's why she can Scry—she's Divine, like Minnie. There's not enough Legend in her veins to give her access to pathways like Minnie but she can look into things by Scrying.

I stare at the still water in the bowl, trying in vain to empty my mind. Willa dips a crimson-nailed finger in the bowl and suspends it above me until water drops onto my forehead. The drop rolls down my nose and I shiver, my eyes becoming unfocused. In that second a shard of ice jabs into my heart and bolts of cold charge through my body, probing my chest, my throat, and lodging in my brain. I've heard having your mind Scryed is uncomfortable, but I have to clench my jaw to keep from crying out in pain.

The cold retreats and Willa gasps, a hand over her heart. Her apple-green eyes are wide and glossy; she looks suddenly younger. "That is unexpected," she says cryptically, then refuses to explain further.

I blink to focus my eyes, shaking my head to clear the ice. "Willa, tell me. If it's something bad, I'll just deal with it."

"They're the same girl. That's the answer you wanted, yes?"

I catch my breath. Suspecting is one thing but knowing ... what do I do with this information? "Fray is the voice?"

"Yes."

I nod, digesting that fact. "I thought the voice was Legendary."

Willa's hair loosens as she shakes her head. She fixes the rolls of curls with fast, agitated fingers. "She's human as far as I can tell, but there's something about her I don't like. It feels like..." She searches for the right word. "Like she is marked."

My stomach flips. That does not sound good. And for Fray to share this connection with me, whatever it is that's allowing her to reach out to me, pull me into her dreams ... that's even worse. "Marked by what?"

"For what. And I do not know. I'll tell you when I find it."

"That's it?" I watch her closely, scanning her expression for secrets. "Willa. That's all you're going to tell me?"

"That's all I know." She chips away at her nail polish—her tell.

I sigh, leaning back into the sofa cushions. "I know you're lying. So just tell me."

Instead of answering she walks into the kitchen and starts putting various foodstuffs into clear boxes. I push myself off the sofa and trail after her, my arms awkward at my sides. All of me feeling awkward, like my limbs no longer fit together right. I hope it's just a side effect of being Scryed.

"She's under your skin," Willa observes, putting a slice of pie in a tub and sealing it.

Fray—the Girl In The Woods—the voice in my head. The girl who took in a wounded creature notorious for hurting people and helped it. The girl so intuitive she noticed a pattern in animal attacks, and so determined for the truth that she researched every mythology, folklore, and legend in the world until she found it. The girl who confronted me, regardless of the fact I could easily have killed her with the Crea moon in my blood. The girl with a dark past, with a father who wanted rid of her so badly he begged robed men to take her away.

She's more than under my skin. She's settled deep in my marrow. And I want her out.

"Did you see the dream I keep having?" I ask Willa, running my fingertips over the grooves in a Tupperware lid.

"Flashes of it."

"Her father wanted those robes to take her—because she has Majick. If she's human, how can she have Majick, Willa? She has to be Legendary, even if she's just the great-granddaughter of someone with weak Majick. She has to be something."

Willa gives me a sad look. "I wish I could give you a half-truth and tell you she shares our nature, but she was born human."

"Then why did they—"

"Yasmin. She's not Legendary. If she has Majick it is some human kind, and not because she was born Dei, or even Crea. I tell you this with absolute certainty. She's not Legendary."

I slump against the counter. She's just another human reaching out for my help—she's not Psychic and she can't help me understand myself.

"I'm sorry. I can't give you what you want. But this girl, this Fray, she's calling for you. Legendary or not, she's in need of you."

I look at the ceiling, at the linoleum floor, at the lime coloured door. "What do I do?"

Willa smiles, seeing me as only she can, knowing the terrible parts of me and the parts that yearn to be good. "You push her far away from you so she can no longer reach you. Or you let her in."

"What would you do? If you were me?" She gives me a look. "Fine, then which is the best option? You know me—do I really want to let her in? I don't even know what she is, let alone who."

"You do what is right for you. And don't you go asking that Divine to look forward. You're not ready for the future. You just let things happen naturally."

I sigh.

"You hear me?"

"I hear you." I take my coat off the back of a chair—not sure how it ended up there—and slide it on, eyeing the growing pile of food. "So, what am I supposed to do now? Do I just ... go to her?"

She tilts her head, blonde curls shifting with the movement. "You want advice?"

"I might."

"Answer her. The girl is calling out for you in her sleep. Follow her cry." She smiles slyly, hiding something. "You never know what could happen until it has happened."

"That's bad advice."

Willa fills a backpack with food containers. She regards me with a strong look, accepting no complaints as she lifts my arms and settles the straps on my shoulders. The bag weighs a tonne. "So you don't starve to death," she explains. Even though she knows I eat fine and Amity and Minnie would bug me into eating if I didn't. "Now be gone with you. I'm tired of your face. And take this—Trick's gym is having a fundraiser next Thursday. I know you won't come but I live in hope."

I can't help but smile, tucking the leaflet for her boyfriend's gym in my pocket.

Out on the streets, with the frame of my bike beneath me, the evening flies past, dragging my hair with it. By the time I get home, the sun is setting and darkness is inches away. The voices in the wind are audible. The Lost whisper, as they always do, but tonight they're insistent.

As I urge the bike over the cracked tarmac of Mount Tabor, a cold breath whispers over my face, followed by another, and another—and more and more until the voices of the dead are only a soft buzzing. I curse my Majick. I want to ignore them but they won't stop until I listen, so I separate the voices until they form words.

The Halfling will fall.

Beware the Chaos with two faces.

The ancestors are watching.

The Red—Chaos—Cursed enchantment—Majick—Chaos—Red—Death—Halfling—Callaire—Numina—Chaos.

I drown it out. I drown it all out. Too fast—they're throwing words at me too fast for my head to process and another headache flares behind my eye. In my mind, I throw up walls as high as towers, shivering as I do. I lock the Academy gates tight behind me.

SIXTEEN

THE WARD

By the time I've scrubbed the headache remedy off my forehead, it's already stained. I grimace at my reflection. My eyes look weird, the gold of my pupils darker than normal, but I'm glad. Without the marker of my Crea nature, I look a bit more human. The bags under them don't look so good, though. I cover them with concealer but it does little to hide how stressed and tired I've been lately.

When I set out on my bike again, gloaming has already fallen. It's the time of night that hasn't met true darkness but it makes the streetlights flicker on anyway. A darkness that's alive, and a time I try to avoid. Whispers slide across the air, caressing like fingers. Whispers that I know are not the wind or my imagination. They're as real as the twisted steel beneath my body and the hairs that stand on end along my arms. Whispers of the wronged and troubled, of angry men and vengeful women and teenagers still rebelling, even against the Otherland. But at least the Lost aren't trying to talk to me this time.

The yellow lights strewn across Mount Tabor speckle the dark street in front of me as I follow unspoken directions to Fray's house. The Academy looms atop the vast height, dark and uninviting under the purple sky.

I took off the Akasha pendant so I can hear Fray's voice now, weaving through the silent compartments of my mind. She's asleep, and she's scared, and she's calling out for me. I'm helpless—wholly, wildly helpless—to the telepathic voice of a girl who's a stranger to me.

I wasn't sure what I'd do until I got home, if I'd try to forget Fray or if I'd go to her. But her fear sliced right into me, strong as my own, and there was only one decision I could make.

I didn't pay attention to the house when I was here last. I was so puzzled by a human helping me in my Manticore form that I was oblivious. But now that I'm stood at the edge of the surrounding field, the dark shadows of Almery looming at my back, now I'm staring at it straight on, some things are starting to make sense.

A gravel pathway snakes around the house in a perfect circle, looking perfectly innocent, but I'm willing to bet it's been meticulously measured to give the house a precise ten metre radius. Like the Ward around the Academy. In the exact centre of the sandy brick house, on the second floor, is a window in the shape of a crescent moon. Unlike our Ward, this is even stronger, the Majick much more forceful with that crescent moon. I'm off my bike and running before my mind has time to catch up to my legs.

She's not human. She might not be Legendary but she isn't just human, not by a long shot, not with that Ward.

The Crea moon is in my blood, vying for domination, but I won't surrender control tonight. Not when this house exists and holds a human girl who is calling for me. Not when my own soul, my own essence is coiling and releasing, coiling and releasing. The beast feels alive. I feel alight.

I draw long, deep breaths, focussing myself, honing my control. But like every other time I've tried to push down the beast or call it, it fails.

My hands shaking, claws brushing against the underside of my skin, I circle the building. I don't need to see the whole house, not when I already know what I'll find. Four crescent moons, one on each wall of Fray's home, one for each type of Elemental Majick.

It's Warding Majick, no doubt. And it's the strongest I've ever seen.

I hesitate with my foot off the ground, but when I step over the gravel, my body tingling with anticipation of being hurt, nothing happens.

Warding Majick that allows a Crea past its barricade...

A low growl slips out of my mouth. If the Ward isn't keeping us out—is it keeping her in?

*

I wait outside, sat in the gravel and cold, until I have my monstrous alter ego under control, or if not that then pushed down an inch. The claws pressing my skin ease up, and the rumble of a growl leaves my voice. I take a deep breath and then climb to my feet. I have to do this. I have to know.

Going against instincts growing steadily louder, trying to pull me back, away, I scale the ivy trellis and let myself into the only room with a light on. Fray's bedroom. I could have knocked on the door but ... I want the truth, and I want it without a shotgun pointing at me.

The room is warm, in both colour and temperature. Everything is plum and gold, fleece and velvet, crystal and fairy lights. It smells sweet, of vanilla and sugarplum, which clashes horribly with my image of Fray: scary, determined, furious. Her bed is pushed against a wall, swamped by blankets and cushions. No wonder she's having nightmares, she must be burning up under there.

I take a deep breath and walk to the bed, to the girl I've only met twice before. I've never felt like a stalker before, but I do now. This is wrong. I shouldn't be here. But I need to know what she is and why she's calling out to me. If I find out what she wants, maybe I'll stop being dragged into her dreams. I wonder why I haven't been dragged into the one she's having now, but maybe it's a different one. So far, I've only dreamt of that cavern with the robes.

Fray lets out a quiet whimper and her cry both echoes around my skull and pierces the silence of her bedroom around me. My heart twists with sympathy, and I'm instantly thrown back to all those years ago with me terrified and Mavers comforting me. Her house is empty—I used the beast's ears to listen for other heartbeats and found none. I thought the house was empty when Fray saved me before but now it feels lonely, for someone to live on their own. She cries out again and I can't leave her, even if this is a million kinds of intrusive. There's no Mavers to comfort her, to wake her from her nightmare.

Nerves twist my stomach, a bad feeling hanging over me, but I kneel on the plush, lilac rug beside Fray's bed and—realise I have no clue what I intend to do, or what I should do. I'm pretty sure breaking and entering and then watching someone sleep is the exact opposite of what I should do. But I do it anyway. Technically, I tell myself, the breaking and entering is already done.

Fray is still murmuring in her sleep but unlike when I slipped through the window, she's not tossing and turning. Her breathing has evened out. I want to write that off as sheer coincidence but my mind isn't cooperating. What if your presence calms her? it whispers. What if you were brought together by a cosmic force because you're meant to be?

It remembers Minnie's reading and that card—the Lovers. What if she's the one who will finally see past the beast, who will love you?

They're carefully placed words like knife blades, delicate fantasies of something I will never have, can never have because I am not an ordinary girl. I am not a normal, angsty teenager. And I am not a human. I'm a beast and I can never love someone without putting them at risk—without always being afraid the Numina will find them and hurt them, without thinking I'll have a bad Change and I'll hurt them myself.

I growl under my breath, half beast half girl.

Fray comes awake, comes apart, gasping and clutching at the blankets across her body. It takes three seconds for her to react—shooting upright and dragging the covers with her, backing against the wall and staring at me with fear-filled eyes. My stomach turns over, guilt churning in my gut.

She's scared but she still spits at me in anger. "What are you doing here?"

"You were calling out for me." I duck my head, my eyes fixed on the rug. Why am I here? But I know why. I want the dreams to stop, and I want ... if this is meant to be something, I want to know that too.

"I was not," she argues.

"In your sleep. In your mind. You were crying for me in your mind. I'm ... I'm Psychic. I can communicate telepathically—I heard you." She stares at me in horror. My eyes sting—this feels a lot like when my Majick first manifested and everyone looked at me with so much wariness and suspicion and disgust. I press my hands together, gripping them tight, and words just spill out of me through my tight throat.

I tell her everything I can. The voice. The dreams. How I thought she was like me (though I conveniently miss out the fact that I'm a part of a bigger race of Crea, and an even bigger race of Legendaries.) How I now know she's not Legendary at all. I don't tell her how much it hurts to think I've found someone like me and lose that hope.

When I finish I'm heaving for breath, my shoulders hunched and my arms around myself. I can't look at her, can barely breathe. I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have told her any of it even if she already knew bits and pieces. I dart quick looks at her, waiting for her to lunge for her phone and call the police.

She doesn't talk for a full minute. She stares at the black decal of a twisted gate that frames her door.

Then in a small voice she says, "You saw my dream?"

I brave another look at her and find her anger gone, replaced by vulnerability and something like sadness but deeper. Her eyes ... if I had any doubt that she was the girl in the dream, I don't now. There's years of rejection and loneliness in her eyes. It makes me wonder about the Ward again, about her being inside it alone, and the man in her dream pleading the robes to take her. Has she been locked in here, lonely, all this time? I swallow the sudden lump in my throat but I'm unable to mask my sympathy, my understanding, when I answer, "Yeah. I saw your dream."

"Is it ... is it real?" Her eyes fix on mine, pinning me in place. Strong even when she's scared. My heart stumbles and I realise, all at once, that I'm scared of her. Even distracted by the way the gold flecks capture the fairy lights, I'm scared of her. Why did I tell her all that? Why did I let her know about me? I'm an idiot. I should have told Mavers and Amity, asked Cornelia and Priscilla to Persuade Fray to forget about me. But ... there's still this connection between us. I have to know why.

She's staring right at me, her jaw clenched, and I realise she's expecting an answer. "I don't know," I say. "Shouldn't you know? It's your dream."

She skirts the edge of the room, keeping distance between us, and sinks onto the bed, running her hands through her messy brown hair. "I've been having that dream for years. I know it's just a dream, but I keep having it, and I can't help thinking..."

"Thinking it's a memory?" I suggest, barely above a whisper. How can she not know? If the dream actually happened to her ... she's forgotten, but it's still trapped in her subconscious.

Fray shakes her head, colour rising high on her cheeks. "It can't be. I'm wrong. It just ... can't be."

I fold my arms around myself, climbing slowly to my feet so I don't spook her. "It could be."

She laughs, a painful grating sound empty of mirth. "How can it be when my father says I kept doing things? Like magic. That's just fantasy. Magic doesn't exist." She says it with force, like if she puts enough conviction in her voice she can convince herself of it even when there's a mythical creature in her bedroom.

When I stay silent, she glares at me. "I might actually have ... powers? Is that what you're saying?" When I still don't speak she raises her voice, a whip cracking across the room. "Is that what you're saying?"

"I don't know." I wrap my arms tighter around my middle, contemplating climbing back out the window. "I don't know what you are. I thought you knew."

She throws her hands up, grinding her teeth. "Why do I expect you to have answers? I don't even know who you are."

She stares me down, and even though she's human and smaller than me, I take a step back. I might be a Manticore but this girl has the unique ability to make me afraid. "Who are you? I'm pretty sure you're not a knight in shining armour come to rescue me. And you're not a villain—you haven't threatened or attacked me yet." She narrows her eyes. "So what does that make you?"

"Out of place," I offer. "And I'm just ... going to go now." I retreat another step.

She crosses her arms, her chin in the air. "Good."

I hook one leg over the window frame and look back. I want to drop to the ground and run but I need to know one thing. Well, a hundred things but this is pressing hardest against my curiosity, my need to know. "This house—whose is it?"

"It's mine. Well, my mum's. Why?"

I down look at the circular walkway, my stomach lurching with sudden vertigo. "That path down there, the one around your house, it has power. And the windows on each side of your house—the crescent moons—they're a Ward. It's Majick. Strong Majick."

I glance back at her—hunched over on her bed, her hands in her lap, her eyes closed. She looks ... pained. "So it's not just a dream," she breathes. Regret, hot and sudden, lances into me. I thought she was one of us at first, and then I thought she was keeping secrets, that she was reaching out to me for a reason—that she knew she was doing it. Now ... I don't know what to think.

"I think your father had this house built," I say, not meeting her eyes. "When you were a child, not long after your dream. Whatever Majick you'd started to show, he wanted it to stop badly enough to go to those robed people. Maybe he went to somebody else, who had enough power to keep your Majick from developing. Maybe they bound this house."

"I don't have any magic," Fray whispers. She's crushing the bed sheets in her fists, her anger swiftly returning. "I'm not like you."

"No," I agree. "But you're something. Don't you want to find out what?"

Her eyes snap to mine, defiance glowing within them. "No."

I nod. That's her choice. But I wish there was some way to stop the dreams, and to stop my involvement. I notice belatedly that I can't hear her voice in my head. I hope that's a good sign.

Without looking back, I swing my other leg out of the window and drop. I land with a crouch on all fours, my nails as talons. The beast is rumbling inside me, a direct reaction to my chaos of emotions. I drag my bike up off the ground and pedal as fast as I can into Almery and out the other side. By the time I get home, the beast has its claws sunk into me.

SEVENTEEN

THE VISION OF THE PAST

It takes me an entire day to reign in my monster. My floor is scratched all over, furrows in the carpet, and some of my blankets are irreparable ribbons. But I'm in control now, and possessions can be replaced. But just in case, after I haul myself to the last class of the day—maths because I have the worst luck—and ignore everyone's worried glances, I take the bus into Callaire. I need to work the beast out of my system entirely and there's only one thing that works for that.

I think about calling Fray on my break but chicken out.

Trick is leaning against the reception desk of the gym when I stumble into the foyer. The town's only gym is a mill conversion on the edge of Callaire's centre and it just so happens that I can get a discount here. The benefits of knowing the owner's girlfriend.

I try to smile but it comes off as a grimace.

"Bad day, love?" Trick sits on the desk with his ankles crossed, a long tunic falling over his thighs. He pours a cup of coffee and holds it out to me.

"You're wearing a sunset," is the first thing I can think to say.

He laughs, pleased. "That's what Willa said. She tells me you went to see her a few days ago."

I nod, draining the polystyrene coffee cup. "I needed help with something."

"So I heard. She won't tell me what, of course. My lady is noble. Oh, someone left this here for you. Pretty girl, short, brown hair, freckles?"

My stomach turns over, and then again as he passes a scrap of paper to me. My heart thumping, I unfold the paper and find—a phone number. Oh. This is ... unexpected.

"So," Trick says with a smile, drawing out the word. "Anything interesting?"

His tone suggests he already peeked at the note's contents. "You already told Willa, didn't you?"

He lays a hand over his heart. "You believe I'd pass on gossip?"

I nod. "Yes."

"Correct, I did. She told me to tell you to be brave, and we're rooting for you."

I want to die of embarrassment on the spot. I resist the urge to bury my head in my hands. I'm sure most people don't get this kind of fussing when a girl gives them her number. "Can I just?" I motion to the door that leads to gym equipment. "I'll pay after, okay?"

He sweeps an arm through the air, smiling easily. "Of course."

Inside, a couple of women use side-by-side treadmills and there's a guy on something I don't know the name of. I find a quiet corner and lose myself in the rhythmic movements, the sharp noise of weights lifting and falling, the slow burn in my muscles.

By the time I'm worn out and aching, an hour has passed and the beast is contained. I feel physically weak but mentally powerful. It's a rare feeling for me to feel power over myself.

I call Fray before I can back out of it, sat on a bench in the musty changing room, my heart pounding from overexertion.

"Hi," I say when I hear her answer. "It's Yasmin. I think you gave me your number."

I'm an idiot.

"Yeah," she says. "Hi. I wasn't sure you'd get it, but a flyer for that gym fell out of your pocket so I thought it was worth a shot." She's rambling. It eases a bit of my nerves. "Yasmin? That's your name?"

"Yeah."

She doesn't speak for ten seconds so I feel forced to fill the quiet by pointing out how awkward this is.

She laughs breathily. "Sorry. I didn't think this through. I just figured it'd be easier than me walking around Callaire looking for you every time I have a question."

"You have questions? For me?" She should be scared of me. She should be freaked out that I can hear her mind, that I share her dreams. "I broke into your house."

"And that's throwing up major red flags, don't worry. But I have a million questions for you. I need to know if I have magic, and what it changes if I do."

"It doesn't change anything. It just means you can do something you wouldn't be able to without it. Like .... Can I try something?"

"Alright," she says warily.

"Don't freak out," I whisper, then I say Fray? into her mind.

"What the shit!"

"You ... sound like you're freaking out."

"You—you just—"

"Spoke in your mind," I finish. "Telepathically. I have telepathy. I'm sure I said that." I might have told Fray to not freak out but I'm not taking my own advice. "Sorry!"

"No—you did. You said that. It's just ... really weird. Sorry. I wasn't ready for that."

"I'm not going to do it again. I was just trying to show you what I meant, when I said it doesn't change anything. It just means you can do something different, like I can with my Psychic Majick."

"Do it again," she tells me in a determined voice that shocks me. I remember the fierce look on her face in her bedroom and realise something about her. She faces everything, even things she doesn't want to do, with unflinching resolve.

Hi, I think. This time she doesn't swear aloud or flinch mentally.

Hello, she thinks back tentatively.

Can I put the phone down? I'm on credit ....

"Oh. Yes," she says, accidentally shutting our link down. The 'line' of our mental communication becomes background static, the default sound of my Majick without a tie to someone's mind. Most of the time I ignore the drone but when I'm focusing on it and it cuts out, like now, it's a blaring buzz.

I block it out and say, "Thanks," before ending the call.

What other questions did you have? I ask, reaching for her again.

Is there a way you can tell? If I have Majick?

Maybe, I answer, thinking of Minnie. I wonder if she can Divine an answer. You'd have to come out of your house for a while, though. The Ward is repressing Majick, whether you have it or not.

That doesn't make any sense, she argues. I go out every day to college.

Oh. She's right, that doesn't make sense.

So I leave my house—what then?

I don't know. If you give me time, I'll figure it out.

Maybe Mavers has record of her—he keeps archives full of information on Legendaries. Fray has to be a distant descendant of one of us. That's the only thing that makes sense. If anyone has answers about her lineage, it'll be Mavers.

Thanks. Her telepathic voice is a whisper. I have to go. I'll err ... talk to you later.

My mind becomes static again and this time I don't remake the connection. I haul myself from the bench and go to pay Trick for the gym time.

*

My mind won't stop running, even with the bath I've taken to relax myself. The nearest bathroom to my bedroom—a tiny box-room that doesn't even have space for a sink, just a toilet and a bath—smells overwhelmingly floral, the jasmine, lavender, and rose bath bomb I dropped in too strong for my Crea nose right now and the clashing scents of my shampoo and body wash stuffing my nose up until I sneeze. The closer it gets to the full moon, the stronger my senses become. The fact that I can see, hear, and smell everything in this wing of the building doesn't help to calm my mind one bit.

I give up on peace after half an hour and crawl into bed in the fluffiest pyjamas I can find. I snag the runes Minnie gave me from the bedside table and empty them onto my green blanket. If I can't clear my mind, I can at least understand it.

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do, other than choose runes that stand out to me, so I close my eyes and run my fingers through the air above them. I pick out two runes based on a faint tingling in my fingertips that I might be imagining.

A quick internet search identifies them as Ingwaz, a diamond shape, and Ehwaz, an M shape. The diamond means family, internal growth, and love, which is fine until I add the meaning of the M shape—a journey and transport. So I'm going to travel with family? I'll find love on holiday? These runes can't read me any better than Minnie can.

I scoop them up and I'm just about to put them back into the bag when two images flash into my mind.

Yasmin? someone says in my head. It takes me a moment to place the voice as Fray. My mind feels like water—indistinct, in turbulent motion. I've fallen face first into the runes and my breath is scraping up my throat. The Akasha pendant!—I took it off when I spoke to Fray earlier. I forgot to put it back on.

No. My vision is going bad, the same as when I passed out and woke up in the infirmary. Not now.

Yasmin? What's wrong?

Please—please don't talk to me now. My words get lost in the middle of a vision. Shadows take me away from Fray's panicked voice, from my bedroom, from consciousness.

*

This time it's different. I'm in a study. Bookshelves and diplomas line the wood-panelled walls, a soft light unfurls from an upstanding lamp, and in the middle of the floor is a box. In front of me, inching towards the cherry-wood trunk, is a girl. She's a year or so younger than the dream of the cave but I still recognise her as Fray. She has the same green-gold eyes, the same stubborn determination in the jut of her chin.

I'm stood somewhere at the edge of the room, the heat of a flickering fire crackling down my arms from a few feet away. I take a step towards Fray, a bad feeling in my gut as she runs her chubby palms over the inlaid lid. She puts her face close to the ivory engraving of a woman stood at a crossroads with hands reaching as if to touch the wind. I watch as Fray pushes her body against the lid until it lifts from the base and stumble forwards another step to stop her, but Malach rushes into the room, runs right through me like I'm a ghost, and grabs her.

Shouting, he hauls Fray back just as she's about to fall into the trunk, and at the same moment I sense something in the room—the same feeling I get when I meet a Dei for the first time but intensified a hundred times.

The stricken look on Malach's face is the last thing I see before the blackness takes me again.

EIGHTEEN

THE MYSTERY

I get up the next day before even the sun has risen, groggy and dazed thanks to the dream vision repeating on a loop every time I shut my eyes. What does it mean for it to be a different dream, not the one with the cave? And why—why change now? Because I've spoken to Fray?

"Oh," I say to myself, setting down my drained orange juice glass. Because I connected with her mind—that has to be what changed things. It makes sense. If her crying out to me gave me the first dream and I knew nothing about her, now I know a bit more, now there's a mental link between us, I've unlocked a deeper memory. I sigh, not knowing what to do with this information, and forego breakfast, not feeling hungry.

Instead, wanting fresh air in my lungs, I go to get the newspaper from the path outside. At the far end of the courtyard, the trees bordering it close in, leaving only enough room for a car to squeeze through. I follow this path to where the delivery boy always throws our paper through the open spaces in the gate.

I shiver in the dawn chill, the world getting light all at once around me. The closer I get to the end of the path and the Academy gates, I hear a rattling sound. First I dismiss it as the wind but when I round a bend in the path, I stop dead. Fray is stood there, looking cold in a cardigan and jeans, shaking the Academy gates with her hands. I don't know why she's here, how she's here.

"It's six o'clock," I say when the shock has worn off, walking over to her. "What are you doing here?"

She jumps at the sound of my voice, lifting her head from where she was frowning at the ground. "I thought you were dead!"

I stop before her. "What?"

"I—I tried to talk to you and you were just ... gone. It felt like... it felt the same as when I dream, when I can feel you pulled into it. But I didn't dream. I tried to speak to you again and you still weren't responding." She pulls on her cardigan sleeve. "I thought I'd killed you."

"Oh." I chew my lip. "You didn't."

She huffs, folding her arms around herself. "I can see that. Why didn't you answer any of my calls? And when I tried to talk to you—the mind way—you didn't answer. Why?"

I lift the Akasha pendant from my chest. "This protects me from what happened. It stops me getting sucked into your memories—dreams," I correct quickly, not knowing if I've upset her by suggesting she has Majick again. But she just looks confused, furrows in her forehead.

"Then—"

"I took it off to talk to you. Last night wasn't supposed to happen. I should have been more careful." The trees beside us shift suddenly in the wind and I shudder as a chill wind moves down my spine.

Fray winds a lock of hair around a finger but not in a contemplative way—agitated, like she could rip it out of her head with one false move.

"Sorry if I worried you," I say, feeling wretched but also ... a bit surprised she'd be worried in the first place. Though I'd be worried if our connection suddenly cut off and I couldn't hear her.

"It's fine."

I sigh. I want to invite her in for a cup of tea or coffee and apologise, or at the least talk, but the Ward won't let her pass. I scrub a hand through my hair, pushing it back from my head. "Do you want to get a drink? There's a café in Tabor's Foot, that village down there, that opens early."

Fray looks unsure but she nods. "Okay."

"Wait here. I'll just get a coat." I run back to the Academy before she can complain, exchange my slippers for actual shoes and put a coat on, grabbing my phone from the side of my bed. On second thoughts, I leave a note on my bed saying I've gone out in case Minnie wakes early—which is unlikely—and panics to find me gone—which could actually happen.

I hurry back to the gates, unlock them with my keys, and carefully lock them behind me. Fray gives me a quizzical look but I can't exactly explain about the hunters being after everyone else inside the Academy without telling her they're all mythical too. And without knowing what she's going to do about me, if she's going to tell anyone ... I can't risk my family.

We walk awkwardly down the mountain—it's really more of a hill—in silence, Fray sneaking looks at me. I know she wants to ask me something but I'm scared to find out what so I fish my phone out of my pocket. "Dead." I hold it up to show her. "Sorry."

"It's alright." We're both momentarily distracted by a crow flying so low it almost hits us. The perils of living high up. I look at her in surprise when she says, "I forgive you."

"Thanks." I smile, relieved when she smiles back. I don't know her, not really, but she's interesting. I want to get to know her, uncover her secrets, be her friend. And since it looks like I'll keep being drawn into her dreams and memories, it'll be less awkward if we know each other better. "How long were you waiting out there?"

"Not long," she answers. "About ten minutes. I figured I'd get someone to come out and shout at me to stop, then I could ask them if you lived here."

"And then I showed up..."

She smiles, a full genuine smile directed at me, and my stomach flips. "You did."

"How did you find me?" It only now occurs to me, shocked as I was by her presence, that I should be worried she's stalking me. Not that I have much room to talk—I followed her mental voice to her house and climbed into her bedroom in the middle of the night.

"Oh." She ducks her head. I walk a few steps in front, taking the lead as we reach the bottom of the hill and take the path leading left into the village's high street. It's mostly detached houses until you reach it, big gardens smelling of freshly cut grass even in winter.

"I phoned that gym," Fray says, her eyes sliding past our surroundings. "I didn't think anyone would be there but ... this is going to sound weird. A guy answered it and told me his girlfriend knew I was gonna call. And then he told me your address without me even asking."

I'm torn between smiling and sighing. Willa. "That doesn't sound weird," I tell Fray. "His girlfriend is one of my best friends. She's ... interfering, but in a good way."

Fray laughs, a rich sound that puts me at ease. "I still don't understand it but ... if I have magic, other people could, right?"

Thankfully I'm spared answering when we arrive at the Lazy Latte. I've never been happier to see an open sign hanging in a door before. I let us in, relieved to be out of the cold, and even more so when the owner pops her head above the counter and tells us there's some free biscuits going spare from yesterday's batch if we want them. Fray enthusiastically tells the woman we do and demolishes one before we even get to a table, our orders placed and the coffee machine already whirring and hissing behind the counter.

"So," I say.

"So," she returns. "That's a pretty big house you live in."

I nibble a biscuit, not sure how to reply. "Yeah."

"Does anyone else know you're a Manticore?"

"No," I answer quickly. "And they can't know. No human can know." I look her in the eye so she can see I'm deadly serious. This is part of the reason I wanted to talk to her—to get her to keep my secret, to try and contain the fallout from this mess. A human knowing about Legendaries, or at least one Legendary. But Fray took care of me when I was shot, and that's always in the back of my mind. I owe her.

"I get it," she says, lowering her voice. "It's a super-secret. But I know about you..." Her face falls and she abandons the biscuit she'd just picked up. "But I'm not human, am I?"

For a second I'm frozen. How do I reply to that? I don't. "How old are you?"

Fray looks up as our drinks are placed before us. I blow across the top of my cappuccino and take a long drink, ignoring the scald on my tongue in favour of absorbing the caffeine.

"Sixteen," Fray answers, watching me. "You?"

"Seventeen." I take another drink, glancing out the window at the front of the shop. Cars are just starting to crowd onto the road. Mavers and Amity will be awake now but they shouldn't notice me gone until a lot later.

"Yasmin..." She gives me a very serious look. "I'm not going to tell anyone. But I want to know more. About how you..." She waves her hands as if it's easier to speak about my transformation with gestures than words.

"It's—" I was going to give her a lie but she's already used the word magic, already guessed at the truth. "It's just magic," I say, "and the moon."

"But ... how?"

I laugh; I don't mean to but I do. "I wish I knew, Fray. The truth is ... I don't know. It just happens and I have to live with it."

She looks at me for a long time. I drop my gaze to my coffee until she says, quiet, "That sounds lonely."

I take a drink, my heart beating fast. Fear or exhilaration to be talking about this or both. "No more lonely than living in a big house on your own."

"Touché," she says, and she's smiling. It crinkles her eyes, wrinkles her nose, and all at once I notice how beautiful she is. I knew she was cute, pretty, but this smile ... it catches my attention, fixes it firmly on her.

"I like knowing things," she tells me. "I want to know about ... how you can be this. How you can be human and animal at the same time"

I'm never human, not with my parents, but I know what she means so I don't correct her. "There's no easy explanation," I tell her. "And if you found out how this happens to me, it'd probably be more than I know." All I know is having the Manticore as my father means I change. Everything in between—how it happens, how I change from girl to beast and back again, how that doesn't kill me ... I'm in the dark about those things.

Whatever she sees in my face changes her line of questioning. She takes a long drag of coffee and asks, "Does it hurt?"

"Yes." There's no other answer.

She leans forward, her brown hair falling across her face. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

My thoughts slip straight out of my mouth before I can stop them. "Why would you want to?"

"Because," she says, crumbling a biscuit on the plate. "I don't like seeing people in pain." And yet, just looking at her, it's obvious she's in pain too. Maybe a different type of pain but still. I want to ask when she last saw her father, the rest of her family, when was the last time anyone checked in on her, and how social services don't know about this. But that's too personal.

"There's nothing you can do," I mutter. There's nothing I can do, either. I can't even get control of myself when I'm in Manticore form, let alone find a way to stop it.

I almost jump as she lays her hand on mine, smooth and warm. I look up at her without meaning to. And at the sight of her sympathy ... I have to warn her. It's not just me that'll get hurt if the Numina find out she knows.

If this ends badly, if Fray tells the police or worse—the internet—it'll be my responsibility to clean it up. I'll have to find a way to fake the transformation, to prove it's impossible, and I'll have to—

If Persuasion doesn't work on Fray, I'll have to kill her. That's the second rule of the Legend Mirror. We're not supposed to tell a single human, but if we do and it ends badly, they have to die.

"It's dangerous for you to know anything else," I say, not able to look at her anymore.

She removes her hand, sitting back. "I can defend myself."

"No, you can't." I finish my coffee, forcing it down even though it's cooled. "Not against Gods."

She inhales sharply. I don't know whether she thinks I'm a God or if she understands I'm descended from one but her fear tells me enough. She'll keep quiet—and she'll stop getting involved. She understands the danger.

"You should stay away from me," I say as I stand.

She's looking at me like ... like I've hurt her. "You're the closest thing I have to answers about my dream."

Gods, she's right. And I still owe her—for her taking me into the safety of her home and saving me inadvertently from the hunter.

"Fine. Meet me back here at three." I look at her. I take her apart until all I see is fear and fierceness. "Unless you're busy."

"I'll be free."

I nod, and quickly leave, forcing myself not to look back.

*

"Min," I say into the phone. I'm halfway back to the Academy, so I'm hoping this call will wake her up enough for her to be semi-lucid by the time I get home. "I'm calling in a favour." I explain what I need and put the phone down on a stream of grumbling. Despite her grumpiness, I can tell she's excited. When I get back, she's waiting on the steps, grinning, and before I can even ask if she's sure she's okay with helping, she's grabbing my arm and towing me down the corridors to her bedroom.

Somehow Minnie has convinced Mavers to give us the day off, so instead of being distracted by lessons, I spend the morning evading her pointed questions about Fray, relieved when it finally hits two forty five on the clock and we set off.

"What are you wearing?" I make a face at Minnie's headdress.

"A pineapple," she says helpfully. "I have dance rehearsal at half four." She pokes me in the chest. "Stop judging, Yasmin Ex Venere. Some of us have hobbies."

"I have hobbies," I protest.

She scrunches up her nose. "Writing mournful poems and lovelorn stories isn't a hobby."

I prod her in the chest right back and set off down the hill to Mount Tabor. "I take offense at that."

Fray waits for me outside the Lazy Latte, staring at something in her hands. When I get closer, I see it's a postcard of Callaire's town hall, the clock tower in the centre with a message scrawled across the bottom.

"I'm sorry about earlier," she says, her eyes fixing on me despite Minnie at my side practically lit up with excitement. "I shouldn't have pushed you for information."

I put my hands in my pockets. "It's alright. It's just—" I lower my voice. "Since I was a kid, I've been told this was supposed to be secret. I don't like breaking rules."

Fray lowers her gaze. "And I shouldn't have made you. It's my fault. Remember I said I like knowing things? That's kind of an understatement. I get obsessive—really obsessive. I have to know every single thing about every subject, or I go crazy."

"I can't tell you everyth—"

"I know. It's fine, I promise. I'm just explaining why I get a little O.T.T. Can I get you coffee to make up for it?"

I try to dampen a smile but her hopeful expression coaxes one out of me. "Okay, but I think I've had enough caffeine for one day. I should probably get decaf."

"Where's the fun in that?" She loops her arm through mine and guides me into the café, sparing a glance for Minnie who clears her throat pointedly, hefting her satchel of Divine tools higher up her shoulder.

"You should definitely get decaf," I mumble. She's almost as excited as Minnie. But I suppose I've given her hope for finding answers about her dreams.

"I heard that." She taps her ear. "Impeccable hearing, Yasmin."

A smile flickers across my face. "You and me both."

She places our order, delighting Minnie by asking what she's drinking as well, and leans toward me with a covert whisper. "Is that a Manticore thing? Do you have super-senses?"

I keep my voice quiet. "Only near the moon."

"What about—"

Minnie sighs—loud and dramatic, fed up with being overlooked. "Do you want me to rent you two a hotel room so you can take this somewhere private?"

"You're not funny." I turn, grimacing, and finally make introductions. "Fray, this is Minnie. Minnie, this is Fray." To an unsure-looking Fray, I explain, "I asked her to come so you could get some answers about your dreams."

"That's the plan, anyway," Minnie adds. She's still looking between Fray and me, a sly glint in her eye. I suddenly have a very ominous feeling about asking for her help, like I inadvertently asked her to play matchmaker as well as Divine.

Drinks in hand, we take a table near the back of the café, canvases painted with deep browns and teal hanging over our heads. Fray pulls her chair a fraction closer to me.

"Now," Minnie says with absolute relish. "I hear you need a reading, Fray." In answer to Fray's confusion, Min gets out her tarot cards and begins shuffling them so fast they blur. I'm always a little taken aback by her doing that, how not one card slips out of her hands. "Tell me about these dreams."

I let Fray explain everything, since it's her reading, but every so often she looks to me for confirmation. I get more anxious as the minutes wear on, dreading what Minnie will say.

"I think that's more than your Psychic Majick, Yas," Min says eventually. And to Fray, "Maybe you do have some kind of Majick. Maybe a weak form, like a Legendary with a long line of human ancestors." At Fray's wide-eyed response, Minnie gives me a look. "How much have you told this girl?"

"Only what I am." I hunch my shoulders. Minnie is looking at me like I've done something wrong by protecting our secrets.

"So she doesn't even—what good is it bringing me here to use my Majick when she doesn't even know what Majick is?" Minnie tips her head back to regard the ceiling, as if for divine intervention.

"I know what magic is," Fray says, a bit defensive. Her shoulders are hunched, her brows low over her eyes. I touch her arm, part reassurance, part apology, and her eyes shoot to mine.

Minnie sighs and looks back at us. "I don't mean rabbit-out-of-the-hat tricks or Expelliarmus. I mean real Majick, the inherited ability to perform a specific action or control and manipulate a specific entity." I know that sentence. It's straight from one of Mavers's text books. "I have Divine Majick, which means I can see along people's pathways, their futures."

I chime in with, "Imagine little old ladies on Blackpool pier, with their crystal ball and palm readings. That's Minnie."

Her answering glare could turn me to ash. "And Yasmin's a telepath. She's basically a shit Professor-X."

Fray snickers, looking less tense. "And I thought I was crazy. So what Majick do you think I have?"

I shrug, expecting her to be disappointed with me and not liking the idea of it. But Fray just looks between us, open and curious.

Minnie says, "The cards might know. Here, shuffle these."

Fray does as instructed, pushing up the sleeves of her loudly-fuchsia coat, glancing at me every so often. I meet her gaze steadily, not sure what she's looking for but hoping she finds it.

Minnie has Fray draw a card from the deck— the Nine of Swords, upright. I reach out to Minnie's mind for the meaning and wish I hadn't. The card preludes stress, anxiety, illness, and—especially—suffering. Great. I draw away when she touches the card with her fingertip, not wanting to know what she sees when she's absorbed into the pathways. From what I've heard from her mind during readings, she finds herself on a physical path on another plane, and walks the path until a vision of the future—usually an answer to the question she asked the cards—shows itself.

Minnie falls silent, lost in the pathways, before she says, "It's not a good card. Not terrible either," she adds quickly when Fray's shoulders droop. I don't point out the ominous meaning she thought a minute ago. "For you, it means something is developing. Growing. That's what your dreams mean. You do have Majick, but I can't see what kind it is. I've never sensed that kind of power before." She tilts her head, looking at Fray. "You're definitely human, though. That's really weird."

Fray looks down at the table. I touch her arm again even though I want to hug her.

"I didn't mean—that came out bad," Minnie twists her fingers together, her sad expression at odds with the glitzy yellow pineapple wrapped around her head. "I just meant not many humans have Majick. And when they do, they've inherited it from someone in their family line. But your parents aren't Legendary at all. You're a mystery."

Fray nods, putting on a brave face. "So you don't know what I am."

"Oh, you're human, no question. But you have pretty powerful Majick. What are you doing the first of March?"

Fray frowns. "Nothing. Why?"

No! I think. I lean across the table until Minnie looks me in the eye, then I repeat, "No."

"We're having a party for the temple of Juno," she says, overlooking my scowl. "You should come, Fray. You can be Yasmin's date."

"Oh." Fray looks away, the apples of her cheeks flushing. My heart melts at the sight of it even as humiliation squirms in my gut. "Well, I mean—"

"Yes?" Minnie prompts.

"Minnie, stop," I say quietly, looking at my untouched coffee.

"I haven't known Yasmin long, that's all," Fray goes on, her voice tight with how awkward this is. "And I couldn't be her date because I don't know if—"

"Oh, don't worry about that." Minnie makes a grand gesture with her arm. "Yasmin's a lesbian, and she's definitely attracted to you so there's nothing to worry about there."

I hate you. I am actually going to kill you, Minnie Ex Apolle. Slowly, with lots of pain.

You're welcome, she thinks back, her former glee marred with something tremulous and scared. I sigh, knowing I should tell her I don't really mean it, but I feel sick and uncomfortable and I can't apologise right now.

I fix my eyes on a stained spot of the table. Minnie scoops up the tarot cards. Nobody speaks for a full minute until Fray blurts out, "I'm bisexual!"

"And I'm straight," adds Minnie. "High fives all round." I hear the sound of palms hitting but refuse to raise my own.

I let my head thump onto the table, wanting the world to swallow me.

"Wow—is that the time?" Minnie say, forcing light into her voice. "Gosh, I'm going to be so late." I glare when she pats my shoulder. "Have fun, ladies."

Sorry, she says before she leaves, and I rally the tiny part of myself that's not dying of embarrassment and nerves to say, it's fine, I'll forgive you in a few years.

"I'm so sorry," I say when Minnie's gone. I dare to look up and find Fray smiling. "We're distant cousins so she thinks it's her job to humiliate me."

"She didn't humiliate you. At least—I didn't think it was embarrassing."

I raise an eyebrow, sitting up again. "Really?" I don't believe her at all.

"Really. What she said ... are you actually attracted to me or was that just something she said?"

"No—well—I actually—am. Attracted to you. Quite a bit." I play with my necklace, turning the globe of Akasha around and around. But everything is so complicated, with her dreams and this connection and my whole Legendary life. Minnie seems to think we can be together and that'll be okay, the Gods won't punish me, but there's a part of me that's scared this will anger them.

Fray exhales in a rush. "Me too. I like you, I mean."

"Are you ... sure?" My stomach suddenly decides it wants to do gymnastics.

Her fingers touch my hand, cold where I'm warm, and I stop telling myself I don't have a crush on her. I lift my head to meet her dimpled smile, my heart expanding. My nerves aren't settling any time soon but it starts to feel a bit less awkward, with us both admitting we like each other.

"So," she says. "What should I wear for this party?"

I have to clear my throat before I can speak. "Something bright coloured and dressy. It's a big deal to us." I take a deep breath but she needs to know, and if she's coming to the Academy anyway... "There are more of us than me and Minnie—a lot more. I shouldn't be telling you this, but we're all descended from mythological creatures and Gods. You might want to extend your research to the Gods of myth."

Instead of looking daunted as I'd expected her to, excitement glints in Fray's eyes.

NINETEEN

THE BODY

It's the day of the change. The Crea moon will be visible in a matter of hours and I'll be trapped in the back of my mind again, powerless. Caged as the Manticore hunts, as it fights and kills, and my latest fear, as it confronts hunters that could kill us in a split second. I skip lessons and stay in bed all morning, trying to ignore the roiling of my stomach and the press of fur and claws against skin that feels too thin. Mavers comes to check on me at three and finds me groaning in pain, my face pressed to the toilet across the hall from my room. The beast has made me sick three times since I woke.

To make matters worse, Mavers hasn't been able to find anywhere else for us to change, even with Shane's death as motivation. I'm stuck in Almery Wood, with hunters prowling in its shadows.

"I'll get you one of Amity's stomach tonics and an ibuprofen," he says, holding the bulk of my hair out of my face as my stomach thrashes again. "But you'll have to eat something, Yasmin."

The thought makes my gut clench and I shake my head. It takes a long time for my stomach to decide it's done and allow me to crawl across the corridor back into bed. Mavers sits with me but I know he wants to check on the others—we're all affected by the Change in different ways, and while the others aren't sick like I am, they're suffering too.

"I'm okay," I croak, another wave of nausea passing through me but one I'm able to fight.

Mavers squeezes my arm, giving into the urge the check on everyone else, but he hesitates at the threshold and says, "I'm coming with you into Almery tonight. I want to make sure you get there alright."

I don't have the strength to argue.

The Change happens every month, but I'll never be used to any of it—the sickness, the captivity of it, relinquishing control to a monster that answers only to its hunger.

At five in the evening I set out for Almery Wood, Mavers insisting on carrying my backpack of of food, drink, and clothes, and holding my elbow in case the roiling in my stomach weakens my knees or the beast snaps my bones early. I'm still dreading the new Crea we'll have to share the woods with—because we sent the hunters to their wood—but if I'm lucky I won't come into contact with them.

I can't believe it's only been a month since I first met Fray. It feels like three.

When I step under the canopy of leaves, light speckling our skin, the Change comes over me abruptly. I grab my backpack from Mavers and throw it into the hollow trunk and manage to bark an order to go, get out of danger before I fall to my knees as my stomach clenches and my body shifts. Because the Manticore might attack him. Because I can't lose him or be responsible for him being hurt.

The transformation is a torture that happens all at once, every bone in my body cracking and snapping and realigning into the shape of a beast, my skin screaming as it splits to allow fur through, and then I'm no longer human.

The beast roars, shaking out its fur and wings, and then—nothing. For the endless time between this Change and the next, I know nothing. I'm no longer a silent observer to the Manticore's actions. I see, hear, smell nothing—not a hunter, not an animal in the bracken, not another Crea. It's just black, until the Change rips through me again and my limbs reform.

*

I wake the following day, human and covered in blood. Shaking. Terrified and not sure what it means to remember nothing, to have blacked out completely. I test my body, moving my arms and legs to find the source of the blood. I don't hurt anywhere. I frown at the crimson leaves around me until my nose locates the source of the blood. I let out a sob, covering my mouth with bloody hands that are already shaking.

Standing on legs that don't want to support me, I take in the carnage. I should not be relieved to find only one body.

My seventh victim.

I can't tear my eyes away. Limbs have been torn from the torso of a man and strewn between the trees. His head hangs at an unnatural angle from his neck, gore exposed along with the white column of his spine.

I drop to my knees and my stomach cramps, trying to expel food I don't have in my stomach, wrenching and twisting like it's trying to vomit a part of my soul. Trying to purge the part of me that could kill a person. "I'm sorry," I whisper, unable to look at the man's slack face.

I crawl to the tree I left my backpack in and dress myself. My body is numb. How many people will I kill this year? It's only the second Crea moon and already a man is dead.

I curl up in the leaves beneath the tree, numb.

Hours later I'm conscious of solid arms picking me up and the scent of too-strong aftershave. Guy carries me home.

TWENTY

THE WARNING

I'm boiling on the inside, my blood scalding, and I can't stay in bed another minute. I crawl out of my room and stagger to the staircase that leads to the second floor we don't use, past the attic trapdoor, and onto the flat bit of roof Mavers optimistically put a table and chairs on when he first moved in. No one uses this place during the day, I discovered many months ago, and the cool air on my burning skin always helps—beats back the urge to be sick. Only Mavers and Amity come up here at night to be together, both of them preferring their love life to be private. But I've got almost the whole day to lay here on the roof in silence, the wind brushing my temperature down, before I have to leave.

From up here I can see most of Callaire, Mount Tabor rolling away from us, Tabor's Foot spreading out at the base of it, just a collection of roofs from this high up, the spires and shapes of other villages dotted across the landscape—all leading to the spike of Callaire cathedral and the new high rises in the town, far in the distance. I know this view by heart, but the arc of silvery Majick is new—Guy and Fearne's Ward to keep out the hunters. I stare at the flickering opalescence of it, that palest Majick, for long enough that I see fire and lightning and smoke moving within it. Akasha has always fascinated me. It's so different to either of my Majicks, since it's a combination of earth, air, water, fire, and the fifth element spirit—the elusive element you can't see or feel, only sense in everything. Akasha can become any shape, from a needle to a sword to this shimmering flat circle in the grass.

Knowing I'm safe from hunters and psychic voices, I roll onto my back, throw my arm over my face, and wait for the roiling of my still-reforming stomach to stop.

"You need to stop."

I bolt upright, my eyes wide. That's no voice I recognise but it's female, sharp. I inhale a gasp when I see I'm not alone on the roof. I scramble to my feet, stagger backwards until I'm pressed against the door back to the Academy but the man stood before me—slim and middle aged, dressed in camouflage and derision—lifts a hand and I feel Majick behind me, locking the door probably. I reach a hand behind my back, not taking my eyes off the hunter, and try the handle. It doesn't budge. My stomach turns over as I realise I'm trapped up here with a hunter. Even if the man doesn't have a gun. Even if the voice was female.

"How—how did you get here?" The Ward is supposed to keep anyone from coming on our property. Panicking that the Ward is useless against these men with guns, I grasp at his mind to form a link with my Psychic. I need to know how he got across the Ward. But instead of a mind full of static or thoughts or screaming violence, I hit a wall as solid as stone and a spike of ache hits behind my eye. I wince but don't pull back, trying again but with more determination, calling on more of my Majick. The ache this time is so bad I cry out but not before an image—a symbol—flashes in my mind. Not a thought or an explanation of how he got up here, just a scrawl of circles and curving lines. It looks distantly familiar.

The hunter smirks and I go still as he speaks—and a woman's voice comes out of him. Majick, my instincts tell me. Possessed, my fear adds.

"Not many doors are closed to me," sneers the hunter. And whoever is possessing him. I don't want to even contemplate it, but no Legendary I know has this power. I catch my breath, staring at the man nearing me with lazy steps. Numen. Gods, I'm dead—this is a Numen.

"Aw," they laugh. "Don't worry, I'm not going to take your worthless life. That honour belongs to your mother, if they'll ever both exerting the energy. No, I came to warn you away from my Halfling."

Halfling? I shake my head. I don't understand.

The hunter sighs, rolling their eyes. "The girl you're infatuated with." They take another few steps, so close now I can see the wrinkles in the man's skin, the scar under his jaw. A tremor starts in my hands.

An argument rises but I shove it down. This is a Numen—if I upset them in any way, I'm dead.

"Is my message understood?"

I nod quickly, struggling to draw breath. I'd say anything right now to get away from this Numen.

"Good." The Numen pats my face twice; I recoil back each time hard enough to bruise my head on the door behind me.

Their feminine laugh fills my ears, along with a wide smile stretching the man's leathery face, and then I can breathe again as they step away. Every breath is a shuddering whine but my lungs stop straining, my head stops floating somewhere above me. I watch with horror as the hunter bends his knees and jumps—up above the top spire of the Academy and then ... vanishes. Numen Majick I don't know.

All at once, I lose strength. That symbol flashes behind my eyes. I know I've seen it. Is that how they got past the Ward? Or ... no, they're a Numen. Why jump into the air and vanish and not just disappear from where they stood on the roof?

This doesn't make sense. I need to speak to Fearne and Guy.

TWENTY ONE

THE UNKNOWN SYMBOL

"Son of a bitch," Fearne hisses.

I wanted to just tell her and Guy what happened but Rowan wouldn't be separated from her and Minnie was in the room when I pulled Guy aside so here we are, all crowded into the kitchen moments after I told them what happened on the roof.

"That bastard went over the Ward," Fearne goes on, her teeth bared.

I don't know what that means but Guy nods so she must be right. "We put up a wall," he explains. "It goes all the way around the Academy and as high as the building."

"But it doesn't cover the top?" Mavers guesses. "Whoever that was, they exploited the only weakness."

Guy shakes his head but I don't think it's a disagreement. "But if they were a Numen—"

"They were," I input. I haven't stopped shaking yet, despite Amity's arm around me and Vic pressed against my side, the heat coming off of him enough of a comfort even without his hand gripping mine.

Guy carries on, "—why not barrel right through the Ward?"

"Um," Minnie says, "he has a point. That out there is Legendary Majick. A Numen could beat that in a second. Why not just destroy it?"

"Maybe they're playing with us?" Rowan offers, anger and bitterness in his voice. He looks tense enough to snap in two, his bulging arms wound firmly around Fearne as if he can protect her with sheer will, even against Numina.

I nod, agreeing with him even as that kind of shocks me. He has a point though—that Numen up on the roof was amused. I can imagine them leaving the Ward intact just to mess with us.

"Or maybe it actually works," Vic counters, squeezing my hand when I immediately shake my head. Being the person who actually encountered that Numen, my opinion should carry more weight. That Numen would not have been beaten by a wall of Akasha, no matter how strong.

Rowan's snort sums up my feelings perfectly.

"Does it matter?" Fearne asks, her hard eyes meeting Guy's. "If there's a tiny chance our Ward works, we should keep it up. And cover the top so no one can get in. That was a dumb fucking mistake on our part."

Guy huffs a volatile breath but he nods. "A dome."

"Agreed."

When no one has anything else to offer, I say, hesitant, "I don't think I should stay away from Fray."

"Sure, anger a Numen and kill yourself, great idea," Fearne says nastily. "Why not risk all of us as well? Oh wait..."

"Fearne," Amity says—gently. "We're going to be alright."

Fearne grinds her teeth and looks away. And I realise now, although I probably should have sooner, that she's scared. And that's why Guy is silently brooding, and why Vic is being so optimistic it's irritating. They're scared. I did this—I brought the Numen here by knowing Fray.

"I should go," I say, stepping away from Vic and Amity. "I'm just—"

"Stop that right now." Mavers's voice is an unyielding line. "You're not going anywhere."

"No, you're not," Guy agrees—growls, really.

"But I'm putting you in danger by being here," I argue.

"First smart thing she's said all day," Fearne says to Rowan, making sure to be loud enough that I hear. "Maybe all year. Maybe her whole life."

"Fearne," Amity says again, this time a warning. Her eyes have gone hard, the way they go right before someone gets assigned to housework duty for whole months at a time. "One more word," she threatens.

Fearne scowls but shuts up.

Mavers sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Yasmin, you're not leaving. You're safest here, and leaving won't make us any safer now a Numen knows we exist. But Fray is in danger. That we need to be worried about. Minnie?"

"I'll keep an eye on her," she promises, and she's deadly serious enough that I know I can trust her Divine Majick to make sure Fray stays safe.

"Thank you," I say quietly. Fray isn't anything to me, she's not mine, just a girl whose dream has drawn me in, but ... I care that a Numen is warning me away from her. "And there's another thing," I say to everyone. "I tried to connect with the hunter's mind, to see how he got past the Ward, but there was a block there."

"Adds to wishlist," Fearne mutters under her breath.

"That's it," Amity snaps. "Outside." She points an angry finger at the garden. "Go clear the shed—all of it. It had better be spotless when I come check on you later."

Fearne's mouth falls open. The shed is full of old, rusty tools and cobwebs. She looks to Rowan for intervention but he shrugs an apology, looking distracted, worried. Fearne grumbles a sigh, leans up to kiss Rowan, and stalks out the back door. I hear the shed door slam open hard enough to break it.

"What kind of block?" Mavers asks me.

"It hurt when I tried to get past it. I've never felt anything like that before." I cross my arms over my middle. "But I saw something, a symbol. Like two spirals that connect in the middle and two smaller ones sat on top. I've seen it before but I can't remember where."

I look to Mavers, who knows everything about everything. He has to know what this symbol is but he just chews his lip and shrugs when his mental databank comes up empty. My heart sinks. I wanted him to know what it meant, for the symbol to be that easy to find, but now my only option is to search the library. The hundreds of thousands of books.

"I..." But I lose my nerve and drop my gaze to the floor.

Amity nudges me, encouraging. "I might need some help looking through the books in the library. That symbol ... I think it's connected to the hunters, or to the Numen—"

"And knowing what it means could tell us why they're so adamant to keep Fray separate from us, and who, precisely, we're in danger of angering," Mavers adds. I dare to raise my eyes and find his mouth twisted in concentration, his eyes glazed over. "It's no Numen symbol, that I can say for sure, so there's no use looking in that section. We'll each take a section and go through every book there."

"But that'll take hours," Vic complains.

"Days," I correct, then regret it when Rowan's gaze snaps to mine. I curve my shoulders, trying to sink inward and escape his attention.

"Right." Guy stretches, his fingertips brushing the lampshade. "Better get started, then."

*

By the time we break to eat, no one has found anything even though the pile of books we've read—piled on a rug in one of the six aisles—is so big it won't stand up and my head is pounding. I shouldn't be so disheartened after only four hours of searching but already I'm convinced we're never going to find that symbol.

TWENTY TWO

THE SECRET

Later that day, it's bad enough with my head pounding and nausea cramping my gut but Guy decides to inflame my headache by calling every ten minutes. If he wasn't running an errand for Mavers in Callaire, I'm pretty sure he'd be knocking on my door every ten minutes instead. I'm not sure what would be worse.

I put my phone on silent and throw it in my bedside drawer, pushing away all thoughts of what happened yesterday. Staring at the ceiling, I can almost forget that I killed someone. Almost.

The beast in me is miraculously quiet. Maybe I've numbed every part of me.

Yasmin?

I blink until the faint voice comes into focus, until I realise there's a mental connection calling for my attention. I startle, wondering whether I unconsciously made the link or if she did it herself with her own kind of Majick. Fray.

Are you alright? She sounds worried.

Yeah. No, I'm definitely not, but pretending I'm fine comes naturally.

She's quiet for a moment, hesitating, and I use the time to strengthen the mental link until her voice is clearer, louder. I don't believe that. Her mind clouds with a dark grey concern. Is it to do with the body they found? I heard about it on the news this morning. Did the person who did that ... did they hurt you? It was one of you, wasn't it—a Legendary?

Yes. I see him again, on the leaf-strewn floor, twigs and branches and stones all bloodied, limbs of a human, a person, scattered over them. My stomach cramps and worse, my mood sours, my thoughts turning dark. I lash out at the only person within reach. That was one of us. That was me. I break the connection before I can sense how horrified she is, before she can call me all the things I'm calling myself right this minute.

But an hour later she sends a text telling me to go to her house if I need to talk. And I can't tell if it makes me weak or strong, but I drag myself out of bed, eat the now-cold pancakes Amity left beside my bed a few hours ago, and hunt down Vic. With everything going on, I can't just sneak out without telling anyone, and Minnie will insist on coming with me. Vic just gives me a big, lingering hug that settles my mood even if it does nothing for the nausea.

"Don't be back late," he orders me, attempting a stern look.

I nod, just as serious. "I won't."

Without further prodding, he lets me go, and I leave by the door around the back of the Academy, picking up my bike as I go.

I cycle down the hill, across Callaire, and right across the Ward around Fray's house, abandoning the bike beneath a tall oak tree.

The door opens without me knocking on it and my breath catches in my throat, sudden nerves rushing through me. Fray stands in the doorway, haloed by amber light, and watches me. I drop my eyes, wrapping my arms around my middle, and I wait for the shouts and screams that I'm a murderer, that she's changed her mind about wanting to know me.

But she says, "You're not okay, are you?"

I bite down on my tongue, my eyes glazing over. I don't want to cry. I no longer want to come inside either but I don't argue when Fray bundles me into her living room. She puts a mug of hot chocolate in my hands and though I can't stomach it, the warmth is nice enough that I just hold it.

"Talk to me." Fray sits cross-legged on the floor in front of where I perch awkwardly on her sofa. There are papers everywhere—on the floor, the coffee table, the arm chair. My gaze slides off them. I don't want to confess everything to Fray but her sad eyes implore me.

I look into the mug and breathe, "I killed someone. The man you heard about on the news. I ... I woke up and he was in pieces."

She inhales sharply, silent for a moment. "You don't remember killing him?"

I fix my eyes on her and she shrinks back. I must look like a monster. I bite back a laugh. I am a monster. "Don't," I warn her. "Don't hope. I killed that man. I didn't see it happen but I ripped him apart like a savage. The beast—" I shut off my words at the look on Fray's face, at how still she is—still as prey. The beast is roiling inside me, so soon after the Change, and I have to bite my lip, fill my mouth with blood, to wrestle it into submission. In a hollow voice I say, "I told you I was dangerous."

"You killed someone," she whispers. "You actually killed a man."

I tighten my fingers around my mug. I shouldn't have come here. I should be at the Academy, with Mavers and Guy and the rest of my family. It's no excuse at all when I say, "I didn't mean to. I don't have control of myself."

"When you transform," she guesses. I flinch hard as she pulls herself onto the sofa, sweeping aside paper so she can sit. Not daring to look at her, my eyes fix on the paper instead; it's research on us. I see a page about the Scottish legend of Selkies and think of Vic.

"Please," I beg, tears stinging my eyes. Gods, I've messed up so much, and now my family is at risk. Not just could be at risk—are. Fray knows I'm a monster now, truly understands, and she's going to warn the rest of her kind about us. I look her in the eye and beg her, "Please don't tell anyone about us. My friends—the others—they don't deserve that. I did this, I killed that man. I know you—you must hate me, but this isn't just about me, this is—"

She presses fingers to my lips, stopping the flow of pleas, and my tears spill over. "I'm not going to tell anyone." I recoil, looking at her with wide eyes. I don't understand. She says, "I wouldn't do that even if I did hate you, which I don't. I met your friend, remember, Minnie? I know this isn't just about you. I don't really understand what's so bad about people knowing about you guys, but if you're this worried, it must be bad."

I look away. "It has to be kept secret."

"I know. Don't worry." She draws me against her side and holds me, and I'm so stunned by her holding me, a monster, a murderer, that all the tension goes out of me and I sag against her side. In a low voice she says, "I'm not condoning murder but I think I understand. You don't get much of a say when you're in Manticore form do you?"

I squeeze my eyes shut but that only makes the images behind my eyes clearer—blood and gore and merciless brutality. "No."

"Right." She sighs. "Is there anything you can do to change that? Meditation or hypnosis or something?"

A sudden rap on the front door has me lurching to my feet, my eyes flying open. I start to shake, too many scenarios running through my head—police, hunters, come to lock me up or put me down. Fray must have lied about keeping out secret.

"Crap," Fray hisses. She scrambles to pick up the research and hides it under a sofa cushion. "Sorry about this," she murmurs, unceremoniously shoving me down the hallway and into a pantry cupboard before I can react. I have strength enough to fight her but I'm too slow and she slams the door shut in my face. Through the door she explains, "It's my uncle. He won't stay long."

I'm too emotionally wrought to respond. She put her arm around me on the sofa but she doesn't trust me around her family. She thinks I'll hurt her uncle. I lean my head against the wall and listen.

Fray exchanges the usual greetings with her uncle. He follows her into the house with a heavy tread—he's either really tall or overweight—and the two of them go into the kitchen where something is set down on the table. The strong smell of lavender laundry power wafts under the cracks around the door, turning my stomach. I hold my sleeve to my face and breathe through the wool.

Five minutes and inane conversation later, Fray's uncle says something that makes my heart stop. "Did you hear about Wilfred Stirling? The party's going out tomorrow to hunt the animal that killed him."

Me. My breathing stumbles. They're going to hunt me. But what does the party mean? Is there another band of hunters here in Callaire, the regular kind that shoot fowl and deer? Or ... the other kind? Fray's uncle...

"Don't!" Fray says loudly, and I hear her breathing quicken. "It might be dangerous." She's lying. I can tell by the spike in her heartbeat, and I realise my senses are ultra-heightened right now. I need to go home, to see Mavers—he'll help me control this, suppress the Manticore.

"Fray." Her uncle's voice is fond with an edge of condescension. "I know you're worried for me, but people are getting hurt. You won't change my mind."

Footsteps spill into the hallway and he mutters about leaving. I hold my breath until he's gone, my heart beating so fast.

Fray wastes no time in freeing me from the pantry. I stagger out, gasping for air. My ears are ringing, picking up every tiny sound from Fray's breathing to the hum of the fridge in the kitchen to the chirp of birds in Almery Wood. All my senses are going haywire, eyes blurring, too many scents stuffed into my nose, bringing back the headache from earlier.

Fray peers at me, her hand falling gently onto my arm. "Are you alright?"

"I can ... hear too much."

She stares at me until something clicks "Your senses are heightened?" She shuts the kitchen door, locking the worst scents away and the fridge's grumbling, and urges me back to the living room where I can breathe a bit more clearly, shutting off the TV's slight mumbling.

"Your uncle," I rasp, now I can think clearly. My eyes sting for a different reason—I thought I could trust Fray. "He's one of the hunters, isn't he? One of the people who hunt me and my kind." That's why she was thinking about them when I heard her voice. I thought it meant she was like me, but she's just related to them.

"No! I mean—" She sighs, scrubbing a hand over her face. "I don't know, okay? I thought he shot birds, which I've been trying to get him to stop since I was a kid, but now I'm not sure." She bites her lip, glancing at me quickly. "I'm so sorry, Yasmin. I was going to tell you but I didn't know for sure and—oh God he's going to hurt someone. Someone else. Was it—was it him who shot you?"

I shake my head. Without seeing him, I can't know. "Why didn't you tell me?" Hurt stabs my chest. The beast and all its fiery anger roars to life even as my voice grows smaller, my throat closes up. I trusted her. "I told you so much about me. I let you meet my friend and asked her to help you find answers about yourself. I risked ... you have no idea what I've risked telling you—"

"I'm sorry."

I shake my head, rising to my feet in one quick, angry movement. "It's fine." I stalk to the door. "I get it. You were with the hunters all along." How long has she been playing me, trying to find out how many of us there are? Oh Gods—she knows where we live. They're going to come for us. My only consolation is that Guy and Fearne have laid a Ward of Akasha around the Academy. The hunters can't get in.

"No." Fray rushes after me, reaching for my arm; I wrench free and throw the door open more forcefully than I meant to.

"It doesn't matter," I say, though the pain in my chest proves me wrong. It does matter. I thought I could trust her, thought she was safe. I thought something might happen between us, that I might be able to trust her with the rest of my secrets, with all of me. But that was my own naivety, my hopeless dream tricking me into seeing what wasn't there. "I shouldn't have trusted you."

Emotions rush up in me, the beast riding the wave of hurt and pain to push against my skin, testing my control even without the power of the Crea moon. Every trick I try to maintain control, to manage my emotions—meditating, breathing exercises, emptying my mind—fails. The beast's claws scrape my fingertips.

I wrench my bike from where I left it and I mean to just cycle away but the hurt is consuming me and I can't contain it. Without looking at her, I say "I thought you'd be repelled by me, when you realised what I am and what I've done, but I never thought you already knew, that you'd been lying all along—" I lock my jaw, the words dissolving into mangled cries.

"Yasmin, please!" There's misery in her voice but I don't turn around.

As I cycle away from her, I hear her voice in the distance. And then it rings out in my head, shooting pain across my temple. Yasmin!

I ride faster, my heart beating hard, my eyes gradually coming back into focus, tears drying up. When I reach the safety of Mount Tabor, I dare to look down at my chest even though I already know what I'll see, have felt it bumping against my ribcage with the movement of cycling. The talisman resting against my collarbone. The Akasha that protects me from all mental interference. Nothing should be able to pass it. Fray should not be able to reach out to me, not even a whisper. And I realise ... earlier, when I was sick and recovering from the transformation, when we spoke ... I was wearing it then.

I tighten my grip on the handlebars. What is Fray, that she can easily overpower Guy's Akasha?

TWENTY THREE

THE RESOLUTION

The hurt of betrayal never really lets up, only dimming when a bigger emotion distracts me from the ever-throbbing ache. I'm scared of the power Fray has, of how she bypassed Akasha like it was never there. I'm scared of the hunters, even though Mavers and Rowan and Fearne have been keeping an eye on the dirt road outside our gates in case we're being watched and seen nothing so far. But mostly I'm scared of how quickly I became attached to Fray, how easy it was to imagine being her friend, spending time with her, confiding my fears and wishes in her, listening to her own. But now she's related to a hunter ... it changes everything.

I spoke to Guy earlier, mind to mind, and he confirmed what I thought: nobody should have been able to pass the protection of the talisman. No Legendary can beat another Legendary's power that easily—we have an equal amount of Majick. Only a Numen should be able to crush the power without a fight, he said. Which means she's ... what? Not Legendary, not Numen, but human. With more power than even Guy. Fray is an anomaly.

Cold runs through me.

I turn on a heater as I pass it and settle against the wall for a deep talk with Currer Bell. I suppose a hamster isn't the best conversation partner, but he looks up when I start speaking—and goes back to rearranging his bed when he realises I'm not giving him a treat.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," I confess, a lump in my throat. "I shouldn't have told her anything about me, about any of us. It's not just the Numina now. It's not just what will happen if they find out and make me...."

I can't say kill her out loud.

"It's her uncle, and this ... this secret. The way she looked at me when I left yesterday..." I shake my head, my eyes stinging. "If she's not helping the hunters, if she didn't connect with me to lure us to them, why didn't she tell me? Why keep it secret? And why—" A thought suddenly occurs. "That's why she took me in and bandaged me. She knew it was her uncle or his friends that hurt me. But if..." I give Currer a pleading look, willing him to give me answers. "If she's helping the hunters and she's been talking to me to find the rest of us, to kill us all, why would she try to heal me?"

I thump my head against his cage and he lets out an outraged sound, fluffing his bed at an increased speed.

"And now the others know it's my fault the hunters were combing Almery, my fault we had to ask the Hannam sisters to send them somewhere else. Fearne was right; I did betray us. I just didn't know it."

I'm about to get up and find Mavers, tell him everything—not just the snippets I've already given him but everything, Fray and getting shot and meeting up with her at the Lazy Latte and everything in between—but someone interrupts me by knocking on my bedroom door.

I blink in surprise to find Rowan stood there, arms crossed. He says, "There's a girl for you at the gate."

I don't understand, just staring at him. "What?"

"There's a girl for you," he repeats slower, his eyes dull, "at the gate."

"Oh." What exactly do I say to that? "Thank you."

He grunts and walks off.

A girl for me at the gate? There's only two people that could be—Willa or Fray. My stomach jolts and the bit of safety being home had given me is quickly wrenched from my fingers. She's brought them here. The hunters.

My breath catches in my throat as I panic. I can't let her in—she can't pass the Ward, thank Legend, and neither can anyone else—but if they stay out there long enough, they'll catch someone on their way into Callaire or to work. It's all my fault. Someone's going to get hurt, get shot and fatally this time, and it's all my fault. But if I ... maybe if I go out there and lure them away, maybe they'll just come after me. Maybe they'll leave the others alone.

My breath rasping, hands shaking, I sneak out of the back door and walk around the Academy, shivering in the cold air. The trees bending over me feel watchful, judgemental. They know it's my fault too. But I'll fix this. I have to.

Fray is stood on the other side of the gate again, wrapped up in a blocky blue coat with her arms around herself. My eyes flick from her to the trees framing the gates, to the sheer drop of the hill on the other side of the path behind her. No shadows, no figures hiding that I can see, but if they're well blended ... I try to call on my Dei senses to feel for signs of life but they only respond to other Legendaries as far as I can tell. I shudder, watching Fray.

She drops her arms when she sees me, grips the gate. "Can we can talk?"

I scan the area around her again. "About what?"

She sighs, dropping her forehead against the iron with a clang. "I should have told you about my uncle." She peers at me, nervousness in her eyes, and even though I know I'm wrong, she doesn't look like someone who's trying to lure me to my death.

When I say nothing, only scanning the dirt road, the line of trees, the villages and town spread out below the mountain, she sighs and peels her head off the gate, her shoulders hunching. "I thought I'd scare you away if you knew, and I needed you to help me learn about my dream."

I say nothing, my mouth emptied of any words I might say, my chest squeezing with that ache from earlier. I trusted her.

She must read it on my face because she says, "I haven't told him about you, I swear. I've been trying to get him and his hunting friends out of Almery all week. I thought they were moving away, going to some other place to hunt instead, but it's like they know." She meets my eyes for a second before glancing past me at the leaning trees, the tip of the Academy I know is visible behind me. "It's like they know about you."

"Because you told them," I say, not looking at her.

"I didn't." She sounds earnest but how can I tell? How can I trust her? "Yasmin, I didn't tell anyone you're a Manticore. I didn't tell anyone about your friend Minnie, or this place, or any of it. I kept my word." Stubbornness leaks into her voice and from the corner of my eye I watch her chin tilt up. "I said I would and I did."

"I can't believe you." But if she's being honest, if she didn't tell the hunters ... who did? How do they know about Legendaries?

"I guess I did scare you away," she sighs, pulling her collar tighter around her bare throat. Her shoes scrape on the path as she turns and I curse my heart for sinking. She was understanding when I killed that man. She gave me a chance when I'd murdered someone. If I don't give her a chance when all she did was lie, what does that make me?

My eyes dart from tree to tree, searching for the slightest thing out of place, the curving of a tree trunk to suggest a human shape hiding behind it, the tiniest movement in the branches of tall trees. When I'm as sure as I can be that we're alone, I unlock the gate and, quick as I can, lock it behind me.

"I don't understand why you lied," I say, halting her. "But ... I forgive you. If you didn't tell anyone about me, if you're not the reason I was shot, if you're not here to help your uncle kill my family ... I forgive you." I shiver in my thin cardigan, not sure what to do now I don't have to lure the hunters away from the Academy, now I'm ... safe? As safe as I can be with Legendaries losing their Majick and hunters in our wood. "It's stupid of me," I say, needing to fill the silence. "You can tell the hunters everything about me, endanger us all, my family and my entire kind. But I believe you when you say you won't."

When she turns to me, her eyes are glossy, her expression tense like she's fighting some emotion. My heart cracks. She's crying because of me. I did this, I hurt her.

I move before I can caution myself not to, acting on instinct as I hug her. Her arms are bulky in her coat but strong; she holds me tight, her head coming to rest on my shoulder, and a feeling without name moves through me. Not a bad sensation, not nerves or excitement or surprise or longing, but something that contains all of them. I want ... without really daring to think it, I want to keep hugging Fray. Her weight against me, her breath fanning across my collarbone, her hands settled against my spine ... I don't want this to stop.

"Sorry," she whispers.

"It's alright." I'm surprised to find my words true. If all she did was hide her relation to one of the hunters who shot me—whether he was a normal hunter or the kind who hunt Legendaries like me—that's not so bad. Maybe ... I would have kept that secret too. "I guess there are a few things you should know about me, if we're being truthful."

She straightens up, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand as we separate. Cold brushes my front, the absence of Fray like a chill. "We're still friends, then? You don't think I'm going to betray you?"

Honestly? "No."

She brushes hair back from her face, her expression tight. "Good. Because I don't agree with what they're doing. I mean, I kind of do. People are getting hurt and that needs to stop, but instead of hunting the animal they could put their effort into keeping people out of the woods. A news campaign would be better but they won't listen to me. I'd have to do it myself."

"Why don't you?"

A smile twitches in the corner of her mouth. "Maybe I will. I'll say it's inhumane, killing animals like that. There are laws about that, right? You have to get a permit, a license, something."

I don't know why I smile back, except I've gone from prepared to sacrifice myself to whatever hugging Fray made me feel to admiration of her determination and courage and there's only so much my emotions can take.

"Do you want to come back to mine?" Fray asks and when my eyes widen, she rushes to say, "Not like that! Just to talk, inside, where it's warm. I'm guessing I'm not allowed inside there." She points at the shadow of the Academy. "And I get that. But also it's freezing out here and I'm wearing a coat, so you must be really cold. I thought—my front room has a fireplace?" She shrugs, looking at me to put her out of her misery.

That smile comes back and stays. I find myself saying, "Alright."

TWENTY FOUR

THE FRIENDSHIP

For the next two weeks, Fray and I spend more and more time together. I read runes for an answer to her dreams, and she tries her best to summon every kind of Majick I know. So far, we haven't been given a clear explanation and Fray hasn't been able to do anything Legendary.

I never take off the Akasha pendant when I'm with her, though I still find myself with her words in my head when she's angry. I could ask her to attempt Psychic Majick the way I do—forming a link between myself and someone else, mind to mind—but I'm not sure it's safe for her to use me as a subject. I don't want to fall into a memory dream again, and Fray must agree since she doesn't suggest it once. Besides, she'd be able to hear voices if she were Psychic and she doesn't, so I'm hesitant to mention it.

I think she's something else. She has power enough to pass the protection of my talisman and she isn't showing signs of any Majick I've sensed before. Like Minnie said—she's an anomaly. I'm left with one option: to ask Mavers for help, to take her to the Academy.

I don't know if she's ready for complete immersion in my world. She acts like she's fine with me being Legendary, like she's coping with the possibility of having her own Majick, but I catch her scratching at a scar on her forearm when she thinks I'm not watching. A nervous habit.

When we're not looking for answers, Fray asks me questions. She starts with how I cope with the Change, how I get home when I wake up naked, how my bullet wound is healing, what I thought when I found myself in her kitchen. She's amazed when I show her my shoulder, and even more so when I tell her how Guy healed me.

That leads to a long talk about family, in which I find out she has a sister called Kate who's studying law in London, and Fray looks at me with more sympathy than I deserve when I talk about my past relationship with Guy.

Around the middle of the week the questions change from my nature, my world, to me. I notice the shift but don't voice it. I pretend not to notice that she twitches nervously whenever she asks something personal. I answer each question honestly—my favourite colour is the weak purple of early morning and I prefer my coffee with chocolate in it. I want to go to Callaire College and study English literature; I want to be a poet but it's not much of a career even though I love it, so I'll have to get a job teaching and write in my spare time. If I even live that long, with danger coalescing around Callaire.

The attention becomes uncomfortable after a while—I can't remember the last time I talked about myself this much—even though I try to distract myself by reading the gold-leaf tome of Manticore history Mavers got me for Christmas one year. So I turn the questions on Fray. She tells me everything I ask, from her favourite artist—she graduated school a year early and she's studying art at the college in town—to the TV show she watches the most often—a soap with more cliché plots and predictability than a typical romance novel—to her least favourite dessert and her pet hates.

I ask about her family, tentatively mentioning her father, and find out he left when she was younger and that her mother moved to London to be nearer her sister three years ago. She has a grandmother who she loves more than the rest of her family put together, but she lives hours away in the Midlands. Her uncle is her guardian and, officially, she lives with him and his wife, though her uncle understands her need to be independent and stay in her own home.

It hurts me to hear her talk about her family with detachment, connecting with the part of me that separated me from my own family and pretended not to hurt over it. I get the impression Fray's long grown used to being apart from them unlike me—I never stopped wanting to be close to my brother, never stopped wanting to bridge the distance I'd put between Minnie and Vic and me. This past month ... I don't know how it happened but that distance started closing.

On the seventh day she waits for me outside the Academy, hiding in the trees until Rowan spots her again and comes to inform me. She's bursting with delight and mischief when I reach her and before I can speak she says, "You're coming home with me, and we're having dinner."

"Like ... dinner?" Panicked anticipation thrums through me.

"Yes." She gives me a steady look. "Like dinner."

*

By the tenth day of our friendship-slash-courtship I trust her enough to tell her about my nature. She's human but she might not be a hundred percent of their world, I tell myself. It's not breaking the rules if she's already Legendary in the smallest way. It's a thin defence if the Numina find out but it's something.

We lounge on her sofa, watching a film on my laptop. A giant robot wades through atmospheric fog on screen, falling dramatically onto a plain of ice, but Fray's gentle breathing has my complete attention.

"So," she says, settling further into the cushions. "How does it work—the Manticore thing?"

"You want to know everything about my nature?"

"No. Yes. I—how do you become what you are? Do you have to be bitten? Infected?"

I snort, feeling relaxed and warm and, hesitant as I am to admit it, something close to happy. "I'm not a werewolf. It's in my blood. My father was the original Manticore, so I inherited the ability to Change and share his form."

She rolls over to look at me. "What about your mum?"

I fix my eyes on the film. "I don't want to talk about them. My father, fine, my mother—not so much."

She shifts closer around until her shoulder rests against mine. We keep doing this, 'accidentally' touching—brushing hands, arms, shoulders, calves. Tiny touches that send my heart racing, my awareness narrowing down to that place where we align. It takes immense focus to realise she just asked me if I get on with my dad.

"I never met him. He died four years ago," I tell her without pain. It's not like losing Mavers or Guy—I don't ache for this loss, even though I think I should, even though guilt hits me sometimes when I think about how little I really feel for this man who fathered me. Who left me a trust fund to make sure I was cared for—more than I would ever have expected.

She balls up the blanket spread over our legs, putting her fingers into the little holes in the knitting. "Oh."

"Don't say you're sorry," I say as she opens her mouth again. "I don't understand why people always say that."

"Sympathy, Yasmin." She looks up at me, amused, and our eyes meeting sends a thrilled flip through my stomach. This between us is getting a little out of hand, but as closely as it resembles nerves and fear and being braced for impact, I love being close to her. "So you inherited your condition," she clarifies.

I nudge her with my elbow, trying not to laugh. "I'm not the Hulk, either. But yeah, I inherited it. And because my parents are Numina—mythological—I'm Legendary."

"So that's what that means. And what's the other term? Crea?"

"Legendaries who have two forms—one ordinary, one mythical. We're the kids of mythical creatures. Stories talk about Numina who can switch between non-animal forms, though."

Alarm and—a familiar sight—burning, delighted curiosity churns in her green-gold eyes. "They can change faces?"

"And bodies. According to the stories. But," I add quickly, "we have no way of knowing if they're true. They're just stories. There are tonnes of old stories we don't know are true—King Arthur, Hercules, the incarnations."

A thought tickles my mind but Fray snorts and it's so cute, I get distracted. "You're just a story, too." She turns onto her side, her arm brushing mine, sending tingling awareness all the way up to my shoulder. "A fantastical, fictional story. A fairy tale." She touches my chin with her fingertips, barely a touch. "But here you are."

I swallow, battling to keep my face neutral. She has to know the effect she's having on me, how dangerously close I am to developing real feelings for her, how badly I want to kiss her. But ... in the back of my mind, a voice rears, a new voice that's never spoken before. What if she wants more than kissing, it asks. And the light feeling in me sinks like a dead weight. I look away.

Fray's voice has changed—less breathy, more formal, back to her line of questioning. "What happens if a Legendary has a kid with a human?"

"They'd still be Legendary, just with less power than the child of two Legendaries."

She nods. "So you're powerful? Because you have two Numina parents?"

I bite the inside of my cheek. "Yes."

"What can you do?"

You know what I can do.

She nods, lays down her head on the couch beside me—a safer distance than before. I feel like I've ruined everything now, like that chance to touch her will never come back. "I guess I do."

She's quiet for a while, and then, Yasmin?

I look at her from the corner of my eye. Yeah?

What if we don't find out what I am?

Here I am, worried about our little touches stopping forever, and she's worried about her identity.

I'll find out. Don't worry.

She nods, losing the battle against a yawn. She's quiet for a moment, then she says, No, we'll find out.

*

I'm trudging home the next day from getting shopping in Mount Tabor, replaying the night before with a smile on my face, when it hits me. The symbol. The thought that started to form last night while I was talking about old stories with Fray. Incarnations. That's where I've seen the symbol, I'm sure of it.

I run the rest of the way to the Academy, a stitch in my side like agony and my chest tight and scraped raw. I dump the shopping in the hall and sprint to the library, past a disconcerted Cornelia Hannam and a scowling Rowan. I don't stop for breath until I'm in the ancient myths section, tiny as it is, and rifling through the books there for one I recognise.

I spent so many days here, especially when I was younger, trying to hide from my family and recover from the loss of Guy, the nightmares that made it impossible to sleep, the thoughts I could hear constantly. Now, I've connected the dots I can see the symbol printed on a yellowed page, in thicker strokes than the image I saw in the hunters mind but recognisably the same. I flick through the pages of one book, fast now I know what I'm looking for, and throw it aside, reaching for the next. In the sixth book I search, a smooth green leather with the name ANCIENT LEGENDS printed on the cover in swirling, decorative silver, my heart presses hard and fast against my ribcage when I flick past pages I remember. This is it. It has to be.

There's the page on Boadicea, rumoured to be a harpy, and Avalon, thought to be an in-between world caught in the middle of Earth and the Legend Mirror. I hold my breath as I flick through the pages of heavy text and beautiful, painted images, until I reach the chapter called Incarnations. There it is, beneath an entry about the woman Concordia. My hands shake as I trace the words.

Concordia was an incarnation who existed in the roman era, killed like every other incarnation in the Last War of Rome. Concordia embodied harmony, and agreement in society and personal relationships. Like the other Incar killed in the Last War, Concordia was killed by her counterpart, Discordia, embodiment of chaos, in the exact same moment Concordia killed her sister, both of them manipulated by the Numina.

And there beneath is the symbol, two large spirals with two smaller ones perched on top.

And that's it. It goes on to talk about Invidia, Letum, and Pavor—envy, death, and panic. That's it. That's the whole entry about Concordia, about the symbol. It's repeated a few pages later when it talks about Concordia's sister, chaos, but it's a basic entry. That's it. I sit, back, huffing a breath. That tells me nothing.

Frustrated tears build behind my eyes and I press my palms to my eyes. This doesn't have to be the end, I tell myself, and wrangle enough hope to allow me to search the rest of the books. But in the end, there's just that small entry in the first book. That doesn't explain why I saw it in the mind of a hunter, why they were possessed by a Numen, and why they warned me away from Fray.

This time I sit back against the bookshelf, squeeze my eyes shut, and let the tears flow.

*

Two days later finds me on Fray's sofa after work, watching as she catalogues her college coursework. There are print-outs and book scans and sketches in various states of completion all across the floor. If I ever saw this room spotless I'm not sure I'd recognise it.

In the middle of the disorder is Fray, cross-legged in a pearlescent cream blouse and flannel pyjama pants. There was a moment when she tried to replicate her current position in a pencil skirt. I had to catch her.

"Tell me about the Red," she says, tucking mousy hair behind her ear. She holds up a blue glazed vase for inspection. "I should know about them if I'm going to their party, right?"

"The Red is ... we're a family." At some point I stopped thinking about the Red as 'them'. I'm not sure when that happened. "Mavers set it up. He's like a big brother to all of us. He raised me, raised most of us. Home schools us. Looks after us. Cleans up our mistakes."

"So he's the wizened old man of you all?"

"He's only thirty six, but yeah." I glance out of the window, at the rain pelting Fray's garden. "Most Legendaries don't live together like we do. It's better for us to be separate or in couples—that way we don't risk drawing attention to ourselves and the Legend Mirror."

She leans forward, her work abandoned for the moment. "The Legend Mirror is your ... home world? Is that how you'd say it?"

"I guess. It's where our ancestors live, where most Legendaries are born and stay. If we're here, we're rejected. Our parents didn't want us with them. It got so bad, the Numina abandoning so many children, especially around here, that Mavers had to set up a safe house."

She tilts her head, so I explain, "Before the Academy, we lived with the nearest Legendary, like foster kids. But Legendary kids are a burden and—you can imagine how it went." I'm glad I can only faintly remember what it was like then, that I was too young to form real memories. "But Mavers is different. Strange, really. He took us all in, and instead of sending us to another home after a few months, he kept us. Made us family."

Fray motions for me to continue, her chin cupped in her hands.

"At first it was just a small group of kids and Mavers, but later, he got help from a woman called Amity. She's a lot like him. She helped Mavers care for us and taught us to control our Majick and our Crea natures.

"Word spread about us in the Legendary community here in England and the Red became kind of a folk tale. According to Am, Legendary children used to cross the country to Callaire looking for Mavers to take them in. But after a while there were too many kids for his house, so he bought the Academy building and moved everyone there."

I dare a look at Fray and find her staring at me. My stomach flips and I drop my eyes instantly, not sure how I feel to be the centre of attention. "He named the safe house after his ancestor, since all the kids were fighters and survivors—they'd all battled their own wars, and Mars, God of war and the red planet, was an obvious patron."

"Wouldn't that be a bad idea, though?" Fray asks. "If it's dangerous to live in a group?"

"It's bad to live in big groups because we draw attention to ourselves. Mavers teaches us to be discreet, to keep hidden. We don't expose ourselves." I shrug. "There aren't hundreds of us anyway. Most people leave once they're old enough, and there aren't as many Legendary kids being dumped these days."

"What happens if a bunch of kids are left all at once?"

I shake my head. I don't know.

TWENTY FIVE

THE NEWCOMERS

On Tuesday I bike to Fray's after work. I need to find a bus that goes near her house because this constant cycling has my legs aching. Still, I take the opportunity to breathe in the open air. It's the middle of the month, and the beast is buried beneath my own iron will.

The house stands apart from the shadows of Almery Wood like a beacon, golden light unfurling from the windows. As I get closer I hear music pulsing, like the wind has a heartbeat, and figures shadow the kitchen window. I still the bike under me and debate coming back later. Fray's clearly busy. But then her head pokes out of the window and she calls me over.

I let myself inside, shrinking under the aggressive beat of the music, my shoulders hunching at the sound of voices. Fray bounds over when she sees me and throws her arms around me. Her hair is wild and curly, her eyes made bright by a ring of kohl. She grins like I've made her night by turning up.

"I brought some things to help you with your coursework," I say. "Though you seem to have abandoned it."

"I'm having a night off," she declares loftily. "One night." She pats my face and says, "I like you, Yasmin. You know that, right?"

My face warms. I duck my head. "I know that. How much exactly have you drunk today?"

"Just a bottle. A small bottle." She uses her hands to demonstrate a large bottle. "My friend came—from Paris! Can you believe it, Yasmin? He's here."

I search my brain for a name—she told me about her best friend during one of our question and answer sessions. She's known him for three years and they talk every day, even though he lives in another country. "Neil?" I guess.

"Close." Her fingers slide over my lips. "Niall. Niall Clark. He's here. Come meet him. You're going to be awesome friends, I know it."

A laugh bubbles out of me, mostly nerves, as Fray leads me upstairs. My heart is beating fast but not with excitement, my body hunched like if it becomes small enough, I might disappear from this loud, pulsing house with its strangers. Even with Fray's hand in mine, tugging me onto the landing, I want nothing more than to turn and run and find somewhere that makes me feel less awkward, less out of place, more me.

A head of blond curls tumbles out of Fray's bedroom, squealing. Niall sways on his feet, dangerously close to the staircase, and I dart forward automatically to steady him even as my skin crawls. I'm not good with strangers but I'm never usually this bad—it's the music, the noise, the drowning out of my thoughts that's making me itchy, jumpy.

Niall looks at me with wonder-filled blue eyes. He's cute, I guess, in the same way a Labrador puppy is cute, but he's very drunk.

I step back when he regains balance, self-conscious all at once. This is Fray's oldest and closest friend. What if he hates me?

He grins, big and dopey, and I realise belatedly that he's in no fit state to judge me either positively or negatively. I'll be surprised if he can see straight.

"My sister ... is horrible," he whines. "She's not my sister."

Fray makes a sad face. "Then who is she?"

"Wrong. She's wrong." Niall slides down the wall. He curls into a ball on the carpet and he's snoring within seconds.

Fray leans closer to me and whispers, "Niall's sister came with. She's scary, in a too-beautiful kind of way. Like a supermodel."

"Oh," I say, no other words presenting themselves.

Fray nods like my response was profound. "Yeah. She's really ... haughty. Stuck up." She laughs—loud—and her next words emerge as the exact opposite of a whisper. "I don't think I like her but don't tell Niall."

A curly dark head peers out of the bedroom, her smoky eyes shrewd and not, as I'd expected, clouded by alcohol. Like Fray said, she's beautiful, but ... there's something off-putting about her, like a venomous snake you don't want to get close to. Unlike Fray and Niall, she's sober. She looks right through me, fixing on Fray. "Where did you go?"

"I went here," Fray answers helpfully. "With Yasmin." She gazes up at me with wide, honest eyes. "Are you staying?"

In a house where two thirds of the occupants are drunk and I feel more out of place by the millisecond? My face is hot with embarrassment, my chest tight with how badly I don't want to be here. "I have to get home. Minnie's expecting me."

Fray doesn't protest. As I'm walking through the back door she pulls me into a hug. I inhale the sharp tang of alcohol and the honey-spice that's all her, and I expect the hug to settle my discomfort but it doesn't even touch it. But I'm glad to be out of the house.

"I'll call you, okay?" I say. She smiles, watching me in a way that makes my insides writhe in a completely different way. "I'm ... I'm going to go, Fray."

I hurry to my bike as fast as my legs will carry me, more than a little confused—unsettled. It could just be the drink but she looked at me as if she cared for me. As if she didn't just like me, but had feelings for me—which isn't possible. It's not even two months since we met, and we only started spending time together two weeks ago. We're just friends.

Minnie's predications flash through my mind as I cycle away. I don't dare to look back.

TWENTY SIX

THE SISTER

I don't see Fray for four days, but she calls me every day to chronicle her hectic life. One night she sits on her back step, stressed to the point of tears about how little time she has until her college deadline. I let her talk it out, listening. By the end of the call she's back to her stubborn, iron-willed self.

Another night she phones from a club, a noisy band in the background. The singer screeches and the music blends into one continuous angry note, but Fray sounds happy so I try to be enthusiastic. I hear the smoky voice of Niall's sister Miranda trying to pry Fray from her phone but I don't have time to be jealous because Fray tells her, "Later, okay? I'm talking to Yasmin."

Tonight Fray's waiting for me on her back step, wrapped up in a sequined shawl. I'm not sure if her friends are just in the kitchen, so I slip the talisman over my head to ask if she's okay in private. Her face lights up at the sight of me but compared to the way it used to, it's a dimmed light. It squeezes my heart tight to see her so stressed.

She chews her lip. I feel so tired all the time. I have no energy to do anything. I feel weird, Yasmin.

I fold myself onto the back step beside her and pull her into a hug, partly to comfort her but also because I selfishly want Fray in my arms. I know I'm getting attached to her but I don't have the will to fight it. It'll be alright. On Monday your work will be done, won't it?

Yeah. It'll be better on Monday.

I asked Mavers to look for records of you, I think, releasing her. She sways a little towards me, resting her head on my shoulder and I realise she needs the contact. I rest my hand on her lower back, no longer enjoying touching her, just purely worried.

Did he find anything?

I shake my head. Sorry. There's nothing in any of his Archives.

I guess we knew that. She sounds resigned. I want to give her hope but I don't have any. Well that confirms it. I'm completely human. Nothing special after all.

I bite my lip and say, You're special to me. Hearing the words, I add, Gods, sorry that's cliché.

No. She smiles, nestling closer to my. You're special to me too. Even if you are cheesy and unoriginal.

"Harsh," I whisper, unable to keep a straight face. She laughs, taking my hand, turning it over in hers to inspect my palm.

When it gets too cold to sit outside, we go into the warm sanctuary of her kitchen. My heart picks up when I realise we're holding hands. She releases me to close the door and I expel everything in my lungs. It's nothing, I tell myself, just hands touching, but my body isn't listening to me, flushing with heat.

Before I put the talisman back in place, I say, Mavers says there's one option left, if you're really desperate for answers. We could ask a Numen. It might take years for them to agree to speak to us but ... we could try.

Fray shakes her head furiously. I told her about Numina—the bloodshed and deaths they're responsible for, the histories that play out like bloody Grimm's tales. No wonder she looks like contacting a Numen is the last thing she wants to do.

We don't have to, I assure her, resisting the urge to reach for her hand again. I don't want to either, but it's an option.

I expect her to lean against the kitchen counter opposite me but instead she walks right to me and presses herself against me, chest to chest, winding her arms around my waist. My stomach does a swooping dive and it's a battle to keep a smile off my face. I never want to contact a Numina.

A Numen, I correct, settling my arms around her and enjoying the way her head fits snug under my chin. My heart pounds so fast, mostly exhilaration but some nerves there too, that she'll decide this is too much, too high a risk, and push me away. Numen singular, Numina plural. Are you exploiting your fear to get hugs from me?

Yes.

You're shameless.

I know.

I tense, suddenly alert at movement in the corner of my vision and I detach myself from Fray, subtly angling myself in front of her—but it's only Niall. I release my breath slowly, not sure why I'm so jumpy.

"Don't let me interrupt," says Niall, grinning. "You looked cute."

Fray glares at him, her cheeks turning pink. "Sorry, Yasmin. He's always this annoying."

"And she's always this lovely." He taps Fray's nose on his way to the fridge.

His sister saunters into the room, all big hair, scarlet lips, and effortless poise. She frowns at me and I narrow my eyes at her. What is it about her that makes me uneasy? The Crea moon is over a week away and the beast isn't opposed to a fight but it's more than that. It's because she's here, living in this house with Fray, who I want to protect. It's because her eyes are sharp, all-seeing, her expression dangerous. Not Legendary dangerous—but simple, human dangerous, which can be worse.

"Who are you?" Her voice wraps around the question with obvious distaste.

Fray clenches her jaw, tipping her chin up the way she does when she's angry and I wonder if she's actually friends with Niall's sister after all, or if it's just him she knows. "This is Yasmin," Fray replies in a cutting voice, and I realise with a rush of pleasure that she's coming to my defence. "She's my friend, and I asked her to come here." Unlike you, is implied. I've never seen Fray this mad before. When she confronted me in Callaire, she was furious but it was tempered by her fear of me. Now ... she's all blazing, glorious fury, and I desperately want to keep her.

"Keep your hair on," Miranda replies, a perfect eyebrow arched. "I was only asking." She gives us a sweep of her eyes before going back upstairs.

"I can't stand her," Fray huffs. "Niall, I know she's your sister but she's a bitch."

"Yeah..." Niall scratches his head, my brow furrowed for a moment before his eyes clear. "It's a disease. Bitchitis."

Fray snickers, lifting the tension.

There's something about Miranda that doesn't sit right with me. The hair on the back of my neck is standing on end and the beast is uncommonly nervy. I do the one thing I promised myself I'd never do: I invade someone's mind without their permission. Harnessing my Psychic Majick, I search Miranda's thoughts and find—nothing.

Nothing? How?

I bite the inside of my lip, puzzling it. There have been times before when I couldn't read someone, so it's not too worrying. And with all the different types of Majick out there, it's possible someone has a form of shielding Majick and Miranda is descended from them, the power latent. But it's frustrating. It's even worse because Miranda looks at me like I'm dirt and instead of making me angry it makes me want to curl into a ball and disappear.

Ignore her, Fray thinks. And put your necklace back on. You don't want to see my dream again.

No, I agree. I fasten the pendant around my throat, though I don't want to lose my tether to Fray either.

"I should go," I say aloud. It's more of a sigh than words. I want to stay but ... if Miranda's being weird with me, it's just going to make Fray's life harder, and she's already stressed enough.

"No you shouldn't." Fray's eyes beg me to stay, her mouth a sad curve.

My heart sinks, but then I realise what she's doing. "That won't work on me."

She sighs, her eyes losing the sad puppy look. She pouts. "Okay."

As I cross the threshold she presses her palm into mine, halting me. I hold my breath as she leans forward on her toes and kisses my cheek, a tiny point of heat that spreads over my face. "Come back soon."

I walk away in a daze.

TWENTY SEVEN

THE DREAM INVASION

I'm dreaming, but it's not a normal dream. I know it the minute I wake up and find myself still inside it. I expect the hysteria of Fray's dreams but there's only calm. Around me is only a blank space, faintly lilac and smelling of subtle florals. I squint to make out any sort of detail but it's a blank canvas.

"Yasmin Ex Venere," says a rich, silken voice. The use of my Legendary name puts me on full alert and I spin to face the sound, my body tensing.

A Numen in female form comes into view, willowy tall and haloed with silver curls. The power coming off them ... my Dei senses flare so sharply my eyes water, my nose burns like I can smell the Majick. Panicked, every story of Numina running through my head like warnings, I assess them for indications of their identity—they wear long, flowing trousers, a yellow cloak, and a thin band of gold around their head. But it's the peacock that gives them away and my stomach turns over, my breath catching. Fastened to their cloak is a brooch of blue, green, and yellow gems set in a twisted metal peacock.

"You're Juno," I whisper. The second most powerful God to have ever existed. My heart beats so fast it's going to beat itself out of my chest, my back prickling with sweat.

The God smiles. They have the feel of someone in their forties—motherly and not to be crossed—but they don't have a single wrinkle on their brown face. "I am. I'm here to offer you guidance."

"I don't need guidance. I mean—thank you." I sink my teeth into my tongue, calling up every lesson I've had about dealing with Numina. Be grateful, be respectful, be awed. "I'm ... honoured to meet you."

"I preferred your honesty." They sit on a marble bench that didn't exist a second ago, their trousers flowing around their legs with the movement. I don't know whether I'm meant to sit next to them or hover here so I choose to hover, pressing my hands together to hide their tremble. "Unlike other Numina I won't be flattered into kindness and mercy. I can decide whether you're deserving of those things by my own judgement."

"Sorry," I mumble. They gesture for me to sit beside them so I do, warily. "What guidance are you here to give me?"

"Firstly, I'll echo a warning you've already been given. Your mother has become involved in a quarrel. You'd be wise to not draw attention to yourself; otherwise you could find yourself a target for those wishing to upset Venus." They give me a wry look. "Unfortunately, Yasmin, you have done nothing but draw attention to yourself."

My breathing hitches. I'm suddenly sure I'm going to be sick, and I'm not even sure if I can be sick in a dream. I'm about to find out when Juno lays a hand over the top of my twisted fingers and the nausea passes. I look at them with wide eyes, not sure what I did to deserve that.

"I've kept your current situation and location between me and Jupiter. We both agree that the other Numina need not know of you yet. You have a destiny, Yasmin Ex Venere, and though I don't necessarily approve of it, you deserve a chance to fulfil it."

I dare to look at them and breathe, "Destiny?"

A smile hesitates at the corner of their mouth. "If you think I'm going to inform you of something that is sworn to secrecy, you take me for a fool. Destinies are hidden until they're realised, I'm sure you know."

I didn't know but I still say, "Sorry."

They straighten the front of their robe. "You're forgiven. Now, as protector and counsellor of the Legend Mirror, I have been tasked with setting you on the right path. You need not know your destiny, but it appears you won't follow the route chosen for you without help."

"What if I don't want it?" I look at my hands, the bitten-down nails, the stubby fingers. I curl them into fists.

"I suppose I should tell you it is a great honour to receive a Legendary gesture. But to have a destiny to follow is a burden. It will task you harder than anything before. It will challenge you to act a way you never would have imagined. But I guarantee one thing—it will be rewarding."

"I don't want rewards."

A peal of laughter answers me. "Yasmin, don't be naïve. It will be rewarding in the sense that you will accomplish something great, something no other Legendary could. It will change you, for the better." They look at me in a way that keeps me quiet, as if they see something in me now, before I've even done this great thing. "Your human needs a protector, someone to bring her back to herself when she is most lost. You know the girl I mean?"

"Fray," I murmur.

"Yes."

"What is she?" I ask, cutting off something Juno was going to say. I feel dread but press on anyway. I have to—for her. "Do you know what she is? Please."

They shake their head. "We see much, Jupiter and I, but not all. Whatever Fray is, or whatever she has the power to become—it is something we have missed, something that seemed unimportant at the time. She's human but Majickal. An impossibility. I can see what she'll become but not how it began."

"Then what—"

"Yasmin," Juno sighs. "If I told you everything I know about everything to come, it would change the order of things. It would change how these events are going to play out, and that could destroy both our worlds. Trust me, that I can't tell you everything but I'll tell you everything I can."

I swallow, expecting them to lash out and punish me for my insolence. But maybe my instincts are telling me Juno isn't that kind of Numen because I speak again. "Is that my destiny? Am I supposed to find out what she is? How she has Majick?"

"Your destiny affects more than one girl." They incline their head towards me. "I do see much about you and the girl, however. You are linked by your Majick and hers. I foresee a great love, Yasmin. One that could free you."

I don't want to hear this. I don't want to think about love. The truth is that love—being bound to someone by your heart and soul and thoughts and needs—terrifies me. My life has conditioned me to expect to lose people. I can't love someone, and I cannot have someone love me, because there will be no way out for me if I do.

There'll be no way to escape the pain, the longing in my heart, the affliction of being without them. I know this because I let myself love my brother and then I lost him. I let myself hope that after two meetings with my mother they'd want me, that they'd realise their mistake in stranding me on Earth, that they'd take me to the Legend Mirror and be a mum to me, but I never saw them again.

I will not make the same mistake three times. Loving Venus was a mistake, loving Guy was a travesty, and loving Fray will ruin me.

"Yasmin," Juno sighs. "There is more than one kind of love. Don't fear it. In the end, it will be love in all forms that makes you strong. That helps you win."

Win? Win what?

I jerk away from Juno with the ferocity of the Manticore and I come awake gasping in the familiarity of my room. I don't sleep again that night.

TWENTY EIGHT

THE MATRONALIA PARTY

Minnie and Amity have given me a box of dresses.

I've tried on three and none of them look right. A gold that compliments my skin tone is too puffy, a crimson dress is too sleek and clingy, and an elegant chiffon grey makes me look ashen.

The fourth is a deep green with accents of silver around the neckline and lace sleeves. It's a little too long but when I try it on, the bodice sits comfortably against my stomach and gives the impression I actually have a bosom. It also shows the pale feather-shaped mark I have above my collarbone. The mark of a Dei.

I suffer the extra skirt for the sake of vanity.

I don't bother wearing extravagant make up because it looks ridiculous on me. I just cover the uneven skin of my cheeks and the shadows under my eyes with concealer.

I look better than I did when I started. And with all my fussing, I realise I'm nervous. It's the day of Matronalia, and Fray is coming. Here, to the Academy, to the Red—my family. She's going to see all of us and all of them are going to see her. My stomach has been squirming all day, like an eel of nervousness is circling my gut. But I look okay—I'm happy with my appearance today, and it helps a bit with the nerves.

The only thing that doesn't go with the green dress is my talisman. The marble keeps falling down my cleavage and it's uncomfortable. I hunt for a ribbon to make it a choker but of course I don't have any. Minnie threatened that if anyone interrupted her while she was getting ready they'd regret it, and I don't doubt her, so I can't ask her for any.

My phone buzzes and I jump, fumbling for it before it vibrates off my dresser. A text from Fray waits for me and my stomach trills with nervousness again but also excitement.

I'm here.

Oh Gods, I don't have time. I take another look at myself in the mirror and, quick as my fingers will work, take off the necklace, replacing it with a twisted silver chain that shimmers in the light with drops of green beads that match the dress.

Shivering in the evening chill, I hurry through the courtyard and down the path, trying to smother a grin. She's here, and this is happening, and I don't quite know why it's making me so happy except it feels a lot like a date.

Fray is a ray of sunlight made human. Her eyes are lucent, the gold-green vines of her irises brought out by yellow eye shadow, and her face glitters. She wears a ruffled white blouse and a mustard coloured skirt with big purple flowers; it spins in a circle when she twirls.

The tightness in my chest, leftover from Juno's dream, dissipates when I see her. A smile splits my face and for a second I just look at her.

"Do I look okay?" she asks, peering at me.

"Yes. Very pretty—I mean, very okay." I duck my head.

"You look very okay, too."

My face warms, and it's about the weakest compliment but it makes me feel so happy. I unlock my phone and send a text to Guy, telling him she's here, and then I explain to Fray that he needs to let the Ward protecting the Academy know she's safe so she can come inside. There's no doubt in me, despite the fact I was convinced she wanted to hand us over to the hunters not that long ago. I know her now, and I trust her to keep the secret of us safe.

And she might be human but she's linked to our world, so the Numina can't bring hell down on us for telling her about us; she'd have found out at some point anyway. This is what I've convinced myself of. She's not just human—she's of our world too. This isn't breaking any rule. This is safe.

Guy strolls down the driveway a minute later, dressed in a smart dark blue shirt and black jeans. He sweeps a look over me, surprise lighting his eyes at the effort I made, before he tosses a ring to Fray through the gates. She does well to catch it in the dim light. Guy gives me a look while Fray studies the ring, running her thumb over the engraved metal. It's infused with a little of Guy's Akasha—the same Majick that runs in the Ward—to let her pass.

What? I mouth at Guy.

He just smirks in reply and I realise the look ... it's not that I'm dressed different or that I'm bothering to turn up to a festival for longer than an hour. It's that I've brought a girl.

Oh Gods. My stomach twists. Is it that I've brought someone to the Academy or that I brought a girl? I never thought ... this between me and Fray has felt as natural as breathing but I never thought that, like there are those in the Red that can't get their heads around Vic being trans, there might be people who can't accept me being a lesbian.

But Guy just rolls his eyes and lightly punches my shoulder, which I take to be reassurance. Gods, we're so bad at this, being siblings. He leans closer and whispers, "Where the hell did you meet her? You don't go out."

I don't point out I've been leaving the Academy almost every day lately.

I shrug. "When I was shot..."

Understanding lights his brown eyes. "Ah." I'm a bit stunned when he smiles, sharp and amused and utterly wry. "So you played the damsel."

I open my mouth to argue but he's not wrong.

He claps me on the shoulder. "Well played, Yasmin. You did well."

I shake my head, looking back to Fray who's still staring intently at the ring like it's a priceless diamond.

"You can wear it, you know," Guy says, that amusement leaking into his voice, making him sound ... happier. Less angry. Younger. "That's kind of what I made it for."

"Right," Fray says, rolling her eyes at herself. She puts it on her index finger and grins. "I'm Fray," she says, and holds out her hand to my brother.

"Guy," he replies, shaking her hand but looking at her like she's an unidentified species of animal for being so formal.

"Ah." Her smile turns wry. "The brother."

Surprise lights Guy's face. I guess he expected me to never talk about him. "And you are ... what?"

"The guest, obviously."

I have to smile at Fray's bravado, the way even Guy's focus isn't cowing her.

"Come on," I say, a bit worried they're going to get into a battle of wits and sarcasm. I open the gate, the squeal of it like an announcer's horn, and I take her hand, guiding her onto Academy grounds.

She gawps at the Academy when we round the final bend in the path, letting out a soft, "Woah." The red-brick gothic shape of it is lit up by bright amber lights, and paper lanterns are strung all around the courtyard, twinkling faintly now but by night-time, they'll be blazing. Minnie's and Amity's handiwork, along with the braziers of steady Akasha hovering like fire on either side of the door.

Guy marches up the steps to the front door, rubbing his arms to keep warm. He steals a look at Fray. "Keep the ring. You never know when you might come back."

The party is already busy. Harriet is running around with party poppers, unleashing them on anyone unfortunate enough to catch her eye. She shrieks with joy, sprinting away before Vic can retaliate with Aqua. In the kitchen, just visible at the end of the hall, Rowan and Fearne are crowding around a platter of mini sausage rolls, rapidly demolishing them while Amity's back is turned. I can hear Minnie nagging Guy to put on a tie somewhere down the hall, and Mavers backing her up. I'm not sure where the Hannam sisters are but they'll be around too. I'm suddenly self-conscious, worried what Fray will think of all this.

"So this is the Red," she breathes. I glance down at her, expecting fear but finding wonder. She breaks into a grin. "They're not what I expected."

"What did you expect?" Vic sidles up to us, a pretty redhead on his arm. She's short and petite and her big, tinted glasses give her a nerdy vibe which totally suits her—her orange dress has been accented with black Converse.

"Um," Fray says, looking at him. "Warriors?"

Vic chuckles. I introduce them to each other and find out Vic's companion is called Alice. He thrills at being able to introduce her as his girlfriend and I try to dampen my grin since we have company. I want to hug him tight and tell him how happy I am for him, and I don't know when I started being more open with my feelings, less ... reserved. A few months ago, I'd have smiled politely and found a reason to be alone, lest he be given time to realise he doesn't actually want me as a friend. But now ... I'm not scared of that anymore, I realise. Did Guy telling me he never hated me alter that? Or was it Fray, and how fearless she is with her emotions?

"Vic!" Mavers yells, marching towards the kitchen dressed in a black shirt ironed within an inch of its life. "The sink's frozen."

Vic heaves a theatrical sigh and tips an imaginary hat. "Ladies. My skills are needed."

Alice laughs indulgently. As Vic leads her away, a hand on her elbow, Fray nudges me. "What are his skills?" She has that livid glint in her eye that means she's craving information, absorbing everything.

"Aqua. He can control water."

Fray's mouth pops open before she covers it with a grin. All this ... it must seem like a dream to her, a fairy tale of magic and godmothers who grant wishes. I guess that's because she hasn't seen the dark side of our world yet. I don't want her to. I never want her to stop looking at my world with this naked awe.

"Watch it!" Vic snaps when Rowan comes barrelling past, looking more excited than mean tonight. Vic tucks Alice under his arm but he needn't have protected her; she brings her white cane down on Rowan's foot as he's passing. He swears cruelly, rounding on Alice, but he balks at the glasses, the cane.

"I'm sorry," Alice says pleasantly. "I didn't see you there."

"That's—no worries." Rowan scurries away, embarrassment colouring his cheeks. I feel a bit bad for him but I still bite down on a grin. Fray elbows me until I wrestle my expression into something more neutral.

Glimpsing Minnie going into the dining room, her arms full of taper candles and napkins, I weave around the Hannam sisters, suddenly present and hovering half in the kitchen, half out. Fray grabs my hand to stay beside me, taking everything in with greedy eyes.

"Don't drink the orange juice," Minnie warns when she spots us. She's busying herself setting up the table, putting candles on the runner down the middle, napkins in carved golden rings. "Fearne put vodka in it."

That doesn't surprise me at all. "Thanks for the tip."

Fray points to Minnie's glass, a wry smile on her face. "Why are you drinking the orange juice, then?"

Minnie snorts. "I did say there was vodka in it..."

"Minnie," I chastise, vivid memories of last year's festival. I hadn't previously known you could sing a Marilyn Manson song at that high pitch but both Minnie and Harriet proved me wrong. Not that Harrie was drunk—she was just full of the boundless and irritating energy of a twelve year old. I suppose they were better than the others. One couple went to bed early and slept through nearly the whole thing, inebriated as they were, and another was caught having sex in the brightly coloured kid's playhouse we used to have in the back garden. When Vic made me guess who was who the next morning, obviously I assumed Fearne and Rowan were in the playhouse and Mavers and Am went to bed at nine. Wrong.

Minnie's answering grin is devilish. "It's Matronalia. I'm allowed."

"Did Mavers okay this?" I ask.

"Wow." Min blinks. "Killjoy." She links her elbows with Fray, leaning down to whisper, "She's boring and as grumpy as an old woman. Consider yourself warned."

Fray's smile only brightens.

"He said it's fine," Harriet grumbles, dumping a platter of snacks on the table with a moody scowl. "I'm the only one not allowed to touch it."

"That,"—Minnie gestures with the glass—"is because you're a baby."

Harriet gives her the finger. This is what happens when you share a house with Fearne Ex Lavere. Instead of replying to Minnie, Harriet beams at Fray. "I'm Harrie. Legendary, faun, Crea. Don't worry, I know who you are. Minnie's told everyone about you."

"Oh," Fray breathes.

I narrow my eyes at my friend. "You have?"

Min tries to hold her palms up but is hindered by the glass. "It was mostly things you'd approve of. I promise. Pinky swear." She holds out her little finger to Fray. Minnie being her usual friendly, annoying self with Fray ... I love this. I love my friends being friends. There's a voice in the back of my head telling me they'll stop needing me when they have each other but I silence it, using the memory of each one of Fray's smiles tonight to banish the darkness.

Fray's eyebrow arches. "Mostly?"

Minnie shrugs, says so fast I barely make out the words, "There might have been an analysis of yours and Yasmin's sexual tension."

I bare my teeth half-heartedly. Fray crosses her arms over her chest, her expression dark as she plays along. Minnie shrieks, as overdramatic as she can possibly be, and still clutching her glass, she ducks out of the room, faking a scared expression that's eerily believable until she ducks her head back around the doorframe and grins at us. "I'll come find you ladies later. Am needs my help with hors d'oeuvres, by which I mean cheese and ham on a stick."

A laugh catches me off guard. "Bye, Min."

Fray offers a cheery wave.

"Um, same actually." Harriet starts after her. "I'm gonna go too. I wanna help Mavers set up the fireworks."

Pretty sure Minnie's told everyone to give me and Fray some alone time. Her and her matchmaking; she should have been called Emma.

"Fireworks?" Fray's thoughts trickle into my head with excitement.

"Yep! He's setting them up in the back. You're coming to watch, aren't you?"

"Definitely," Fray promises.

Harriet darts around me, boundlessly energetic, and I realise her intentions a second too late. I flinch at the exploding popper, the strings of paper in my hair, and snarl in retaliation, the beast rising, but Harrie just giggles and runs off.

Fray untangles the paper ribbons from my hair, quietening the beast instantly. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah."

She lets her hand linger on the back of my neck, which works even better and I can't even feel the beast let alone sense it's unease or anger. Tension I didn't even realise I was holding in my shoulders loosens. "Loud noises freak you out?" she asks.

"Sometimes," I admit. "But it's not really me. It's ... the other side of me. Since the gunshot..."

"I get it." Fray's thumb sweeps across my skin and I fight a shudder, swaying closer to her. "I'd be the same."

She brings her face closer and I'm absurdly nervous she's going to kiss me. I wind Fray's hair around my fingers. One kiss couldn't hurt, could it? Fray's eyes drop to my mouth—

An explosion of sound ricochets around us.

Fray begins to laugh, at first slow and quiet and then a loud howl. She drops her head onto my shoulder and my arms automatically fall around her waist.

Another firework screeches a lament and Fray's head comes up, excitement stilling her laughter. She grins slyly and takes my hand, dashing across the room and toward the sound without warning.

TWENTY NINE

THE FALLING MAJICK

The fireworks are mesmerising, a unique combination of pyrotechnics and Majick, luminescent against the dark blanket of the sky. Vic adds a burst of Aqua to a rocket and it explodes with water, splattering us in tiny droplets even finer than rain. They dry instantly. Working together, Guy and Fearne propel Akasha into the sky with a bright red firework, smoke-fire-darkness tumbling through the air like elegant gymnasts. Sweat beads on Guy's forehead as I watch, the strain of manipulating that much Majick obvious.

It would be risky to expose our power like this, since any human in the area can see it, but fireworks are so fancy these days nobody will be able to tell it's Majick.

With effort, I add a surge of Earth to a silver firework and leaves rain down on us, lace-thin like dried petals but unsinged by the explosion. Fray catches one in her hand and grins at me.

"What time is it?" Mavers asks nobody in particular.

"Ten to nine," Guy answers, consulting his unnecessarily big watch.

"Right, then. Everyone be ready at nine."

Fray tilts her head, waiting for me to explain, and the group disperses, most filtering back to the kitchen and dining room to stuff more food in their faces.

"We honour Juno by giving Majick back to the Legend Mirror," I tell her, shivering in the night chill. "We combine our Majick and send it into the sky."

Her eyes widen and she glances up at the sky, as if trying to fill in the details with her mind. "Woah."

"I know." I wrap my arms around myself, partly because of the cold and partly because I keep expecting this to be too much for Fray to handle. "It's over the top."

"No." She elbows me, lowering her eyes back to me. "I was going to say it's magical, but I was trying to think of a different word."

"Enchanting," Vic offers, emerging from the kitchen with several cocktail sausages and a glass of orange punch.

"Yes." Fray points at him. "That's the word. Thank you."

He sweeps a bow, spilling some drink onto the grass. "You're welcome, milady."

Alice frowns in his direction. "I thought I was your lady."

Vic's cheeks become an unflattering shade of red. He whispers something in Alice's ear that makes her flush the same colour. "Well," she laughs. "That's alright then."

"You're adorable," Fray tells the blushing couple.

"Uh. Thanks? Oh look, Minnie wants me." Vic ducks his head, shuffling away with Alice tight to his side.

"He's embarrassed," I say. "Alice is his first girlfriend."

"Oh." Fray collapses onto a swinging bench and pats the space beside her, yawning.

"Tired already?" I settle in next to her, my heart giving a sudden thump when our legs press flush together.

Fray chews her lip. "I had kind of a long day. I might have been worrying."

"About?"

"Meeting your family." Her eyelashes brush my arm as her head falls to my shoulder. "They're not as bad as I thought they'd be."

"Don't speak too soon," I murmur. "You haven't met Fearne yet."

"She can't be that bad."

I make a noncommittal sound and point at Mavers and Guy crossing the garden. "It's time." I help Fray stand and join my brothers, suddenly very conscious of the fact I brought Fray here, suddenly nervous. Not the way I was nervous about Guy meeting her earlier—Mavers knows I'm gay and he's fine with it, supportive even—but I want him to like Fray, and I want her to like him.

"Fray." Mavers beams, the grin splitting his bronzed face and lighting up his eyes. "Welcome to the Academy."

Fray mumbles a hello, flustering under the full weight of Mavers's attentive welcome. She really is nervous. The stubborn, fearless girl who confronted me in Callaire has made a swift exit.

"I hope everyone has been friendly to you," he goes on. "I know we can be a little overwhelming, but you'll get used to it in time."

Another person who automatically thinks Fray's in this for the long run. I don't know how they can be so certain.

"Everyone's been nice," Fray replies, gaining a little confidence. "Thank you for letting me come here."

"It's no problem at all." Mavers's smile grows in warmth. "I'm glad Yasmin brought you. You're one of only a handful of non-Legendaries who've witnessed this."

Fray's eyes sparkle at that, the inquisitiveness in her chasing off her fear. "I can't wait to see it."

Mavers is still smiling when he turns to get us stood in an orderly semicircle. Fray huddles close to me, her hands stuffed into fluffy green mittens, while the Majick of the Red combines.

Guy and Mavers go first: Akasha in a swirling sphere brightens the garden, low enough to be obscured by the high Academy walls and the garden fence lest anyone glimpse this obvious show of Legendary power. Mavers uses his Creation and Destruction Majick to create a string of ivy, winding it around and around the pearl-like Akasha. As always, watching this fills me with a nameless feeling, a vastness that hollows out my lungs and makes me feel so small compared to the wonders of the world—of both worlds.

Fearne builds on Guy's Akasha, hers tinged a flushed white with flecks of fire and smoke churning through it, and the Hannam sisters, chanting, Persuade the Majick to take the shape of a star. It struggles into a five-pointed star for no longer than three seconds before the Majick's intensity overpowers them and snaps back into its original shape.

My turn. I take a tight breath, humbled and daunted and conscious of Fray watching. I tug on the well of power in my gut, reaching out to the plants around us, the dirt and grass under our feet, the stones in the Academy, all of them filling me with power. It's nowhere near as easy or effortless as calling on my Psychic but there's no way I could contribute with that kind of power, so I grit my teeth and pull Majick from myself into the air. It doesn't help that I've already used it once, in the fireworks; I never have much Earth at my fingertips before it's exhausted.

But I wrench Majick from deep down and add a burst of Earth to the growing sphere power, dirt swirling around the orb's edge flecked with luminescent mica and minerals like stars in a night sky. The orb is about the size of a car tyre now and growing with every rush of power added to it.

Vic, tense beside Fray, his shoulders locked, adds a ribbon of water to flow around the exterior of the orb and with my contribution and Mavers's Created vine, the lines swirling in different directions around the globe look like the lesions of writhing gas on the planet Jupiter. At least until the sphere freezes over, crackling with ice and rime as beautiful as antique lace as Amity lowers the temperature with her own Majick. She releases her Majick a moment later with a huff of effort, her pale face red and her hands clenched into fists. I look at her quickly, worried. Beneath her elegant blouse, her chest moves quick with sharp breaths and if I could hear her heartbeat, I bet it would be abnormally fast.

Before I can ask if she's alright, Mavers settles a hand on the small of her back, supporting her, and her breathing slows, gentles. Relieved, I turn my attention back to the Majick. Minnie can't offer her brand of Majick, like I can't give my Psychic, and the others don't have Majick, so when we've added all we can, Rowan uses Gateway Majick to raise the trembling sphere into the air, three inches at a time. It evaporates in between each jump, dispersing like snowflakes on the wind before reforming. Rowan is sweating by the time it's six feet high, and shaking when it has disappeared into the vastness of the sky. This is the dangerous part—we offer the Majick to the Gods and Creatures and hope no human glimpses it, or at least mistakes it for a wayward party balloon. A giant, glowing, ever-shifting party balloon.

I reach for Fray's hand, nervous the way I always am until we're sure it's gone. We don't know what happens to the Majick when it gets that high. Maybe the Numina take it. Maybe it combusts. Maybe it floats out to space.

"That was awesome," Fray whispers, resting her chin on my arm.

I shiver, on edge for a reason I can't place. My Dei senses are going wild, telling me something is wrong, wrong, wrong. Something is close—

Thunder swallows all other sounds and my breath stumbles. Rowan swears, his head tipped back to the sky, and Fearne inches closer to him. The rest of us stare at the blackness of the sky, dreading, waiting, sensing.

Fray catches my hand in a death grip.

Light rips the darkness apart, a cleaving like lightning but even from this low down, I can sense the Majick. Ours? Someone elses? I look to Mavers for answers, and find everyone else doing the same. He has to know what this is, what's gone wrong—if he doesn't, no one will. That in the sky isn't a firework; it looks more like ... a chasm. A rip in the sky.

We've made offerings like this every Matronalia festival I've been with the Red. This has never happened before.

Points of light plummet through the sky, most of them, the largest, landing far away. But some, tiny falling stars, are heading right for our garden. I don't know what's going to happen when they touch us. I bring Fray close and cover her head. I know we should run back inside but I'm rooted to the spot, and since no one else is moving ... maybe we're all taking cues from Mavers, his jaw fixed, staring at the sky. Maybe he knows we won't be safe even inside the Academy.

I flinch, ducking my head and burying my face in Fray's hair when the Majick reaches a few feet above us, unable to watch. I inhale Fray's scent and shudder and cling to her as tightly as she's clinging to me. I feel the falling Majick touch my neck, my shoulders, my arms, but it doesn't do anything. It's ... strange. It feels like no Majick I've sensed before. There's no power in it, nothing remotely Legendary. It feels ... empty. I open my eyes, curiosity casting out my fear.

It's gone. The rip of light in the sky, the falling beacons of light, the tiny points that landed on us and felt ... hollowed out. Like Majick with everything that makes it Majick sucked out of it.

"What was that?" Minnie asks shakily at the same time Rowan shouts, "I didn't do anything wrong!"

"Nobody said you did," Mavers moves over to him, touching his shoulder, but that only seems to incense Rowan. His eyes are wide like a spooked animal when he spins to face me, his lips pulled back over his teeth. "It's her."

A growl builds and I let it out. It's menacing and hostile. I hope Rowan is picturing the same things the beast is.

"Don't." Mavers takes him by the arm. "Rowan, calm down, it's going to be alright."

Rowan dissipates, slipping Mavers's hold and reappearing right in front of me. "What did you do?" This close I can see his whole body trembling; behind him Fearne starts towards us, her eyes filled with fear even as she hardens her expression.

"I didn't do anything," I snap at Rowan. I'm not usually brave enough to argue but that ... that Majick, that accident, whatever it was, it has my hackles raised, has me burning with temper and terror and encouraged by the beast.

"Bullshit. You're unnatural. Nobody should have that much Majick."

Guy grabs Rowan by his tawny hair, pushing him a few steps away. "Back off, man. Or I swear I'll separate your arms from your body."

Rowan raises his fists. "Bring it."

"Ro," Fearne snaps, finally reaching him. She sets a hand on his bulging arm but it does nothing to cool him down. His eyes dart from Guy to me, his nostrils flaring. Fearne moves around him to stand between him and my brother and shoves him back a step with more strength than I'd expect in her body. "Step back, Rowan. That." She points a finger at the sky. "Wasn't any of our faults. It's fucked up but it happened, it's done." She lowers her voice then but I'm still close enough to hear her say, "This isn't you, Ro. Don't snap at your friend." She touches his face then, braver than me, and Rowan's shoulders drop, his fists dropping to his sides. He doesn't apologise, not to me or Guy, but he turns and stalks back into the house and doesn't threaten us anymore.

I'm not sure what to make of Guy defending me against one of his closest friends. Rowan's right though. I am unnatural. I have Psychic and Earth, and though I'm not the only Legendary to exist with two kinds of Majick ... I wrenched myself out of a dream that should have locked me in against my will. Juno hadn't decided to let me go yet, but I still woke up in my bed because I chose to.

"He's right," I say in a dead voice.

Voices jump to my defence but I don't want to hear them.

"No, he's not," Fray says fiercely, squeezing my hand so hard it hurts.

"Yasmin," Amity says, so gentle it hurts in my heart. "You're not unnatural."

I blink, my eyes stinging. "I had a dream. Juno came to me. And I ... I dragged myself out of it even though they wouldn't let me go. I..."

The Hannam sisters take two steps back, Cornelia reaching for Priscilla to protect her younger sister. Against me.

"Shit, Yas," Vic swears, looking at me like he doesn't know me.

Minnie's face doesn't change, a practised neutrality. I daren't even look at Fray, at Guy. It was nice, having him stick up for me, care about me. I'm lucky I had these weeks. But now, it's all going to go back.

"We'll talk about that later." When I dare look at Mavers, he's torn between disapproval and sympathy. "If you want."

I nod and quickly drop my gaze. Fray squeezes my hand and whispers, "You're not unnatural. You're not, Yasmin." But that doesn't convince me, doesn't even touch the well of self-loathing and disgust inside me—nothing does until a hand cuffs my shoulder. Rough and careless with strength but it pierces right through that veil of loathing in my gut and I have to clench my jaw, grit my teeth, to keep my face from crumpling.

"Rowan doesn't mean half the shit he says," Guy mutters. "Not really. He's just freaked out."

I can't speak with this swollen throat so I just nod.

"I'm gonna go check on him. You—take care of her."

I lift my head, confused at that last bit until Fray says, serious as anything, "I will."

"And Yas?" I lift my head, meet his eyes. "If you're gonna blame anyone for your Majick, blame Venus."

I rasp a laugh, and my dark mood lifts. I think ... I'm gonna be alright. I'm hesitant to hope but it seems like Guy isn't walking away from me this time. I smile at Fray, letting her know I'm okay but my heart drops at the look on her face. Her green eyes are blazing, her jaw set and cheeks flushed. Her mind is fiery and confused—furious, hurt. It takes me back to finding out she was related to one of the hunters, that combination of anger and pain.

"You're related to Venus?" she asks curtly. "The Goddess?"

Guy mouths a curse. "I'm gonna ... go."

I watch him retreat, wracking my brain, my stomach steadily sinking to my feet. I'm sure I told Fray I was Dei, that Venus was my mother. I did, I know I did. But then I remember—when she asked about my mother I said I didn't want to talk about it. I still don't.

I don't think I have a choice.

THIRTY

THE FALLOUT

I don't say a word as we walk back through the Academy to the gates around the front, back to where Fray parked her battered up little car.

When Fray finally speaks, her voice is like ice cracking. "When were you going to tell me?"

I wrap my arms around my middle, glancing at her from the corner of my eye. Her back is ramrod straight, her chin jutting into the air as she unlocks her car and gets in. Without another thought, I climb into the passenger seat, not willing to leave this unsaid, to let this rot between us. I say, "I thought I already had."

The car engine turning over sounds a lot like a declaration of war and I flinch and the riotous sound. Fray checks her mirrors, clenches her fists around the steering wheel, and sets off down the hill. "How closely are you related?" she asks when we're on the winding road at the bottom, heading away from Callaire central—towards her home. I'm a bit surprised she hasn't kicked me out of the car, that she wants me anywhere near her after what just happened.

I look at my hands, limp on my knees, and say, "Venus is my mother."

The car swerves. There's nothing in the road to hit, thank Numina, and she quickly rights our path.

"Right," she breathes. Fray watches me from the corner of her eye and I sink into the seat, wanting to open the door and roll out but not daring to risk it—not because I'd hurt myself but because I'd hurt this friendship. "Your mother. A god. And your father is the Manticore. The original one, you told me before." Every word is clipped.

This is it, then. The moment she finally understands what I am. What I'm not. The moment she hates me for it. I duck my head, my eyes stinging, and I'm glad for the veil of tears because it means I can't see the disgust on her face when she whispers, "You're not human. Not even a little bit."

"No," I choke out.

She holds her breath for five seconds, releases it, and goes quiet. I watch the seconds tick by for three minutes, violently bright on the dashboard compared to the dark around us, the occasional streetlight's glare sweeping over us not enough to fill the space. I can't stand it anymore, the silence, the truth of it all—I've lost her. As a friend, as anything more. I think about the night spent lazing on her couch together, talking, laughing, or just silently existing side by side. All of that, gone.

"Stop the car," I say, my chest jumping with the beginnings of a sob.

"What?" Fray's head whips towards me but I don't meet her gaze. "Why?"

I can't do this. It's over, all the possibilities and hope and fondness between us, scratched out by my mother. Another thing they've ruined for me. I can't sit here until she finally works up the courage to tell me she never wants to see me again. "Stop the car," I rasp. "Pull over." Better that I leave now, say it for her.

I can tell she's uncertain but she does as I ask, guiding the car to the side of the road. As soon as it's stopped, I jump out and walk back the way we came, my shoulders hunching further with every step, the tears finally leaking out of my eyes, blurring the bushes framing the country road, the farm a few fields off.

I thought Fray knew what I was but I was wrong. She thought I was part human. I can imagine exactly how she feels now—repulsed, horrified, scared.

The car rumbles down the road but goes no further, and then her voice shouts after me. I flinch, my breath skittering from my lungs in shock. She's coming after me? "Where are you going?" she yells.

"Away." My voice is thick with tears. Every breath is an effort to stay composed, to not dissolve into heartbroken sobs and fold myself into a ball right there in the middle of the road. "I don't want to—"

Don't want to see how disgusted you are of me.

"Yasmin!" I hear some of that familiar frustration in her voice, that stubborn determination, and I hear it in the slap of her shoes on the road, getting steadily closer.

I don't want to hear it, whatever she has to say, her gentle let-down or her whip-sharp rejection. I already know she never wants to see me again, she doesn't have to follow me to say it to my face. "Leave me alone."

"No." She's close enough now to grab my arm and spin me around, and I shut my eyes as a last defence against whatever hatred colours her face, poisons those beautiful eyes. My breath hitches just picturing it, my face so hot the cold of the night is biting against my cheeks. Fray snaps, "I will not let you run away from me."

I don't dare look at her but I rasp, "Why?"

"Because I—" But she doesn't finish. She doesn't have a good enough reason to keep me in her life; I could have told her that five minutes ago, spared her this.

I rip my arm from her grip and, my eyes open but lowered safely to the pockmarked road under my feel, I walk away. I can't listen to Fray pretending to be okay with this. She's not. I'm not human. She was okay with me having Majick, was able to forgive me for killing, because she was humanity in me. But the truth is there is no humanity in me. I am pure Legend Mirror.

"You're just going to walk away?" Anger fills her voice. She starts after me again, marching, and I imagine the fire in her eyes, the same look she gave me that day in Callaire. "I don't get a choice? What if I want a choice?"

"I'm not human, Fray." The beast rears its head but barely; it's smothered by my own emotions. I square my shoulders and trudge on, past a bend in the road where a trio of cows spook and moan at the sight of me.

Fray is furious now, uncaringly loud. "Stop running away from me. Yasmin! I swear, if you don't stop walking, I'll get back in my car and drive back to the Red! You can't run forever—you have to go home. And I have a ring now; I can get in."

I whirl around, throwing my hands out at my sides. "Why are you following me? I'm dangerous, Fray. I'm a beast and a Dei. I have Majick and claws and that's my normal. My world is terrifying, and if we do one wrong thing, the Numina could—"

Fray reaches me, grips my shoulders, and says, "Shh." And for some reason I run out of words. She's touching me. Shaking starts in my hands then moves up my arms to my whole body. Where has her anger gone? Why, when I dare to meet her eyes, do I see only understanding and sadness? Why does she put her arms around me?

"Shh," she whispers again, huffing a loud sigh. "That's enough."

My breathing falters. "I don't—I don't understand."

"Neither do I." She rests her head on my shoulder. "I honestly don't understand how you can't be human, and I'm not okay with that yet—not at all. But when you ran off, I just thought—don't let her go, Fray. Don't you let her go."

Her hands are pressing into my back and my heart doesn't know whether to beat fast or stop pumping altogether. Why is she touching me? She should be running in fear and hatred. She's quiet for a long while and I'm too scared of breaking this moment to speak. Only the cows moaning and the trees shifting can be heard.

She says, "All this time we've been friends, you haven't been human." It's a statement, but more to herself than me. "I guess I'll get used to it. In time."

I shake my head, trying to step back, unable to accept this—her absence of disgust, her holding me. "You won't."

"Watch me."

She grinds her teeth, that stubborn chin jutting out, and my tears overflow again. She's serious. She really isn't going to let me walk away—doesn't want me to.

"Please don't cry." Fray wipes the tears from my cheeks with her thumbs, calloused, I assume, from handling so much papers and research and from the many hours she sunk into her artwork in the past few weeks. My cheeks warm even more at the feel of her touch and my stomach fills with tremors not unlike the shaking in my hands as her fingers slide into my hair. "Well," she says in a thick voice. "Now I'm crying."

I'm not sure what's happening but it gives me hope. I battle to keep my arms to my sides, wanting to hold her even closer but not daring, scared if I move, I'll burst this peaceful bubble and we'll go back to shouting at each other.

I'm about to speak—I need to know what this means—when Fray renders me speechless. With her fingers sliding through my hair, sending sparks across my scalp, she leans forward and kisses me. It's slow and hesitant and so gentle it makes my heart crack open, my eyes sting with tears again. My breathing stumbles as I move my lips against hers and she urges me closer, kissing me faster, her mouth crashing into mine with a passionate need that both scares me and thrills me.

I curl my fingers around her forearms to keep her near, her skin feverishly hot, the moment seeming to stretch out forever. I think I might kiss her for hours, uncaring of the fact that we both need air, that there is so much unspoken between us, but headlights swing around the tight corner of the winding road and onto us, the glaring light stabbing into my eyes. With a jolt of alarm, I remember we're in the middle of the road and, my hands still around Fray's arms, I jump to the side of the road just as the car races past. She stumbles, falling against me, and for a moment we just stand there, pressed together, Fray gripping the front of my dress for stability.

The car's rear lights are disapproving eyes in the darkness as it gets smaller and veers around Fray's own abandoned car. I let out a shuddery breath when darkness closes around us again, the quiet hum of the night a comfort compared to the dangerous hiss of the engine. Fray peels herself away from me and, my heart sinks at the sudden distance, the awkwardness pressing around our ankles.

She doesn't say anything about me being Venus's daughter, or the Majick splitting the sky and falling back to Earth as shooting stars, or about the argument we had only a few minutes ago. I bite my lip, nerves twisting my stomach now. I don't really understand how we went from shouting, to crying, to kissing, but I don't want to recreate it in reverse so I say nothing out of fear of speaking the wrong thing.

Fray glances down the lane, at the barely-illuminated shape of her car, the skeletal trees bracing the road, the houses in the distance—the village she lives in the edge of. I want to know what she's thinking, if she regrets kissing me, if she'd hate it if I kissed her again, but I'm not brave enough to form a connection Psychically.

Fray exhales loudly, looking over her shoulder at me, her blouse ghostly in the moonlight, the brightest thing around, but her face is shadowed, secretive. "Can you get back in the car now?" Her voice is studiously even.

I guess we're not going to talk about the kiss.

I nod, follow her back to the car, and she backs up until there's enough space in the road for her to execute a silent three point turn. I daren't speak, and she voices nothing of her own thoughts, so she drops me off at the Academy gates without another word.

THIRTY ONE

THE NIGHTMARE

After what happened with Fray I don't want to do anything but sleep and nurse my wounds, but Guy has other ideas. He abused the limitless power of Akasha to break the lock on my door when I refused to let him in, and now he sits on the end of the bed trying to tempt me with chocolate cake.

"I don't want anything," I grumble for the third time.

"I'll stay here all night if you don't eat." This is something I've learnt about my brother—he's as stubborn as an ass.

"Fine." I pull the covers over my head and wait for him to leave but even after ten minutes, he's still sat there. I don't want cake, and I don't want to talk about what happened tonight.

I lay awake, my mind empty, no thought swirling around my head at all, only silence.

Guy falls asleep around three o'clock, drooling disgustingly on my fleece blanket. I roll my eyes at my brother, set the cake on my bedside table, and settle into my mountain of pillows. Halfway to sleep, with black and grey shapes moving lazily behind my eyelids, I recognise the wrenching feeling of a nightmare yet to come.

I remember I took off the talisman for the party.

Too late.

*

I'm thrown into a room made bright by daylight streaming through a wall of windows. It's cold, sending a trill of a shiver down my spine despite the roaring fire across the room. Shelves of books coat the walls, surrounding a heavy, expensive desk. I remember this room—Malach's study. My heart crashes as I realise this is another of Fray's dreams.

A man and a woman stand before me, tension and aggression in both their postures. One of them is Malach, Fray's father, and the other is a red-haired stranger. Power rolls off her like embers from a fire, and those embers ... more powerful than all my Majick put together. She smiles at Fray where she's sat in her father's chair, dwarfed by the green leather. She must be eight years old now, and she looks terrified of the redhead watching her like a predator eyes its next meal. This Fray might not be my Fray, this might be in the past and already happened, but I feel a protective urge rise in me and emerge as a threatening growl.

Neither Malach nor the woman react.

"So you can take her?" Malach is sickeningly hopeful, his dark hair sticking to his face with nervous sweat.

"No." The woman is calculating, searching Fray's small face while she ducks behind the photo frames on the desk, terrified but trusting her dad not to let anything happen to her. There's something about this woman, other than the dark power rolling off her, that makes me want to tuck my tail and run. But I keep my eyes glued to the scene, needing to know what's going to happen to Fray. Even though I'm not sure if, outside in the real world, Fray wants to see me again, I can't ignore the fact that this red haired woman poses a serious threat. "She's much better use to me here. Raise her, allow her to become rooted in human community, and then I will send someone to claim her for me."

"Are you sure you can't—"

The woman rounds on him, her unnaturally green gaze fiery, and I know, by some inexplicable feeling, she's a Numen. That's why my instincts are trembling, why I want to bolt, why even the merest glint of her power is enough to swallow me whole. Gods, a Numen in Fray's past. What does that mean? "You will not challenge me. You've already disappointed me by failing to transport the box safely. This ... child is your mistake, even if she is my gain. You'll raise her as I desire and you will allow me to take her when it benefits me."

My lip curls back to expose teeth, a snarl deeper than any my non-Manticore lungs should be able to produce filling the room. I edge around the room to Fray, even knowing this is in the past and nothing I can do can change it. This ... this means Fray is in danger, even now. This is why she has power—why she called out to me, why I'm in this dream in the first place. Because of that box ... her box, the Numen's. Which Malach was supposed to be transporting somewhere ... smuggling? I glare at the weasel-like man as if I can pry his secrets from him with just my murderous eyes, positioning myself in front of Fray.

The Numen looks right through me, a smile curling her lip but no warmth meeting her cold green eyes. Her face, tanned and flecked with scars and black starry dots like tattoos, sets into a mask of smug satisfaction. "If you choose to disobey me, Malach, I will revoke any rewards you are due and sentence you to eternity in the Otherland. Are we in agreement?"

"Yes," Malach whispers. He lowers his head. "We're in agreemen—"

*

I'm hauled back to the present by heavy hands on my shoulders, a gasp in my throat. He was going to say their name—Malach was about to say the name of the Numen, I know it. I wrench myself out of Guy's grip, shoving him off.

"Why did you wake me?" I demand.

He sits back, anger flickering in his eyes. "You were having a nightmare. Was I supposed to let you sleep when you were screaming and growling?"

"Yes." I drag a hand through my hair. That dream ... it wasn't like the first dream, of the cavern and the robes, where I could sense Fray all around me. It was like the second one, Fray pushing back the lid of the carved box. There was no sense of her there. I don't think it's her that's showing me them.

I grab Guy's T-shirt before he can angrily storm out of my room and say, "Someone is trying to tell me about Fray through her dreams." That stops him and he faces me with a dark look. "People dream all the time, don't they? And the dreams never make much sense. But these are memories, and they're almost chronological. It's like someone's showing me them in order. The first dream came from Fray—she said it was a recurring nightmare. But these other dreams?"

Guy lifts an eyebrow but he looks more apprehensive than curious.

"I think someone's helping me. Someone powerful." A Numen, I think but don't say. Who else could give me dreams? I suppose there could be a Legendary with the power to do this but, so soon after the dream from Juno, my mind shot right to Numen and it's stuck there.

Guy grinds his teeth, not happy with my theory but not immediately dismissing it. "Who?"

"I don't know." I drop my gaze to the covers over me. "And I don't know why they'd help. But in that last dream there was a Numen, a woman with red hair. She was talking about using Fray. I think she's responsible for Fray's Majick. I think a Numen did this to her, and I think a different Numen brought us together. Fray and I."

"Why the hell would they do that?"

"Because of the conflict! Because of Venus! They knew something like this would happen, that the Numina wouldn't be at peace forever. I think someone planned this, me and Fray meeting." I ball up my hands into fists. "Juno came to me in a dream. She told me I'm supposed to protect Fray. What if we're been drawn to each other because I'm meant to look after her? I think that's why someone is helping me understand Fray's past."

Guy stares for a long minute. "For the record, I think you're wrong. But your wild theory almost seems ... plausible. If the Numina are arguing, both sides will want a secret advantage. A way to win the argument, to shut up their opponent." He talks like it's a game, like one of the major players isn't our mother. "But if a Numen is involved and wants to use Fray, if they made her the way she is..." He lowers his voice. "I don't think they're the good guys, Yas. And I doubt whoever's giving you these dreams has innocent plans either. But it could just be a Legendary with—"

"I know. I already thought of that." And now I have a headache. "I'm going back to sleep."

But all I do is lie down and stare out the window across the room.

THIRTY TWO

THE WATCH

The next day I watch over Fray, doing my best to ignore the tightness in my chest. We might have argued but that doesn't mean I want her to be taken by a Numen. Especially not the redhead in her dream. My dream? I don't know anymore. There's no indication the Numen in Fray's past—because it felt real, and I don't think it's a hazy, made-up scene, I think it happened—meant to come for her right now but I'm not taking risks. With the attention I'm supposedly attracting, they could be drawn to us. I thought I'd been careful but Juno made it seem like the exact opposite. Because I've told Fray about the Legend Mirror? Or because I'm spending time with Fray at all, because the Gods know something I don't about her?

That doesn't matter; I won't let anything happen to Fray. I'm prepared to harness all my Crea stealth to follow her wherever she goes but I don't need to. She doesn't leave the house. I watch her flit from the kitchen to the living room to her bedroom all day, a miserable look on her face. It tears me in two.

It's my fault she's upset. She thought I was human, and I thought she knew I wasn't. I didn't realise friendships could have communication issues from what was assumed to be said, rather than secrets intentionally kept. I curse my inexperience. If I knew what I was doing, if I knew how to actually have a relationship, this wouldn't be happening.

My sickness this month isn't just because my body is undergoing an unnatural transition, but because I want to fix this thing between Fray but I don't know how, because I've worked myself into an anxious frenzy.

I only pause my vigil over her when my stomach cramps and forces me to my knees between the trees to empty my stomach, when my vision blacks out as pain rockets through me without warning, searing down my spine where my skin will split in a few hours, where I already feel fur and wings—still feathered because of my age but already turning leathery and toughened beneath the downy coat—pressing at the seams of myself.

When the day turns to evening, Guy comes to relieve me of my watch. I haven't told anyone else about my interpretation of the dreams, and I'm not sure I'd trust anyone else to protect Fray. I might have only resolved everything with my brother a month ago, but I know I can trust him. As for Minnie and Vic ... there's only so much their Majick can do.

"Don't lose sight of her," I warn Guy.

He makes an exasperated noise. "I know what I'm doing. Try to trust me." His mouth twists into a smirk. "Or do you want me to pinky swear it?"

I make a rude gesture, shouldering my backpack. "Be careful. Almery is dangerous at the Crea moon."

"Never would have guessed that. It's not as if my sister's a Crea."

I roll my eyes and leave him to guard Fray.

I shouldn't be worried about Guy—he has all of the elements on his side. His Majick isn't restricted like anyone else's, like mine is to telepathy, like Vic's is to controlling water. Guy can create and manipulate anything he chooses.

I don't need to worry about him but I still do, as I walk a safe distance away so my beast won't sniff him out and decide to make him into a meal or a plaything. I worry about Guy, about Fray, about all my other friends and family, right up to the moment my bones break and the Manticore is freed.

THIRTY THREE

THE WORDS IN LIGHT

Two Crea were killed last night. The news makes my stomach rock and I collapse to my knees on the hard packed floor of the wood, raw rabbit meat hitting the leaves below me. Mavers rubs my back but he has no words of comfort. The first body they found belonged to a Phoenix called Quinn, one of the people we asked to leave Henacre Wood on the other side of Callaire so we could be safe from the hunters. He was ironically killed by regular hunters, not the kind that hunt down Legendaries to wipe us off the face of the Earth, but the kind angry over the man I butchered, hunting whatever wild wolf had found its way here. That's the theory—a wolf. Instead they shot a phoenix and a faun.

Harriet. Our Harrie—bubbly, loud, bursting with energy, annoying in a way that only made us love her more.

Dead.

Mavers half carries me back to the Academy, silent while I cry. He puts me in an infirmary bed even though I'm not bleeding anywhere, and though I don't need healing Minnie climbs onto the bed beside me, squashing close. I don't notice Mavers leave, the silence pressing around me, blocking out anything else, but after a while I fall asleep, my hand in Minnie and her tears soaking my shoulder.

I wake up hours later, utterly hollow. Where my heart used to be there's this silent, howling chasm. I climb out of the infirmary bed, careful not to wake Minnie, and make my way to the front room and kitchen, where everyone will be. My steps are robotic; I barely feel them hit the carpet.

Vic catches me halfway into the front room but I don't have the energy to hug him back, no matter how tight he squeezes me. For some reason, the emptiness has erased all the usual things I feel the day after the change. I'm too hollow to feel the sensitivity on my skin, the pain I know I should feel at Vic holding me tight enough to bruise, and my stomach is dead instead of roiling. It's as if my body has decided to shut down.

I don't even flinch at a hand smoothing over my head, the touch coming out of nowhere, or when Amity leans closer, identifiable only by her rosewater perfume, and presses a kiss to my hair. I just stand there, everything I might have felt scooped out of me, my arms limp at my sides.

Strong aftershave tickles the back of my nose, coats my throat, and that's enough to bring me out of it, even if I move only an inch away from that silence. I look past Vic's shoulder at Guy. Guy who watched over Fray last night while I shifted. I'm supposed to be there now, keeping her safe—the Numen in her memory—they could come back and take her. They could use her or hurt her or kill her like Harrie was killed—

I'm crying, the pressure against my eyes, building in my head, the only sensation I feel until Vic steps back, sensing Guy hovering nearby and with a muttered string of words I can't make sense of, crosses the room to Mavers—Mavers who is stood by the fireplace staring at nothing. He looks ... precisely how I feel. Like inside, beyond skin and bone and heart, there is nothing left there.

Guy pressed a cold block into my hand, tearing my attention from Mavers, and it takes me too long to recognise it as my phone. He says, "I called your girl."

"She's not my girl," I reply, flat. But that same flicker moves through me, and I remember she's not safe. There's no one there to protect her—

"I told her to come here," Guy says, effectively shutting off that bit of emotion so I can return to my dull emptiness. "She should be here soon, actually."

I don't want to see Fray right now. I don't want to see anyone. I find a vacant seat—an orange, stuffed-to-bursting armchair that's older than me, and collapse into it, wishing the fabric and cushions would swallow me whole.

I lean my head against the arm and stare out the window at the swaying shapes of trees, the sunlight dappling their leaves. I don't hear the door open but the next thing I know, someone is kneeling in front of me, taking my listless hands in theirs and Fray is talking. Not that I can process her words.

"Yasmin," she says hours later. The whole day has passed, night now falling outside the window. Fray squeezes my hands and my eyes move, slowly and with effort, from the tree I've been staring at mindlessly, to her. "You should eat."

I shake my head.

Still on the floor at my feet, even hours later, she reaches up to touch my face. A memory flashes of her kissing me but it's gone before I can fully remember it, eaten by the emptiness inside me. "Come on," she says, and I realise the silence has faded back slightly inside me, that I can hear things other than it—words, speech. I can understand them again. Fray uses her grip on my hands to pull me out of the chair and into the kitchen where everyone but Mavers is sat eating. Cornelia looks up as Fray tows me past her and I'm surprised to see tears in her silver eyes.

Fray sits me at the table where a plate of food is waiting for me and even though I still feel empty, lacking, inside, I find with the smell of chicken and salad in front of me, my stomach is growling. I eat before Fray can prompt me to, relieved when she doesn't fuss, just sits between me and Minnie and eats her own meal. This is strange, I know, Fray eating with us, spending time with us, but it doesn't feel weird. It feels natural.

For a long moment, with warm food in my belly and my family around me, I feel alright. But then I remember Harrie is gone and never coming back.

I mumble something about going to bed but somehow I end up curled up on my bed with Fray and Minnie and Vic around me, and Guy sat in the computer chair at my desk. I fall asleep that way, with my family around me, and I'm surprised when my sleep is peaceful and dreamless.

*

The next morning, I wake up at dawn, and I can't remember why everyone is piled into my bed, why Minnie's stomach is pressing into my back and why Fray's bony elbows are buried in my gut, but all too quick it comes back to me. Like an ocean swallowing me and slapping me under the waves to drown. Harriet's dead. Killed because the people who live around Almery wanted revenge for a man I killed.

I slide down to the bottom of the bed without waking Minnie or Vic but Fray blinks awake and follows me into the kitchen. I don't feel empty anymore. There's no silence inside me, blocking out every thought and sound and memory. I remember Harrie, every smile and laugh and teasing jibe.

Fray rests her head on my arm as I stand there, staring at the kettle in front of me, wondering how I'm ever going to find the energy to lift my hand and turn it on—these killing hands. If I had control over my beast, I never would have killed anyone, and hunters—animal or Legendary—wouldn't be stalking our town. Harrie would be alive, and Shane, and the Phoenix Crea from Henacre wood. Three people, three deaths I'm responsible for.

Fray rubs my back and turns the kettle on for me, snagging two cups from the stack beside the sink with her free hand. "I'm so sorry, Yasmin," she whispers. "If I'd been able to convince my uncle to stay away, she might still be—I'm sorry."

I focus on the sound of the kettle rumbling, preparing to heat up. It's my fault—not hers. "No," I say, finding my voice thick. Fray sags in relief—because I spoke? I look down at her, finding her green eyes fixed on my face. "It wasn't your fault," I say and mean it. She couldn't control her uncle, get him or any of his friends to stop.

Fray nods but she doesn't agree with me.

With her comforting me, with her close, I somehow find the strength to lift the kettle and pour us both tea. I feel better with it in my hands, the warmth soothing something deep down inside me, at least for a minute.

It's quiet for long moments, the sun getting higher in the sky and brightening the kitchen, the dewy lilac glow becoming brighter white as we sit across from each other at the table.

"I'm sorry," Fray says suddenly. "About before. I didn't mean to react like that. I shouldn't have. It wasn't your fault, it was my problem. I didn't ask if you were human—"

"Fray." I stop her, my stomach twisting. "It's alright."

"No." She touches my elbow. "Let me finish. I didn't realise you weren't human because you're one of the most human people I've ever met. You feel things so strongly. I can read it on your face, and I can feel it when we're connected."

So quiet, I say, "I wish I was human." But that's not true, not really. I wish I had control over my Crea nature.

"You are." She squeezes my arm and a knot in my chest loosens. Everything else might be wreckage, but I think Fray and I will be okay. "I don't care if you're a Manticore, or a Crea, or a Dei. It doesn't matter that your mum's a God. My mum's a stone cold bitch and my dad's a coward and I turned out okay. Our parents don't make us, Yasmin. We do that."

I dredge up a smile from the void inside me. I didn't realise just how badly I needed to hear that. I think I have ever since Mavers told me Venus was enraging people in the Legend Mirror and I'd be targeted because of it. Part of me has felt less like a person and more like a pawn in some vast game ever since that moment.

Fray watches the war inside me. "I'm going to kiss you now, if that's alright."

I'm so startled I say, "It's alright," before I can contemplate the meaning of the words.

Fray leans across the table to frame my face with gentle hands. The kiss is careful—dispassionate. I lean away. "You shouldn't do that. You're only kissing me because you feel bad for me."

Fire ignites in her eyes. She tilts her head in a rapid, inhuman swoop. "Am I?"

"You kissed me after Matronalia because I was crying, and you're kissing me now because I've lost Harrie." The hesitant butterflies in my stomach turn to lead weights. Regret and wishes and a hot, embarrassed feeling mix inside me, heating my face. I drop my eyes to the table, suddenly limp, this final disappointment too much after everything that happened yesterday.

I can hear simmering anger when Fray says, "The only thing I was doing because you were upset is holding back." Her chair scrapes as she stands and then she's leaning over me, anger or something hotter, something different, in every taut line of her body. My mouth goes dry as I blink up at her, once, before her mouth crashes into mine. Her hands slide into my hair, using it as leverage to pull me closer, closer, and my heart trips as I kiss her back.

If the first kiss made me hollow this kiss fills me up. I've been waiting for this since the day I met her, since I saw her dreams, since her voice began haunting me, since I got to know the person she is, since our minds connected. Everything has come to this.

My fingers curl around the belt loops of her jeans and I kiss her with abandon. It's an awkward position with me leaning up from the chair, her bending over me, but our bodies don't seem to care, desperate to get even closer. Heat floods my face, tingles across my chest as Fray's tongue slips into my throat and—I suddenly don't know what to do, don't know if I should continue, what it'll mean, what it'll say if I do. I want this, want kissing, but I'm not sure if I want anything more. And kissing this way seems to suggest I want to take this further.

"Finally," Fray breathes when I break for air, for space to think. At the glazed look in her eye, the cocky slant to her smile, the worry in me pauses and I grin back at her. Whatever I'm feeling ... that can wait. For now, I want to be close to her, and to kiss her while the sun comes up.

But when I use the belt loops wound around my finger to pull her closer—she slept in jeans, a distracted part of my brain points out—she tenses, looking past me. Out the kitchen window to the garden. "Do you see that?" The change in her voice has me spinning fast and staring at the stretch of grass, the shed in the corner. I expect Numina, or hunters hiding in the shadows of the trees, or some other physical threat. Not ... this.

"What the hell?" I reach for the Akasha pendant around my neck, squeezing it in my fingers and letting go of Fray in my panic.

A series of symbols are scrawled across the surface of the old wooden shed, lit up in white light like the star constellation projector Minnie bought when we were younger. Flicks and spots and bright bursts of light, curved together into larger shapes. I can't understand the symbols but I know without knowing how that it's some kind of language. My hands start to shake. That's not a human language. What is it? A threat? A warning?

"Keep watching it," I tell Fray, running around for a pen and paper. I grab a shopping list pad stuck to the fridge with magnets and copy the symbols as accurately as I can. As if knowing their message has been delivered, the symbols of light fade.

Fray doesn't take her eyes off the shed. "Was that Majick?"

I have to swallow twice before I can answer. "A Legendary couldn't do. I think it's a—" My chest tightens suddenly, a fist gripping my lungs, and it takes effort to finish my thought. "I think it's a Numina message."

Fray's head whips towards me, her green eyes blown wide. Awe and curiosity and unfiltered terror. "Why would they leave us a message?"

I don't know if I should answer that. At the Academy gates that time, she said she hadn't had the dream I just woke from—her memory. That's what made me start to suspect a Numen was helping me, showing me Fray's past so I could help her. Juno's voice moves through my head again, talking about destinies and conflict. I've kept this from Fray because I know the thought of her having Majick scares her; I don't want to make it worse.

But I don't want to keep this from her anymore.

So I swallow against the lump in my throat and say, "I've had two dreams since that first one with the cave. Two dreams about you ... your past." Fray inhales sharply. I can't look at her but I press on. "In the first one, you were in your dad's study and you opened this box ... and something was inside it, something powerful and—not human. The second dream showed your dad talking to a red haired woman. I think she was ... a Numen." I glance at her, dreading her reaction, but she just takes a step back until she's leaning against the table, her eyes falling shut.

"I ... I remember it, now you've told me." Her voice is raw. "How did I forget this? That box—dad told me not to touch it but I was curious. My birthday was coming up and I thought—" She shakes her head, and the look of angry confusion and distress on her face is too much for me. I close the distance between us and pull her into a hug, holding her tight to me.

"I'm sorry," I murmur.

She shakes her head against my shoulder, her arms coming around me. She grips the back of my shirt in tight fists, breathing hard.

"Why would he—why would my dad have Majick in the house? We're human."

I chew my lip and I'm quiet for too long.

"Yasmin?" Fray asks, pulling back to look at my face. "What is it?" Her voice turns into a resigned sigh, like she knows it's about to get worse.

"I don't know for sure," I reply, looking anywhere but into her sharp, sad eyes. "But it seemed like he was supposed to be moving the box for the Numen. Like ... smuggling."

Fray's eyes flutter shut, the words hitting like an arrow, but anger clenches her jaw, angles her eyebrows. "What is wrong with him? He was smuggling Majick objects from the Legend Mirror to Earth?"

I shrug and hold her tighter. I don't know.

"So I—" She cuts off as emotion thickens her voice, and when she speaks again it's carefully flat. "I have this power, whatever it is, because my dad was stupid enough to smuggle for a Numen. I have this power because of him." So much loathing pours into that one word.

"I'm sorry, Fray." I rub her back, wishing I had more to offer. "This wasn't what I expected, either. I'm sorry I don't have ... something else, another answer." This sucks. That's the only way to describe it. Fray is powerful, has the Majick to form a telepathic link between us, to draw me into her recurring nightmare, because of her father's neglect. This just ... sucks. And what's worse is I can't leave it at that—I have to tell her about the rest of the dream.

I keep rubbing her back, desperate to comfort her as I say, "The impression I got from the memory was ... the Numen had a use for you, and your father was getting something out of the arrangement. They said they'd come back when you were more ... ready." Developed, I was going to say, but since her Majick seems to be developing right now, I'm scared to say that. It seems like reaching out to people is new for Fray, her Majick is new to her—which means the Numen could notice at any time and come for her.

Fray squeezes me so tight my ribs protest but I don't complain. She can squeeze until she breaks something if it helps lessen the hurt I'm putting her through.

I say, "Me and Guy—we're looking after you. I won't let the Numen get to you."

Fray shakes her head against my shoulder. "They're more powerful than you. You won't be able to—" Her breathing stumbles. "I'll be taken. If my dad promised me to that Numen, I'll be—"

"No." I'm surprised to hear the beast's growl in my words. I remember what Guy said, that the beast and I aren't separate. It's still surprising to know my Manticore side—the creature that cares for nothing but its own hunger—is as protective of Fray as I am.

I remove my talisman.

I have two kinds of Majick, Fray. That's why the argument broke out at Matronalia. Some people don't like me being there, because I'm two things, because I have two kinds of power. I promise you, I'll use every bit of my Majick to protect you.

Why? I can sense her deep confusion—what is she to me, why do I care so much if she's hurt?

I want to protect you. You're my ...

But I don't know what she is to me. The word friend feels too small.

Her mouth turns up. I'm your what?

You're my friend.

She leans her head back against my shoulder. For now.

THIRTY FOUR

THE REQUEST

I walk Fray home later that day because I'm overcautious. It's only a half hour walk if we cut through Almery so we take the ribbon-thin pathways. The wood is thriving with sounds of life and the beast sings with the thrill of it, wanting to chase, wanting to kill.

Fray asks if I'm alright twice. She doesn't believe me when I say I'm fine. I'm not sure I believe me either, but I hold tight to her hand and it helps bring me back to myself, wrestle a slight bit of control from my Crea side.

Halfway to Fray's house, I catch a strange scent on the wind and stiffen automatically. It's an animal scent, old and unfamiliar, but I remember the Crea that have relocated from Henacre Wood.

"What is it?" Fray tugs my hand to get me to look at her.

"Just an unfamiliar scent," I say. "It'll be nothing."

But five minutes later I wish I'd listened to my instincts. A shape is spread across the path a few feet in front of us, sunlight dappled across their wings. Crea can't change without the full moon, which means this is no Legendary. I slip my trembling hand free of Fray's and shield her with my body, every bit of me going taut, vibrating with the need to protect Fray, to protect myself. I am so aware suddenly that any tiny movement could lead to our deaths and a shiver works down my spine.

Fray leans around me and gasps, her heart beating faster. That I can hear it pumping inside her chest ... I'm still close enough to the Crea moon for the beast's own survival instincts to roar to life, to arm me with even these smallest weapons, my heightened senses.

"Stay behind me," I warn Fray in my quietest voice. I'm trembling all over with restraint, with violence and protective might.

The original Phoenix lounges on the wood floor, the feathers of their body glinting yellow and gold and red, light licking the edges of each one like fire. It looks like they're sleeping, completely oblivious to us, but I know this is a lie. Their scent, an earthy, fiery smell like old embers is the same I picked up on earlier. They've been following us.

I daren't speak, and pray Fray doesn't talk either. We stand there for moments, frozen, but it doesn't take long until the Phoenix stretches, wings lazily expanding on either side of them as if they've just woken.

Leaves crunch as the whole nine feet of it uncoils to its feet. I swallow, fear pumping through all of me until the phoenix's amber eyes land on Fray behind me. Anger replaces it. I give the beast in me another inch, letting it fill me with fierceness.

"What do you want?" I should be polite but my hackles are raised.

The Phoenix lifts their wings, exposing the white undersides, and rearranges them so they sit on its golden back. They raise their head and pin me with glaring eyes, speaking without opening its beak. The words hang like mist in the air between us. "I have a request."

My heart beats even quicker, tremors moving across my skin. I'm dying to grab Fray and run but there's nowhere we can run from a Numen. "What kind of request?"

"One you will agree to." It stabs its talons into the earth, arches its back, and takes the form of a human man. Handsome, mid-thirties, with deeply tanned skin and laughter lines etched into their face. "My grandson was killed."

The Phoenix Crea from Henacre Wood. I should have made that connection myself. I'm glad of my protectiveness of Fray; if she wasn't here, I'd be cowering, on my knees and begging. "I didn't have anything to do with that."

"I know." Their voice is without inflection. They brush their white hair out with golden fingers, the long strands falling on the shoulders of a sleek grey suit. "I expect others will suffer the same fate and I don't want to risk my remaining descendants. I've gathered my children in the Legend Mirror to me but there is one on Earth I cannot bring home. There is a village named Coll three hours from here where a son of mine resides. I ask you to go to him and to bring him to your congregation."

"My what?" I breathe.

Fray's fingers press into my back. She whispers, "The Red."

My stomach turns over. This could be a trick. They could be asking me to bring a danger into the Red. I know Ceres was arguing the most with my mother but the Phoenix could be another of their enemies, could be trying to plant someone within the Academy and use them to get to me and Guy.

But ... the Phoenix could have killed me before, when Fray and I were walking through the wood. I wouldn't have been able to defend myself. Instead they waited here, revealed themself, and asked a favour.

Okay, I think, trying to level my breathing. Okay, this is real.

The Phoenix watches us with interest, Fray especially. "If you bring my son to safety, I offer you my aid."

My fingers twitch. I want to call out to the Earth and attack this Numen with Majick. But I'm not stupid enough to think I would win a fight. And ... I admit a part of me is curious why they'd come to me and not someone else to save their son. "Why do I want your aid?"

"The Numina will soon be warring. You know that already. Legendaries will be caught between opposing sides and many of you will suffer. I don't care for the Gods' petty arguments, and neither do I side with any particular Numen. If I'm indebted to you, you'd be able to request my assistance in the event that you are targeted."

They sigh, those amber eyes blinking at me. "I don't pretend to care what happens to Legendaries that aren't of my descent, but your group has caught the attention of some Numina you would be better staying hidden from. You have them paranoid, protective of their fickle power. And with the Chapter revealed so recently, they are prone to violence. With me on your side, should any Numen desire you harmed, they will be less likely to attack."

I glance back for Fray's opinion. She gives me a tiny nod and steps out from my cover, standing proudly beside me. She trusts the Phoenix. The Legendaries waking up without their power, the hunters coming after us, the Numina who have been angered by Venus ... none of those have to be a threat if I have the Phoenix on my side.

"I'll do it," I say, "on three conditions."

"I would expect no less from Venus's daughter." At my dark look they add, "Or from the famed Yasmin Ix Man." Smart, to name me as my father's, though I'd prefer the name I gave myself—Yasmin Wikke. "Relay your conditions, Yasmin."

"One," I say, tight with fear of this going wrong. "You do as you say. You help us fight if we ask you to. Two. You don't try to trick me, or take advantage of anything you see or hear while helping us."

"Agreed," they say, something in their eyes that looks almost like admiration. "And the third?"

"Three. Tell me what this means." I remove the crumpled list paper from my pocket and pass it over. The Phoenix's grey suit barely shifts as they walk. As their eyes sweep over the foreign symbols, I pray I'm right. It has to be a Numen language. I could have asked Mavers—I'm sure he knows at least one Numen language—but without knowing what it says ... I don't want to.

"How did you know this was the language of Numina?" The phoenix's eyes flick to me then back to the paper.

"I didn't." But I exhale in relief all the same.

"What's it mean?" Fray puts a foot forward but I touch her elbow, stopping her from getting any closer to the Numen.

"Some of the symbols are sketched wrong but it's enough to piece together what it should say. It says 'protect the Halfling at all costs.'" The Phoenix turns their intent gaze on Fray and my nails become talons. "How curious that it refers to you as a Halfling when I've never heard of such a thing."

"Yes," I say. "Curious."

They take four steps back, letting the paper fall from their hands and become dust. Not because I could hurt them but ... to spare me from being afraid for her? "I'm no threat to her," the Phoenix says to me. "Nor will I be even if you refuse my request."

"How do I know it isn't a trap? That there aren't Numina waiting for me in that place?" That bringing your son to us isn't a worse trap?

"I assure you there are not. I am not particularly friendly with the Gods and Goddesses or my own Creature kin. But as a sign of good will, and because I can see how it fears you, I give you this." They toss a small object to me; my Crea eyes pick it out and track its progress through the air. I catch it effortlessly.

It's a dainty ring, made of pewter I think, with a stone the same gold-green as Fray's eyes set in the centre.

"To hide those who may seek her out," the Phoenix says.

"Okay." My conviction binds the Vow in iron. I've never made a deal with a Numen before but the feeling isn't entirely unpleasant. It's a slight heaviness, a warmth, but nothing unbearable. "Deal. I'll find your son and bring him here."

The Phoenix bows their head and returns to their natural form. "You'll know him by his white hair."

They vanish in the time it takes me to blink.

I turn the ring over in my hand, inspecting the simple design. I hand it to Fray who puts it on at my tense request. I've no idea what I've gotten myself involved in, but if it means protection from the Numina and a way to keep Fray safe, I don't regret agreeing.

But this ... it's one more hint at something bigger than a simple argument between Gods. Real, unwanted conflict is coming. I hope I'm wrong but ... there's too much evidence. With this and what Juno said ... the Numina are worried.

Fray laces her fingers through mine, the ring cool against my too-hot hand. While my insides writhe in turmoil, she leads us silently to her house. I can tell she wants to speak—the frenetic feel of her mind is bypassing the talisman and making me jittery—but she gives me quiet and lets me think.

"Niall?" she calls when we enter the kitchen. "Sorry I was longer than I said. I got ... distracted."

A bad feeling presses against my stomach as my Crea ears pick out the sounds of our breathing, the scrape as Fray throws her keys onto the nearest counter, the swish of trees outside and nothing else.

"Niall?" Fray shouts again. "Miranda?"

Fray's shoulders slump, exhaustion filling her as she breathes, "No. Please."

But when I push past her, running upstairs, checking every room, it's empty as I suspected.

Fray's eyes are devoid of hope when I return to the kitchen, her arms wrapped around her stomach.

"I'm sorry," I say, and she bursts into tears.

THIRTY FIVE

THE DISAPPEARANCE

Fray has searched the house from top to bottom but her friends are gone. The stress of finding out about the Legendary world, about her own past and the Numen in it, of the rest of the mess we're in—meeting a Numen, making a Vow—has finally hit her, cracked her down the middle and let panic in.

I held her for minutes while she cried but now her distress has hardened into a manic sort of determination. She walks from room to room, her steps stomping and driven, searching for clues that anyone has been here, Numina or otherwise, or that Niall and his sister have simply gone home.

I stand on the upstairs landing watching her blow around her house like a storm. There's no sign that Niall and his sister were ever here. Fray's house is as it always was, untidy and homely in every room but the cold, modern kitchen that clearly bears her mother's imprint instead of Fray's messy own.

"Do you think I should call someone?" Fray emerges from the spare room in a rush, her eyes wide. "I left a note telling them I'd be back in the morning .... They should have left me one."

She knows something has happened but she won't acknowledge it. "I'm gonna call their home," she says decisively. "See if their mum has heard anything." Her fingers worry the hem of her shirt so hard I hear the stitches strain and pull apart. "Why wouldn't he say goodbye? We've been friends for years. I know him. He should've called or left a letter—or something."

"Fray." I catch her shoulders before she can rush off again, and make her look at me. "We'll find out what happened." No matter how bad it is.

She fishes her phone from her pocket, tapping a succession of keys so fast they blur. I watch Fray, outlined in the pale light coming through the window, and something inside me softens, withers, becomes unfamiliar.

I spend so much time staring at her, memorising the little movements her fingers make as she speaks, the way she bites her lip as she listens, that I miss the entire conversation.

She ends the call, her mouth downturned, her chest rising and falling fast and I'm filled with sudden guilt for looking at her while she's frantic her friends are gone.

"What is it?" I brush a strand of hair from her face, settling my emotions down.

"Niall's sister," she says. Swallows hard. It takes three attempts for her to slide the phone back into her pocket, her hands are so unsteady. "Miranda."

"Yeah?"

She shudders, looking out the nearest window at Almery. "He doesn't have a sister."

It takes me a second to realise her meaning. "What? Then who is she?"

"I don't know." She pulls away from me, tugs on her hair, spinning to look from one room to the next. Her breathing is suddenly so fast and I don't know what to do to calm her. "Why would Niall say Miranda was his sister if she wasn't? Why would he do that?"

Something he said the night I met him comes back to me; I dismissed it because he was drunk but I should have listened. My sister ... is horrible. She's not my sister.

I embrace Fray as my mind ticks. It's possible that Miranda is connected to the Numen I saw in Fray's memory. It's also possible that she's not, that she's just a friend of Niall's. But why would they leave without a message?

"This isn't right," Fray is saying to herself. "This isn't right."

I catch her hand, calming her down my first priority. I manage to pull her against me, bind her up in comfort, and it takes a few moments but she stops shaking, stops buzzing with energy, and a sob tumbles out of her mouth. "It's all wrong," she says, her voice so thick she sounds unfamiliar. "He just turned up. We hadn't arranged to meet up, or for him to visit, and I thought it was a surprise but his mum said he didn't have any trips planned and—" She inhales another shudder breath. I hold her tighter, running a hand through her hair, trying to figure out what the hell happened here.

"He said he got my postcard and thought it'd be fun to surprise me. I didn't question it because I was so happy to see him but ... he's never had money for a Eurostar ticket before. His family is struggling. They don't have money to spare."

My stomach turns over, more evidence piling up. "Maybe he didn't come by train."

Fray's shoulders hunch even more inward. "What are you thinking?"

"I think something happened to Niall, long before he got to Callaire. When I reached out to Miranda's mind I couldn't hear anything. People have thoughts in their minds even when they're not actively thinking, like static in the background. But she had nothing. It's happened before, but only twice, and both those times were when I tried to read—"

My mother.

"Numina," she finishes. She scrubs at her eyes, letting her head fall back against my shoulder. "This is my fault. It's because of me, isn't it? Because of whatever I am."

"I don't know." I can't lie to her. "It might be."

"I can't—" Her breathing hitches again. Running my fingers through her hair feels natural, the urge to console her raging through me. "How are we—supposed to find Niall when we—"

"Fray." I tip her face up. "We'll find him." But I carefully shield my thoughts.

Fray said Niall came because of her postcard, an object someone Majickal would be able to sense Fray's power on. Our possessions hold tiny residues of our Majick, not much—not enough for a Legendary to read maybe, but Fray being able to bypass the talisman around my neck suggests she has a lot more than us. Enough that it could be a beacon.

If someone were to pick up on Fray's Majick while the postcard was in transit and follow it to its destination... If they can manipulate a human to that extent, to make Niall believe he had a sister, to bring her to his best friend even though he must have sensed the danger ... Miranda must be a Numen. There's no other explanation. No Legendary could do that.

I choke on a gasp. "Fray, where is Niall from?"

"Paris, somewhere on the outskirts. Why?"

And there it is, the conclusion my mind had been slowly circling, getting closer to. "Oh God," I breathe. My heart picks up. Fray has questions but I ask, I beg, her to wait.

Mavers we need to talk right now!

Yasmin? I'm a little busy.

Those people who woke up without their power in Europe? The thing that's doing that? It's here. In Callaire. It sensed Fray's Majick on a postcard and tracked her here.

Explain.

I start with the first time I saw Niall and Miranda and end with the epiphany I just had, telling him every little thing in between. My heart is a knot of tight fear and anxiety by the time I finish but it makes sense. Something draining Legendaries of their Majick in Europe. Niall being French and having never visited Fray before but making a sudden appearance after Fray sent him a postcard—after her power began developing, after I was pulled into her dreams. I vaguely remember her holding it that morning in the Lazy Latte.

Miranda must have been searching France for Legendaries when she caught the scent of Fray's Majick. It all falls into place—she followed the postcard to Niall, dragged him to Fray so she'd be close, and came here to drain Fray of her Majick.

But why leave? I think. Why go without what she'd come for?

She could be biding her time, Yasmin. Fray needs protection.

She has protection. She has me.

Good. She'll need you if you're right, if the creature draining Majick indeed turns out to be here.

Mavers, I say, trembling at this point. What if Miranda comes for us? What if she drains all our Majick? She must know there are Legendaries in Callaire.

If it comes to that, we'll kill her.

My stomach turns over at the thought, the visual in my head. How? We won't have any power once she gets hold of us! All at once, the thought of being without my Majick is like a physical ache in my chest.

We have allies, and the Numina are watching the situation still. If we are attacked, it may force the matter forward, bring the Numina into action. This could be a good thing. It may cut the time of suffering in half.

I don't like it. I'm scared, Mavers.

You're also brave. And you're not facing this on your own. The Red is with you. Bring Fray home. You can stay here until this has blown over.

Um, I think quieter. I can't do that. I sort of ... accepted a task from the Phoenix. He said he'd back us up if we were attacked by the Numina. Or the hunters. Or anyone else who hurts us.

Mavers's mental voice is grave. I imagine him pacing his office carpet. What do you have to do?

Find his son and bring him to you so he's safe.

That's it?

That's it.

He thinks for a moment, uncovering the same risks that I did, but when I replay what the Phoenix said in its entirety, he says, Then you find this boy and you come right back to us.

I swallow, the pressure of the task heavier in this moment. Fray squeezes my fingers, not knowing what I'm saying to Mavers but sensing I'm scared. Alright, I say.

I feel the connection break and repeat the conversation to Fray, softening the parts about Miranda draining Legendaries. I tell her it weakens us instead of leaving us essentially paralysed. She has enough to worry about without this.

She nods, chewing the inside of her lip, trying so hard to be strong, stay composed. She's so brave it catches me off guard. "What about Niall?" she whispers.

"I have a plan for that. You're coming home with me, okay? You can't stay here alone. Miranda might come back."

"Because she wants my Majick?"

I nod.

"How can she know I have Majick? I haven't done anything yet and I've been trying so hard."

I don't tell her I hear her thoughts sporadically or that heightened emotions seem to unlock her power. Today has already been too much for her, for both of us, and that can wait. "Even if you have no Majick, it's not safe to stay here."

She looks at the carpet, all the strength and manic energy gone from her. "So we go to yours?"

I nod. "With a slight detour. I have a friend who might be able to find Niall."

But not even a glint of hope shows in her eyes. "Thank you," she murmurs. "For looking after me."

But all I've done so far is put her in danger.

THIRTY SIX

THE SEARCH

When Willa answers the door she's not wearing clothes. She's in a red bra with fancy black detail, underwear that comes high on her stomach, and fluffy red slippers.

"Maybe you should get dressed," I say as she shepherds us into the sitting room.
"I am dressed." She gives Fray a grimace. "She has no eye for fashion, this girl. Completely hopeless. You are different." Willa pats Fray's arm. "That is a very nice coat. Much nicer than Yasmin's."

"What's wrong with mine?" My coat is a simple khaki duffle with wooden toggles. I thought it was elegant when I bought it.

Willa waves a hand. "No detail. No embellishment. Fray's coat has epaulettes."

I wait for Fray to explain; she just smiles as if my ignorance is adorable. What's an epaulette?

"So, ladies." Willa arranges herself on a chaise longue in front of the fire. "You need my help, yes?"

"Yes," Fray breathes, the soft look in her eyes dying. "My friend ... I think something's happened to him. He's ... missing." I can hear the effort it takes to speak that word, all mangled and thick with emotion. I take Fray's hand in mine and squeeze.

"I thought you could Scry for him," I say to Willa.

Willa gives me a pointed look. "Always wanting something. Never coming to see your friend Willa. Only coming for my eyes!"

"Oh!" Fray gasps, holding her hands to her chest, her canny eyes at work. "Are those Russian dolls? I love those." She peers into a glass cabinet with pasted-on wonder. Willa launches to her feet, beaming as she explains the origins of each particular doll.

"I know what you're doing," Willa states when she's finished the tale of her 2006 holiday to Bangkok. She aims a serious look at Fray. "Now tell me about your friend."

Fray sags with relief, as if she expected Willa to decline to help, and explains everything about Niall and Miranda. It's a different series of events coming from her. It's horrific, a Disney story slowly turning to a Grimm fairy tale.

Willa is biting her nails by the time Fray's finished speaking. "So I am to Scry for Niall?"

"Yes," Fray exhales. "Please."

Willa fills a bowl with water and sets it on the coffee table, kneeling. "I'll need something of his, or something he has touched."

Fray produces a necklace from under her shirt and unclips a silver Deathly Hallows charm. I feel sick seeing it, that physical evidence of her friendship, her bond with her best friend—watching her hand it to Willa is the final reality check for me. A boy has been taken. He's in danger, and he's Fray's closest friend. Anything could be happening to him right this minute.

I watch Willa intently as she folds her fingers over the charm, leaning over the bowl of still water. She touches the pool with a fingertip, her breath held, and her brow puckers as she concentrates. "I can't see anything," she mutters. "There's nothing."

Fray's misery bleeds into my mind. She squeezes my hand so tight my bones protest. "Does that mean—is he dead?"

"Not necessarily." Willa gives the charm back, arranging her face into a neutral expression. "My Majick is temperamental. It's not like Yasmin's. It comes and goes when it pleases. I'll keep looking."

"Do you need this?" Fray holds up the necklace in bone-white fingers.

"You keep it. I know what to search for now. I'm sorry I could not help."

"No it's—" Fray forces a smile. "Thank you for looking."

Willa bows her head, blonde curls wavering. She eyes the bowl and says, "Yasmin, help me with this."

I brush Fray's shoulder in case she needs the physical comfort as I leave her and trail Willa to the kitchen.

She empties the water into the drain without my assistance and fills one of her many kettles from the tap. Though she's originally from Germany, she's picked up the British habit on falling on tea whenever something bad happens. She has six kettles, all in varying sizes, brands, and colours. I've never asked why. I'm not sure there's even a reason.

"You have found the sun to your moon." Willa side-eyes me. Now I understand why she made me come with her. Secret talk time. I'm not in the mood. "Do not let her go, you hear me?"

I nod, the exhaustion of the past week dragging me down, slumping my shoulders. "I hear you."

THIRTY SEVEN

THE WHITE-HAIRED BOY

The Phoenix was right—I do know his son by his white hair. But what makes him impossible to miss is that he's on top of a table in a crowded pub, pouring vodka over his shirt like a Coyote. Fray and I only came in to ask if the barmaid knew of a guy with white hair but he stands out in a room of brunettes and dirty blondes, his slim body set apart from the portly men watching him in shock. His clothes are ordinary compared to the rest of him, a white shirt bright against the dark gold of his skin and black jeans framing his hips. He looks like a normal eighteen year old but acts like anything but.

As he dances, lights converge around him. The patrons stare, muttering and laughing at this fool dancing on a table in the middle of the day, most of them transfixed as bright points of light hover around the white haired boy.

Fray grips my arm and I flinch, jumpy at this, our most important rule being broken. "Is that—?"

"Yes." My palms become slick. Bringing someone back to the Red is one task. Cleaning up after exposed Majick is another. "I don't know what to do," I whisper. "I can tell everyone it's just a magician's trick, that he's some kind of illusionist but...."

"No one's going to buy that. You're Psychic. Can't you alter their minds?"

"I'm not that powerful. I don't have—it would take a Numen's Majick to clear the memory of everyone in this room."

I hear the beginning of murmurs, questions. We need to do something now. "I'm going to stop him."

I straighten my spine like it can infuse me with strength I don't have, and approach the dancing boy. He gazes down at me with a dreamy smile that falters when I drag him off the table by his ankle. His face slams into the table, rattling the empty pint glasses already loitering on it, and he swears profusely. But still his Majick persists.

I yank off my talisman. Stop it! I scream in his mind. You're using Majick in public. Don't you know what that means? You'll expose the Legend Mirror! Humans will hunt us, you Godsdamned idiot.

So dramatic, is his lazy reply. He touches his mouth as he finds his balance on the floor; it's bleeding. He must have hit it when I dragged him down. I might regret that if I wasn't absolutely terrified.

I grab his shirt, pull him to his feet. He stinks of alcohol. Please! Please stop.

Fine. The lights vanish instantly and I slump in relief—only to notice the entire room watching us. My attention automatically falls on Fray and I gasp a ragged breath. A voice inside me says, no, no, no, even as another, instinctive voice warns me to run.

Fray's hands are raised, her palms facing the staring people. I don't know what she's doing but it chills me. I can sense it, cracking through the air like ice breaking over a lake, chilling the air until every hair on my body is standing on end.

"What the hell?" the guy whispers, his eyes on her. "What is she?"

I don't know. I don't know. I haul the white haired boy with me as I approach her, slowly. It feels, for the first time, like I'm not the predator in the room. I might be a Manticore, might have killed, but my hind brain is telling me Fray is the apex predator and I should be running, not inching closer to her. It's only my very human emotions that keep me pushing closer.

Up close, Fray's eyes are changed, her pupils a tiny shock of white in a sea of gold. One look at them and the beast flees, leaving me to face this terrifying version of Fray alone.

She murmurs a word in a language I don't speak and the room shudders. I grip the Phoenix's son by the arm, refusing to let him go even as the people around us drop one by one to the beer-sticky floor. I can even smell ice now, the fresh, sharp scent replacing stale alcohol and sweaty bodies.

There's no question of whether Fray has Majick now. Whatever she's doing is nothing a human could do. I'm not sure it's something a Legendary could do. This Majick is heavy and vast and freezing. I breathe fast as I take another step nearer, my fingers hooked in the Crea's shirt as he tries to wrench himself away—from Fray, from this threat.

The ground steadies all at once, even as the lights above us keep swinging and the glasses continue to rattle beneath the bar, glass crunched on the floor as drinks slid off tables. A panicked sound leaves my lips as Fray collapses against the bar. Her eyes close, her breath coming shallowly. I'm paralysed, infinitely fearful that she's changed irrevocably, that she'll never be Fray, my Fray, again. But when she opens her eyes some seconds later, they've returned to normal: gold and green with a black pupil and an endless amount of fear.

Her bottom lip quivers.

I drop the white haired boy and run the last few steps to her, pulling her close even as the beast reappears in me and growls, tugging me away from her. Terrified as Fray gasps and pushes her face into my shoulder. Her tears soak into my skin and I just stand there, a battle raging within that, eventually I win.

"Did I kill them?" she whispers, barely loud enough for even my ears to hear. I press a kiss to Fray's temple, warn the boy if he runs I'll catch him—with claws—and leave them both to check the closest unconscious person.

"They're just asleep," I tell her with no small amount of relief. If Fray had killed them all ... I dreaded it not for me but for what it would do to her. I know the kind of effect that can have on a person, everlasting and torturous.

Fray hesitates on a step towards me, her eyes filling with tears and her bottom lip jutting out, but when I hold out a hand, she runs to me. As soon as my arms close around Fray, a wave of sobs tremors through her shoulders and her knees give out. I call on Crea strength to hold her up but it's temporary—I'm getting too far from the Crea moon to take advantage of the beast's power for longer than a minute or so.

A man regains consciousness, shaking Fray out of the spell. She steps away from me, stumbles back, and I know that look in her eye. I know it because I feel it whenever I wake up from the Change. "What happened?" the man asks himself, scratching his beer belly.

I don't answer.

Fray utters the truth first, a jagged breath of speech. "I have Majick."

I look her in the eye, letting her see I'm not scared, not now her eyes are normal. "Yes."

"I'm—"

"Amazing," I supply, and even though I'm still freaking out deep down, it's not a lie. She frowns at me. I mean it. That idiot exposed his Majick to humans. These people would have told everyone and soon enough there'd have been a branch of humans hunting us. People get scared of things they don't understand and we defy logic. They'd kill us just to be safe, in case we turn out to be vicious. That's why we can't tell humans about us, why we can't expose our Majick. They'd hunt down every one of us.

I see the moment she realises I'm telling the truth, the moment it hits her what she really accomplished—not just knocking out a room full of people, not just something monstrous, but something miraculous. Are you telling me I just saved your entire species?

I try out a smile. The Legend Mirror owes you.

She manages to mirror the smile, albeit a wobbly one. It owes me big time.

Relieved to hear her sounding more like herself, I reach for her. I press a kiss to her lips, chaste and soothing.

"Not to interrupt but—what the hell just happened?"

I cut a heated look at the Phoenix's son. "She just saved your skin is what happened."

"Yasmin." Fray's whisper holds my attention. "They're all waking up."

She's right. Even without their memories, these humans shouldn't see us. And I made a deal to bring the Phoenix's son back with us. I can feel the binding Vow urging me out the door and back to Callaire.

I tell the Crea, "Your father asked us to find you. I'm Yasmin." Then, just to be sure, I ask, "You're the Phoenix's son, aren't you?"

He sighs, slumping back against the bar. "If I say no, what are the odds you'll leave me alone?"

"Not a chance," Fray answers for me, stern, and I bet she's remembering the stories I've told her of what happens to Legendaries who displease the Numina. She looks the guy up and down, taking him apart with one look. "You're coming back with us."

"And if I stay in this fine establishment instead?" He throws an arm out at the pub.

I say, "You might die."

"Well." He blinks at my serious tone. "I'd better get my coat. I'm Ran, by the way." He looks around for a startled moment, and then he tells us, very seriously, "I didn't bring a coat."

"We're leaving," Fray snaps, grabbing one of Ran's arms. I take his other side and we haul him out of the pub and down the street.

It'll be alright, I tell Fray, sensing her worry.

They're gonna know, she disagrees. The Numen from the memory you saw. If they weren't watching me already, they will be now.

I won't let them hurt you. I let the fierceness of my need to protect Fray echo across our connection. My heart gives a painful twist, and for a second I acknowledge the fact that I care for her. A lot.

THIRTY EIGHT

THE PHOENIX'S SON

Ran slept all the way back to Callaire, sprawled across the back seat of Fray's purple Clio, snoring and drooling. I slam the car extra loud when I get out at the Academy and watch him startle awake, his eyes flying wide—panicked until he sees Fray still in the driving seat then me stood outside and remembers what's going on. I just meant to wake him, not freak him out, and guilt stabs at me. He must have been through something, to react like that.

On the way here, I used Fray's smartphone—rather than my brick—to check today's news, specifically for people with amnesia. People who may have lost their Majick. What I stumbled across instead was an angry red headline on the local paper: WIFE OF MAN KILLED BY BEAST DEMANDS JUSTICE. The wife of the man I killed at the last moon—Wilfred Stirling, 43. His wife Cilla is calling for the Hunter's Society of Callaire to put me down. They usually hunt deer and fowl but a gunshot is just as effective against me as any Majick.

My throat closes up just thinking about it, remembering the fiery torture of being shot.

"The hell is this place?" Ran asks, climbing out of the car. Fray slams her door and he winces. "Can you ... quiet ... shh."

I'm suddenly full of anger. How can he be so casual and relaxed when he almost exposed us. The beast encourages my anger. "What the hell were you thinking back there? If it wasn't for my—friend—the entire Legend Mirror would have been exposed. Do you know what would happen if they knew?"

He squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing his tanned forehead. "Death. And—oh—more death. So what if I used Majick?"

I squeeze my fingers so I don't choke him. I don't remember ever being this angry. "Covering up your mess required a miracle! Do you know what it took to make those people forget they'd seen you putting on a Goddamn light show?" I drag in a breath. "I told your father I'd bring you to safety, that I'd take you to the Red. If it wasn't for that, I'd have dumped you in the middle of nowhere."

"Yasmin," Fray cautions quietly, coming around the car to stand beside me.

But Ran has hooked onto one detail, acting like I didn't mention his father at all. Fair enough. "What's the Red?"

"A group of Legendaries, a safe place." I nod my chin at the red-brick roof over the treetops. "And if you contemplate endangering or exposing them even once I'll go back on my deal and I'll kill you myself."

Fray touches my arm—not to comfort but to restrain.

"You?" he laughs. "A killer?"

"Yes. Me. A killer." Something about my tone makes him go still. He believes me. Good.

I struggle to reign in my fury. I'm not this person. I don't threaten strangers.

"Come on," Fray says, gentle. "Let's get you inside the Academy."

"The Academy?" Ran's expression turns dark. "I'm nineteen. I'm not going back to school."

"It's just the name of the building," I say and he relaxes.

I unlock the gates and halt Ran before he can plow into the Ward.

I text my brother—Mavers told him to prepare a ring for our newcomer—and while we wait, Fray kisses my shoulder, easing my anger. I don't know why I'm so worked up; it's not like I've never been angry before and it's not usually this ... intense. Maybe it's just my Crea side, sensing a rival in Ran for largest predator in Almery Wood.

"So," Fray murmurs against my skin. "Are you my girlfriend, or what?"

"Yes. If you really want that."

She laughs softly, her cheeks a dark pink. "I really want that."

The reply from Guy buzzes through my phone and makes us jump apart.

*

Ran reacts to the Red strangely well. Usually, Legendaries who have been living alone freak out at the large number of us. Ran fits in like a chameleon, talking to Rowan and Fearne about the latest game on X-Box, noticing Vic's obscure superhero shirt and complimenting him on it—using the correct pronouns. It makes me like him a bit more, and question what I'd assumed about him: that he was an irresponsible party boy.

Mavers is ecstatic, showing Ran every room in the Academy, explaining our purpose, reeling off rules and expectations with fervour. Ran isn't fazed by anything. I feel sorry for him. How bad has his life been up to now?

Minnie comes out of her bedroom, a book cradled in her arms, and stops abruptly. Her wide eyes become a glare the longer she looks at Ran. "It's you."

He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes to puzzle her out. "You know me?"

"I saw you in a vision last week." At the questioning looks directed at her, her voice changes—almost breathless to amused and light. "You don't want to know, friends, and I don't want to tell. There's only so much my eyes can see without my mind shutting off the trauma."

"Ah." Ran smirks. "You saw last Wednesday, didn't you? The strip—"

"Yes. That." Minnie pushes past him. To me she whispers, "Why did you bring him here? He's trashy, Yas. He'll corrupt us all."

"Hey," Ran protests. "I only corrupt when the lady asks me to."

"Well don't expect a request from me, sweetheart." She stalks away, grumbling, in the direction of the library.

Min? I ask. You alright? She seemed ... off.

Fine, she replies and that's it. So, not fine then. I start after her when I feel her sigh, and she adds, it's alright, Yas. It's just a pathway I saw, nothing bad.

Right, I say, not really believing that but sensing she wants me to drop it.

Looking puzzled, Mavers asks, "Would you prefer a room at the back or the front of the house?"

Ran shrugs. "Which is best?"

"Back," Vic, Amity, Mavers and I say at once. The front is where Fearne and Rowan live, and they're notorious for being loud.

An arm comes to rest on my shoulder. I growl at the touch but shut up when I see my brother. "Who the hell is that?" he asks.

"The Phoenix's son."

"Oh, I've heard of him."

How?

He deliberately does not answer, and I wonder if Mavers hasn't shown him his register of Legendaries on Earth. Guy raises his voice so Ran can hear. "It's Amaranth, isn't it?"

Ran crosses his arms over his chest, pinning Guy with a sharp look. Instead of making him look tough, it makes him look small. "It's Ran."

"Well, Amaranth, it's nice to meet you."

Mavers rubs his eyebrow. "Guy."

"Ignore him." Amity guides Ran down the corridor with a kind smile. "Guy's favourite hobby is irritating people. It would be a dark day in the Otherland if he didn't antagonise a newcomer."

I stay where I am and let the small crowd follow Ran to his new room, sweeping Fray along with them.

"Amaranth Magnusson," Guy murmurs. "I know a guy who used to go to school with him."

The world is not that small but I don't call Guy out on his lie.

He shoves my shoulder on his way to the kitchen, barely jostling me. It's a strange thing that shove, almost friendly, familiar.

I trail after him.

"What?" He grabs a can of Coke from the fridge and spears me with a too knowing look.

"Nothing," I reply.

His next glance at me calls bullshit.

"I'm fine."

I just get the same look.

I scratch a dent in the table to avoid his gaze. "Fray's my girlfriend now. And I'm ... I don't know what to do. I'm a danger to her. With the hunters and Numina and this new thing that came here and took her friend..."

He searches for the right words, concentration drawing his dark eyebrows down. "If you let that stop you from being with her, properly with her, you'll regret it. A lot. Fray cares about you."

"How would you know?"

"Matronalia," he says like it's obvious. "She looked at you like you were ... I don't know. I suck at metaphors. She looked at you like you mattered. Like you were important. And when Rowan started ranting all that bull about you—I genuinely thought Fray was going to rip him apart."

I fight a smile.

"She obviously thinks the sun shines out of your ass. She knows what you are, she knows about the Legend Mirror. If she can handle that, she can handle everything else."

I stare at the floor. "What if I ... can't." What if it's becoming too much, if I don't know how to deal with it all. I was struggling enough when it was just me Changing and hurting people, but with all this, and a girlfriend...

"Stop worrying," he says like he doesn't worry about things all the time. "Just carry on with what you're doing now."

I make a face. "Nervously fumbling through life?"

"Yeah. Fray obviously goes for that kind of thing."

When he smirks I kick him. I hadn't realised he was joking.

"Seriously, though," he says. "Fray must like you or she wouldn't be with you. Stop trying to change shit about yourself."

Minnie storms into the kitchen at that moment, swearing ferociously. "Do you know where Mavers has put him?" At my blank look she exclaims, "Ran! He's in the room next to me!"

Guy snorts. "That'll save time when you start screwing around."

She makes a fist and attacks his chest. I'm not sure who looks more hurt. Probably Minnie. Guy's chest is nothing but fist-crushing muscle.

Minnie changes tactics, instead aiming insults at Guy which he returns gladly, though harmlessly. I can't believe I never noticed these two were friends before. And good friends—the kind that can punch and insult each other and that just make their bond stronger.

Fray wanders over to me, her eyes full of pain. I put my arm around her, wishing there was more I could do to find Niall. I already asked Minnie to look but she found nothing, just like Willa. "I'm gonna go home."

"Mavers said you should stay," I remind her. "It's not safe."

She shakes her head but Amity caught what I said and changes direction out in the hall, coming towards us. "Mavers made up a bed for you in a spare room," she tells Fray. "I'll show you where it is."

And before Fray can find a good enough reason to leave, Amity has scooped her up and led her down the hall.

Thank you, I say to her.

We want her to be safe too, Yasmin, she replies.

I've never been more glad to have my family.

THIRTY NINE

THE BOYS IN STASIS

A week passes. Fray stays at the Academy, only leaving to check in with her uncle now she's finished college. I know she feels like a burden but until we find Miranda and Niall, all I can do is reassure her with gentle touches and words.

I start to feel better about our fledgling relationship, the insecurities ebbing away when day after day Fray looks at me with the same sparkling eyes. I let myself get lost in the feel of her, in the comfort of her being beside me. She knows what I am, who I am. She won't leave me unless I mess up exponentially. But still the fear of endangering her is there—will always be there.

Guy gives me daily updates on Ran. He and Rowan have started hanging out so it looks like he'll join the duo of Fearne and Rowan. Minnie has slapped him, though she won't say why. Mavers has already begun teaching him all the Legendary histories he's recited to us a million times. And the Hannam sisters scare the crap out of him like they do everyone else. The Phoenix's son is settling into the Academy like he's always been a part of it.

On the fifteenth of March I steal a trio of daffodils from Amity's flower bed and put them in a vase in Fray's room. A pleased feeling warms my insides when she lights up at the sight of them, a smile reaching her eyes for the first time since Niall was taken. I keep trying to distract her, to spare her the hurt, but this is the first time I've really succeeded.

She pulls me in for a kiss, swallowing my laugh when I have to bend down for her to reach. I gather her against me and kiss her slowly, my heart pounding in my chest so hard I can feel it hit my ribs. She grabs my hair to urge me closer, the kiss turning to a heated, wild animal of a thing. We've kissed like this before, especially this past week, but this feels ... different. I don't want to stop.

I hesitate at the hem of her blouse. "Fray," I gasp. "Can I—?"

Her lips press heat under my jaw and I shudder. "Yes."

My palms slide under gauzy material and her skin scorches me. My heart is thumping when she hooks her fingers in the collar of my shirt, drawing me back to capture my lips and my heart in a kiss.

I'm trapped and set free, intoxicated and petrified. It's too much and not enough and I'm shaking with it. And for once I just want to keep kissing her. I'm not scared this promises more, that Fray will want more than kisses.

But she startles, a jolt of electricity shifting from her body to mine, and it's only when I focus on the world that exists outside of Fray's vanilla taste, her earthy scent, and the sound of her thrumming heart, that I hear someone knocking on the door.

Fray sighs in frustration as she neatens her shirt. She leans up to kiss me once, chastely, and then swings the door open.

Amity doesn't comment on my rumpled appearance or Fray's flushed cheeks. She says, "Willa is here. She found Niall."

*

Willa somehow managed to convince the Red to stay behind—she's kind of scary when she refuses to compromise—so it's just me, Fray and Willa who get into Willa's car and drive out of Callaire. After forty minutes she stops the car outside a deserted cluster of grey buildings, some industrial area that hasn't been used in years except probably by the local rodent population. Around the edges of the fenced-off area are ordinary terrace houses in varying shades of grey, cream, red, and beige. It's almost like someone supplanted a horror movie location into suburbia.

"How are we gonna get in?" I ask, eyeing the chain link fence and the crumbling warehouse beyond. It's hunched between three other buildings, one with a tower climbing to three times its height. The sprawling warehouse where Willa saw Niall has patches of roof missing, and most of its windows are either glassless and gaping or boarded up. I'm not looking forward to going into it. But for Fray, for her best friend, I will.

I glance at Fray, worried how she's coping with her friend being inside there and—a shard of ice digs into my stomach, panic as the temperature in the car plummets. Ice creeps up the windows outside as Fray's eyes turn golden, her pupil tiny and blank like it was in Coll.

"I can burn it," she says, looking out the window but it's impossible to tell if she's seeing the fence or something else.

I'm impossibly scared of her. Within seconds half of the fence has disintegrated, enough for a car to pass through. I shudder and remind myself of all the moments I've had with Fray over the past week, comforting and loving and happy, so I don't inch away from her in the back seat.

Willa drives without a comment, a wrinkle between her eyes the only outward sign of confusion.

Fray's Majick isn't Legendary. I'm not even sure it's Numen. How can she suddenly have control over it? Why does it appear sporadically, only when the situation is dire? And how much power over Fray does it have, to need to change her appearance?

Majick takes something from all of us when we use it.

The Numina become physically weak over the course of years—at least if a handful of books that mention it are correct.

Legendaries are limited in the use of Majick—unable to use any Majick that isn't ours and we only have so much power before we run out. If I used my Psychic constantly, I would reach an end of my Majick. At some point, after days or even weeks, my power would just cut out and I'd need to sleep for days.

We don't become physically weak with each bout of Majick like the Numina, at least not in an obvious way but... it's why there are so many young Legendaries here and so few old. Over time our exposure to Majick affects the brain. We were raised on Earth, and we live by Earth's rules—the human brain isn't meant to control and contain Majick.

Legendaries with more human than Numina in their family line suffer tumours, strokes, and other deaths caused by a meltdown in the brain. Those of us with more Legend in our blood are affected differently. We have a long history of going insane, physically able to contain the Majick but mentally incapable of processing it. Forty is the age most us start losing our grip on reality.

Majick isn't free—it comes with a price. So what price is Fray paying?

That fear for her overrides how much she scares me. I reach out and squeeze her fingers. I won't let anything happen to her. I'll protect Fray against anything, even if it's herself.

"Let's go," Willa says, bringing me back to the present. Niall. Miranda. The warehouse.

I keep my hand in Fray's as we get out of the car and approach the warehouse. It's so quiet it puts me on edge, not even metal walls creaking or the wind whistling through gaps in the roofs. I hold my breath as Willa pushes the door open and we come into a wide, bare room. Ribbons of light slice through the wrecked roof and make abstract patterns on the floor. I scent for blood but smell nothing but dust and dirt—but then I see him. A muddy shape on the concrete floor. It has to be Niall.

Fray runs to him, dropping to her knees and covering her mouth with a hand to keep back sounds of distress.

Willa approaches slowly and touches his wrist. "Alive," she says, "but unconscious."

Fray shakes, her chest jumping with little sobs, and I kneel beside her, pulling her into my arms. It doesn't matter what her Majick is, what she is. I won't let her suffer this alone.

She looks up at me, tears in her eyes, her nose a splotchy red colour.

There's something different about me with Fray's gaze locked on me, or maybe with her needing me. I'm stable. "Stay with them," I tell Willa and make my way into the back rooms of the warehouse, my nails becoming dangerous hooks. For once, giving into the beastly side of me feels liberating. I'm not overwhelmed, not terrified of killing someone, not a passive, paralysed part of me watching the beast move, stalk, attack. I'm me. Yasmin.

And right now, for whatever reason, the beast is letting me take control. Or maybe not letting me but—I've taken control. I shouldn't have enough of the Manticore in me left over from the moon over a week ago but the claws on my fingers are undeniable. Hope is a poison coursing through me.

My heart surges as I search the other rooms of the warehouse, my footsteps echoing off the walls, but the building is empty save for Niall and us. And that is strange enough to make my hairs rise. Why would Miranda abduct Niall and leave him here unguarded? It makes no sense.

I help Fray and Willa lift him from the floor and carry him to the car, my eyes scanning everything around us. The Numen could have gone for supplies or to meet someone. They could be back anytime soon.

We make it past the flaking door frame before I stop abruptly, slamming my heels into the dirt. Fray opens her mouth but I hush her. I promise her everything's okay, I just want to have another look at something. My senses are going wild, like a Geiger counter inside me.

Fray grabs my arm, struggling to support Niall and hold me back at the same time. "You can't go back in there alone."

I squeeze her hand and pull out of her grip. "I'll be fine. I just want to check something."

"No." She makes another grab for me but I take three steps back inside.

"Take your necklace off," she begs, knowing she's lost this battle. "Call out if anything happens."

I do, and promise I will, and with her eyes on me the whole time, she helps Niall to the car. Willa gives me a long look but she stays silent. She's been quiet today but I don't blame her. This is a lot to take in.

I head back into the main room of the warehouse, my mind lingering on what I saw. Sometimes it takes me a while to fully process things. I can see something but it might not register until minutes later. When I was walking the perimeter of the warehouse I'd seen something—four blunt lines in the dust beneath my boots—and thought nothing of it. But now I recognise it as marks made by fingers.

My chest tight, I search for more finger marks, but instead when I feel around the floor, dirtying my hand, I find a slight breach in the stone. I should walk away. My senses are telling me I don't want to know what's under this floor, but I press down on the crack in the floor anyway. If something has been done to Niall ... we need to know.

A part of the floor comes up, like I've hit a valve or release. With my Manticore strength, the wide brick tile moves easily to reveal a set of steps. Knowing it's the worst thing I could possibly do, my heart hammering its own warning, I descend.

I'm aware I'm walking into a stereotypical horror situation. The abandoned warehouse, the abducted victim, the mysterious cellar. Still, I'm stupid enough to go on. Or ... not stupid but I have to know. I have to know why Niall was brought here and left, why Miranda came after Fray, what she wants to do with her. If ... if Miranda is that Numen from Fray's memory but wearing a different face. So I keep walking until I reach the bottom.

I know something is dead and rotting as soon as I get halfway down the stairs and my stomach turns over. I've seen enough dead bodies to know the smell, even if this is much, much worse. Much longer dead.

There's little light down here but I see everything and I stumble back a step, gripping the wall to keep me upright.

Boys—teenagers like Ran, like Niall, like my brother—are chained to the floor, to the wall, to anything that will hold them down. There are six of them. At least one is dead, slumped in the corner and way beyond my help.

Heart in my throat I stand there, working up my courage. I want to run back up to Willa and Fray but ... I can't walk away from this. If they're dead, there's nothing I can do, but if even one of them is alive...

My stomach knotting, I approach one of the boys, bring myself to kneel in front of him despite my shaking legs, and nudge his shoulder. I snatch my hand back, terrified—he's freezing to the touch but I can hear him breathing and his heart is beating slowly. I nudge him again but he doesn't even groan. He's vacant, unresponsive. I'm shaking when I touch the next boy, shake his shoulder to wake him, but like the first he's breathing but unresponsive. All of them are.

My stomach turns over. How ... I want to believe they're drugged and alive but that smell of rot isn't just coming from the room. It's coming from them. I don't want to be here any longer, and they're beyond saving.

I scramble up the stairs, tears pooling in my eyes and my heart crashing around my chest. Halfway up, I take one last look at the boys, whoever they are. They sit upright, arms at their sides and spines too straight, and they stare. They just stare. It's like they're in stasis, waiting for a signal or a secret word that will bring them to life. I see everyone I care about in their faces, hear every story of Numina and their horrors, and I can't take it.

So I gasp, "Sorry," and I run.

I don't stop running until I'm out, in the fresh air, and wrenching open the back door. I launch myself into the car, not able to draw a full breath until Fray grabs for my hand and squeezes tight. Her face matches my horror. She must have seen the boys through our link.

"I don't want to know," Willa says without prompting, turning the keys in the ignition.

I watch behind us as we speed away but nobody follows us—no car, no human, no Numen.

"I want to take him home," Fray says, and it takes me a minute to realise she means her house, not the Academy.

"No," I say instantly.

"Yasmin." Her voice is flat—uncompromising. "He's been through enough. I'm not taking him somewhere he doesn't know."

And I want to argue but I can't. We compromise on me living at her house temporarily and pass the rest of the drive in silence.

FORTY

THE SEVERED LINK

I wake every hour during the night to check that Fray is still breathing. I don't trust Niall, whether he's unconscious or not. Miranda could have done anything to him while he was missing. He could already be halfway towards being like those boys in the cellar. Or he could have been aware of Miranda being a Numen since the beginning, but that doesn't feel true. Still, I sleep fitfully, waiting for something to happen. At some point, I abandon returning to the sofa downstairs and just sleep propped up against the wall in Fray's room.

Fray sleeps on her back, her head to the side and her hair across her face. I watch her through the veil of hair until I'm absolutely sure she's fine. With her scent all around me, I fall into a deep sleep until mid-morning.

When I wake, I feel awful, my back and neck aching and my stomach already in knots at the sight of the empty bed. But I can hear Fray in the kitchen downstairs, rattling pans and plates. I drag a comb through my frizzy hair and pad into the purple tiled en-suite to wash the God awful taste out of my mouth.

I find Fray in the kitchen, frowning at the washing machine, a half-eaten breakfast on the table. My mood softens at the sight of her, tense anxiety fading for just a minute. "I don't think the washer has any answers for you."

Fray smiles but it's forced. I know Fray's real smile and it makes one side of her nose wrinkle. This is something hollow. It makes something in my chest ache, whatever happiness I'd had gone. Still unsure about what to do to comfort her even after all the comforting I seem to be doing lately, I pad across the room to her and press a kiss to the depression of her temple. Her face crumples as her arms come around me.

"He looks so small," she says, a knot of emotion in her voice. "He looks so—what did she do to him, Yasmin?"

"I don't know." When I checked in on him a few minutes ago, he was still sleeping in the spare room, his skin several shades paler than it had been before, his cheeks sunken, and his body much thinner. He looked like a dying man. "I'm sorry."

Fray wrenches away from me, covering her mouth, but she's forced to lean over the sink as she vomits. I rub her back, feeling even more unsure what to do. I hate this. I hate that this has happened to Fray, to Niall. She doesn't deserve this.

She says quietly, "I think I'm sick." I rub her back. She's not sick—she's cracking under the stress and fear for her friend. She adds, "Also we have nothing to eat."

I don't want to leave but if this is what she needs of me... "I can go get something. I need to go home and get some clothes if I'm going to be staying anyway." I skim her jaw with my thumb but it doesn't take away the unhappy look in her eye.

"Just come back, alright?"

"I'm coming back. Promise."

I don't know how much more of this I can take. Fray without her sunshine isn't a Fray I ever want to see. I extend the vow of protecting her to making her happy.

*

A tired, relieved smile comes across my face when I catch a familiar scent along one of Almery's trails. I didn't want to be walking out alone, not with hunters and a Numen nearby, and the tight line of my shoulders droops as that scent winds through my lungs. I slow my pace and wait for Guy to catch up, gratitude tied up in me with some other, unnameable emotion. It's something like safety and a little like fondness. I think this must be how it feels to have family—real family, not just in name but in bond.

Guy doesn't speak, his dark eyes exhausted and dark shadows sunk into his brown skin. He just squeezes my shoulder and I can't explain how much that comforts me. His usual aftershave—bergamot and amber—has been replaced by the musk of sweat.

"Have you been here all night?" I ask suspiciously, eyeing him sideways as we duck under a low fall of branches near Almery's pool.

He shrugs. "I came by last night to find you. I stayed to make sure you were safe."

The easy way he offers information he'd usually begrudge telling me makes me suspicious. "How did you know I was here?"

"I had a hunch."

"You're lying." I shake his hand off my shoulder. His wounded expression morphs into shock when I throw my arms around his neck. If he was okay with me thinking he'd watched me all night... "How long have you been watching me?"

His arms enfold me, muscles pressing into my back and the cold leather of his jacket brushing my sleeve. "Just last night."

"How long have you been watching me, Guy? Don't lie."

"Since you passed out, when I took you to the infirmary."

I frown. "The infirmary—but that was two months ago. You can't have been watching me that long. You wouldn't have had time to sleep."

"I haven't been sleeping," he admits with an awkward shrug, jostling me. I pull back so I can look at him and finally see the worn lines cut into his face. He's made an attempt to cover the shadows with makeup but it's obvious now I'm looking. Not just red eyes and shadows around them, but signs of deep exhaustion.

"You should have told me," I say, not sure how to react. Anger? Guilt? Gratitude? All of them?

"You'd have been pissed," he says, looking at the trees instead of me. "Like you are now."

I release him from my hold and pin him with a look. It's one of Willa's. I've never had the opportunity to use it before. Guy actually looks shamed. "I'm not pissed. If I'd have known you were watching over me all this time—I've been scared, Guy, of losing control, of the Numina coming for me, of being attacked and drained in the middle of the night."

"I wouldn't let that happen," he says with enough fierceness to rival my Manticore.

"I know. If I knew you were there, I wouldn't have been so afraid." I pause. "Actually, no. I'd have been pissed, you're right."

He snorts, a slanted grin crossing his face and instead of lighting his face up it just highlights all the signs of exhaustion.

"Come on," I say, rolling my eyes. "I need to pick up some clothes and you need to get reacquainted with your bed."

He snorts again, a coarse sound that's utterly unrestrained and unselfconscious. I like that I was the one who had him laugh.

My phone buzzes as we skirt around the pool and I pry it out of my jeans pocket, wondering if Fray has messaged me a shopping list. But instead, it's a phone call.

"Hello, you," I say, smiling.

But there's no response, just heavy breathing.

"Fray?"

At the tone of my voice, Guy stops dead, scanning the woods around us. I stumble as unexpected Majick rushes past me, but it's just Guy projecting a Ward of Akasha.

"Fray?" I repeat, my stomach turning over, a stream of no, no, no, playing through my head even though I don't know for sure anything is wrong. But then I hear something crash in the background and I know something is wrong.

The phone to my ear, I sprint back in the direction we came, but my Crea strength deserts me and I'm hampered by human speed. Too long, my instincts scream at me. Something has happened to Fray, Miranda came for her, and this is taking too long.

I rip off my talisman and reach out for Fray, and I know if I wasn't sprinting as fast as I can, I'd be shaking all over. Guy catches up just as I'm screaming for her.

The muscles in my thighs strain with how hard I'm pushing myself. I don't want to admit the truth to myself—that something is irreversibly wrong. But I can't ignore the truth: I hear no static from Fray's mind, no background fear, no panicked thrum of her thoughts. There isn't a single scared thought from her reaching me.

The beast finally graces me with its fury and I unleash the monster I fight so hard to repress. My lips part on a hostile growl; I unleash it into the woods, a warning to those who want to hurt us, a promise to hunt down whoever hurts Fray. Guy flinches beside me.

All fear and human emotion leaves me as talons unfurl from my fingers and I'm filled only with violence and fury. My vision sharpens all at once and I know I look beastly, that my eyes are the most golden they've ever been, but none of that matters.

My link to Fray is gone.

FORTY ONE

THE MISSING

Working into a blind rage, I propel my shoulder into Fray's back door and it splinters beneath my weight. My muscles are corded, my body swimming with the chemicals of the Change. I'm caught between forms, impossibly close to being the Manticore even without the moon, and the extra power leant to me from the Manticore knocks over the kitchen table, wrenches the living room door from its hinges, and cracks the wood of a stair as I thunder to the second floor.

I find Niall tied to a chair in the spare bedroom, his jumper ripped at the shoulder, turquoise wool marred with blood. Awake. A trick? A trap? Or a victim?

"Where is she?" I snarl.

He shakes his head, his eyes red from crying. "She's gone." His attention jumps to something past me, alerting me to the Numen before I sense their Majick. I lurch out of the way, spinning and deadly. I have never moved this way before, never known this strength. I like it. I bare my teeth on a snarl, looking this emotionless thing in the face, and lunge for them.

Guy gets to Miranda first.

He pins them to the wall, binding their wrists to the plaster with cords of Akasha. It appears as thin wisps of smoke floating on the air but I know the force of that Majick. It's unbeatable by any Legendary Majick.

Unbeatable by any Legendary Majick.

A thread of fear cuts through the red haze in my mind and I shout a warning but I can already see Miranda's shoulders tensing as they prepare to pounce. No. Not my brother.

I launch myself across the landing for Guy, an uncommon strength in my veins, at the same moment Miranda bats him away with a burst of green-tinged air. I can't identify that Majick—I've never seen it before. Few Legendaries have seen Numen Majick but we know it can best ours with no effort, that when Numen Majicks collide natural disasters happen.

Doubt pushes through the anger in me. This is a Numen—how do I fight them? I'm powerless. But Niall whimpers behind me and that sound narrows my focus. Fray's friend, hurt—Fray gone—my brother, in the line of danger.

I don't care if Miranda is Legendary, human, or a Goddess. They're not hurting my family.

Breathing hard, I jump out of the way of a whip of emerald Majick and pull up against the staircase railing, praying the thin wood holds my weight. I can do this. My eyes find Guy, slumped against the wall but pulling himself upright, wiping his bloody mouth on the back of his hand. Did they ... punch him with their Majick? Fire runs through my veins and I use that anger. I have this—strength—and I have Majick. I'm not helpless, even if I'm basically an ant to this Numen. It doesn't matter. I just got Guy as my brother; I'm not about to lose him again.

But Miranda is playing with us. They backhand me with Majick and a searing pain lashes through my stomach. I scream before I can lock my jaw against the howl of pain, and my eyes water at the force of it.

At the sound, Guy unleashes another force of Akasha on Miranda. They're between us, in the middle of the landing outside the door to Fray's room, with Guy at one end of the hall and me at the other. Maybe between us ... I share a quick look with Guy and we both dive for them, me with claws and strength and Guy with glittering shards of Akasha pelting them like broken glass. They dodge me, sending me crashing into a wall with a twitch of a finger, so little effort, but the Akasha's jagged ends lash them back and they scream their rage—not pain. No, all we've done is make them angry.

My coat is torn open, blood beginning to swell over my skin as my chest heaves with each breath. I sense Majick build, poisoned and wrong, but as I tense, locking my muscles so I can fight or at least defend myself despite the pain burning through my determination, it goes elsewhere.

"No!" I shout, diving not for the Numen but past them, for my brother as green smoke lashes him across the throat. He slips to the floor, his eyes rolling into the back of his head and an angry red welt forming across his throat—but not blood. Not blood.

Miranda grabs me as I try to get to my brother, and their touch is a shock. Not electrified, not superhumanly strong, but ordinary. They're flesh and blood, even if they are a Numen. I might be able to fight them in hand-to-claw combat, maybe if I wasn't in pain and if I wasn't blinded by panic over my brother.

I struggle, trying to get past them, through them, but even as my claws slice through their clothes, their skin, they don't even flinch. They laugh, a callous, bubbling sound that scares me more than their Majick did. Cold fills me, eating at the blazing fury that has powered me, and even as I fight to grip onto it, my strength deserts me. The Manticore has fled, sensing defeat.

My next breath is a mess of sharp edges. Outside, wind moves through the trees of Almery wood and I wish, suddenly, that we were fighting out there. I know the trails, the hidden pathways. But in Fray's house ... I don't think I'm getting out of here. My hands shake, talons receding.

Miranda grips my chin between their thumb and forefinger and my heart stumbles. Rasping with each breath, I try to fight but green Majick has snaked around my arms, binding them to my chest. "Guy," I rasp. I can handle everything else in this house, Niall being tied up, me being hurt by a Numen, as long as he's not—

I can't.

Miranda squeezes my chin painfully and their eyes sear me even as tears drop from my eyes.

"Where are they?" they hiss, any false humanity that might have been in their voice while they pretended to be Niall's sister, any mundane bitchiness, gone. A flat, expressionless hiss. "Your Mist is clever but I'll break it eventually."

I don't have a chance to answer, to ask what they're talking about. They don't use visible Majick, not that emerald, noxious power, but a sliver of cold fire forms in my veins. All the fight drops out of me as that freezing presence shifts inside me. Power is pushed through my body, ice feeling to coat my heart, my lungs, making breathing impossible. My instincts rage and a part of me responds to that fight or flight trigger.

I'm not sure what Miranda intended to do with this ice inside me but I bet it wasn't for my Earth Majick to come to life.

As that cold moves through my body, my own tendrils of my Majick reach out into the world around me, searching for the nearest source of power. There's nothing on the landing, in any of the rooms except for a half-dead bunch of roses. As I drag in a difficult breath and close my eyes against the piercing stare of the Numen, that Majick in me goes further, determined, but my heart sinks. It's going to take time I don't have for my Earth to find a source of power, anything to use as a weapon. And my Psychic ... what can I do with that but terrify myself even more by knowing this Numen's wicked thoughts?

A groan makes my heart trip, hope open my eyes. Not Niall—Guy.

"Guy?" I rasp, desperate to turn and see him, to assess him for injuries, to know if he's in any state to help me or if I need to be defending us both right now. But Miranda's nails dig into my chin as that cold Majick moves through me, from my toes to my chest, further with every sweep of ice. Searching? Is this Numen ... looking for something inside me?

I need an idea right now. Miranda keeps glancing past me, watching Guy. They lick their lips, their eyes aglow. They're excited. That makes the bottom drop out of my stomach. Miranda hasn't even started to hurt us; this is all just the build up.

"How many others are there?" Miranda glances from Guy to me, pushing that frozen Majick higher inside me, past my heart to my neck, squeezing the green smoke around my arms until it bites into my skin. I realise then what they're looking for, what this Majick inside me is searching for, where it's targeting—my head, my thoughts. This Numen is looking for the Red. I bite the inside of my lip, not caring when I draw blood. I won't tell them anything. That might make me a fool, to be this close to death and defying them but I can't send this nightmare anywhere near Minnie or Mavers or Vic. I wouldn't even tell Miranda where to find Fearne.

Miranda squeezes their Majick around me until I cry out from the pressure on my stomach, the wound lashed across it, until the pain burns inside me and I can only gasp for breath.

"Where?" they repeat. "Tell me."

Miranda's hand twitches and I feel a rush of power move past my shoulder to—Guy! No. I wrench, newfound strength tensing my arms even if no claws burst through my skin. "Don't hurt him," I snarl—but there's no beast in my voice. Hopeless.

Guy doesn't react to their words or whatever Majick hit him. That does not bode well. I swallow the lump in my throat, desperate to look at him but not enough to risk Miranda clawing my eyes out or ripping my throat open with their sharpened nails.

"Two of you, and the Halfling. How many more are there?"

I'm never giving them that answer.

I don't know if my brother is okay but with Miranda in the way, I can't help him. With Miranda's grip around my stomach, my face, and my insides, the only way I can get to him is if I sacrifice some part of me. Cool conviction allows me to straighten my spine.

I'm ready to die to protect Guy, but first I snarl, "Where is Fray?"

Miranda tilts their head. "Who?"

In a hollow voice I wish was stronger I spit, "The Halfling."

Miranda shrugs, their nails sending arcs of pain through my jaw. "Away. With more of my kind."

"Where?"

"You're boring me now." The lashes around my chest scream as emerald air tightens and my vision turns black for a moment.

I'm never getting a straight answer from them. I'm sorry, Fray, I say, wishing she could hear me. Braced for the shock of agony, I let myself drop, all the tension leaving my body. All my weight rests on Miranda and it's enough to surprise them. The Majick around my chest stumbles and I take the moment to rip myself free, rolling across the carpet. My head smacks into the staircase bannister, dizzying me for a moment, a vulnerability I can't afford.

Miranda is furious now, and I think they're done playing. I don't know what kind of God or Creature they are, recognise no symbol or sigil on them, but it doesn't matter. Even if I did know, it wouldn't help me fight them. A legendary against a Numen—the result is obvious.

Heat creeps along my subconscious and I flinch at the new sensation. It takes me a split second, with a storm of green power rising around Miranda and the Numen glaring over me, nearing with each heavy step, to realise what that warmth is. My searching Majick is pulsing with a result.

The cloud around Miranda stills and they throw their arms out at their sides. Before that storm can hit me, I act without thinking, ripping energy from the Earth and into myself. A potted plant comes hurtling up the stairs and collides with the Numen so hard the terracotta base rips their head clean off their shoulders.

FORTY TWO

THE EARTH'S RESPONSE

A startled sob bursts out of me as I crawl backward on my hands, the sight of Miranda's decapitated head so like the mornings after the Crea moon that I'm locked in those memories, the guilt, the pain, the self-hatred. I can't breathe.

A muffled sound draws me out of it and I come back to reality with another sob, scrambling to my feet. Niall is trying to speak around the gag in his mouth and I pause. Why take Fray and leave him here? Why gag him and tie him up and not kill him? Whatever sort of Numen Miranda is, they're one who likes to play games.

I shudder. Dirt from the pot has scattered over the carpet, shards of terracotta littering the carpet to Fray's bedroom. I push my hand against my mouth but I have to know for sure, I have to see. Miranda's ... head is a few feet away, black curls matted with blood and eyes vacant, but their body fell into Fray's bedroom. Tremors moving through my arms, I inch over the threshold. Miranda's body is collapsed, headless, onto one of Fray's rugs. Still. Struggling for breath, I watch it a few moments to be sure and only when I am do I allow the strength to leave me. It's over.

I rush to my brother's side, touching his shoulder, trying to wake him, not letting my fears form into thoughts, into words. There's blood on his face, his stomach, and soaked into the carpet under him, but it's not a lot—not as much blood as I've seen in films and on TV under dead bodies. And as I touch him, I can tell he's breathing. Weak, but breathing. It's an effort not to crumple entirely, the relief so overpowering.

That warmth in me that connects me to my Earth Majick pulses, and it feels more like it's guiding me than the other way around. Following a base instinct, I cover my hands with dirt from the fallen pot, pressing the stuff into the creases of my palms. The power of the Earth flows from my fingertips when I take Guy's head in my hands. My heart is beating fast and I don't know what I'm doing but I let the Majick take control because Guy's face is bloody and scarily ashen. The Earth Majick soaks into his skin and I gasp at the feeling of it deserting me, leaving a chill behind. I don't know what it will do to help Guy—if it'll do anything—but nature is supposed to have healing properties. It's a slight comfort.

When he doesn't respond after three minutes I haul myself to my feet. At least his colour has improved. My bones feel made of titanium as I trudge across the hallway to the spare bedroom.

"You okay?" I ask Niall, pulling the fabric from between his teeth. The Manticore turns my voice clipped, though I meant to be gentle. Now it returns, when the threat is gone. Useless.

"I'm not sure," Niall replies. Tears have carved tracks down his cheeks and I watch his eyes fill again now. The beast presses claws against my fingertips and I don't even wince as skin splits; it's nothing compared to the searing in my stomach or the woozy ache in my head.

Niall chokes on a horrible gasp and for a second I think I've cut him instead of the ropes binding him to the chair, but something about the sound makes me look over my shoulder.

I go utterly still.

No. That's not ... that can't be real. It's not possible.

I stagger back a step but my Dei senses go wild and I know this isn't a dream or delusion. Miranda is on their feet again, their skull replaced on their neck and the flesh rapidly knitting back together. Their beautiful face is twisted into a chilling snarl and I go breathless. How—how am I supposed to fight again? I feel drained.

"Where are the others?" Their face twists with each word, skin pulling apart to show the muscles underneath, and their voice is distorted. But they're alive. Why did I think I could kill a Numen? How stupid could I be?

"There are no others," I whisper, taking a step back. I want to run, Niall or no Niall, and I might have done if it wasn't for my brother, slumped against the wall down the hallway.

"Liar," Miranda hisses. They dart closer, one smooth movement that takes me off guard—makes me react instinctively, physically, by lifting my hands to ward them off when Miranda was never coming for my body. Without a single warning, coldness pierces my mind. If I thought the chill in my body was painful, it was nothing compared to this searing ice in my mind. I scream, pressing my hands to either side of my head, as the cold builds. This time I know the Majick they're using.

Psychic.

I scream louder as the pain, the icicles stabbing into every portion of my brain, intensifies. I can't believe I ever wanted to find another Psychic. I try to use my own power to push them out, to protect my thoughts, but I'm too bleary with pain to focus.

The Numen's ice stalks my thoughts with one objective: find other Legendaries, find more Majick.

I block them with a poorly thrown up wall, even that taking immense effort, but they dissolve it instantly. Miranda reads my thoughts, my memories, every scrap of information I've ever absorbed. I can't stop them.

A laugh tells me they've found what they want. They know about the Red. Every little thing about them. The last thing they linger on is the location of the Academy. Tears build in my eyes and flow down my cheeks. This is my fault. If I hadn't got close to Fray, Miranda would never have found my family. But ... I can't regret being with Fray.

The cold slips away but so does my strength. I slump to the floor, wheezing, crying. I don't even have the strength to flinch away as Miranda stalks past me. But they don't take the stairs; Miranda vanishes, dispersing in an instant with Gateway Majick.

I couldn't do a thing to stop them and now Guy is unconscious, Fray is missing, and the Numen draining Majick is stalking towards the Academy with one intention—to absorb the Red's power. To ... disarm us. That's what her objective felt like. To disarm us. But why?

Rapidly losing my grip on the present, I reach for Mavers's mind and push everything that happened into his mind in a flood of images. I do the same to Minnie, Ran, Amity, Vic, the Hannam sisters, and even to Fearne and Rowan.

With the last of my energy spent, darkness descends.

FORTY THREE

THE BETRAYAL

I wake in my brother's arms as he puts me in the back seat of Fray's car. "We're going to the Academy," he says, brushing hair back from my face.

I struggle to sit up. "That's where Miranda's gone. They're going to take their Majick."

"I know." Guy gestures behind him to Niall. "That guy told me."

Niall is a little beaten up, and there's the cut on his shoulder, but he looks otherwise fine. I nod at him, grateful he told Guy what happened while I was passed out. I'm not sure I'd be able to get the words out. As it is I have trouble saying, "You can't come with us. Stay here." Niall doesn't complain.

Guy shuts my door and climbs into the driver's seat. "Seatbelt," he prompts. My head swims as I click it shut and I slump back against the padded seat. As soon as I'm fastened in, Guy slams his foot down and we're racing away from Fray's house, through the winding country roads to Mount Tabor.

I'm sure we break the speed limit but to his credit we don't crash or kill anyone. By the time we park in front of the Academy, my head is no longer cold but I'm woozy and the cut on my stomach is pulsing with heat and throbbing pain. But ... no agony, no searing, dizzying pain. I look suspiciously at my body, wondering how I could go from passed out and drained to perfectly fine in less than an hour. "Guy, did you heal me?"

He swings out of the car and opens my door. "A little bit."

A sick feeling sloshes in my stomach and I hate that I have to be ungrateful for my brother taking care of me but... "You shouldn't have done that. What if Miranda had come back? What if we have to fight them again here? You're weakened."

His jaw fixes, stubborn ire flashing in his eyes. "Was I meant to leave you there, hurt, when I could help? You're my sister, Yasmin. That was never happening."

I frown, grateful and humbled and wanting to be neither.

"Besides, you used your Earth Majick to heal me so you have no right to complain."

He's right. I swing my legs out but it's too hard to step outside, to go through the gates and face this with the others. To admit my failures. To tell them everything that's just happened. But I can't ignore it.

I swallow the lump in my throat and force the truth out. "Fray's missing."

He reaches across the seats to squeeze my shoulder. "We'll find her." He nods at the Academy. "But first we have to deal with this."

*

Twenty minutes later and I feel sick again, worse than ever, but not because of ice cold Majick invading my body. Everyone is outside the Academy, ready to fight. Ready to die. It's not as if we have armour, so we're gathered in jeans and T-shirts and hoodies, Majick close to the surface and within reach.

Guy hands me something—a long sword that resembles glass. In the centre of the blade is a storm of light and dark, fire and fog.

"Is this—?"

"Akasha. Fearne and I made them a few years ago just in case." His brow furrows. "We thought we'd be fighting hunters. Humans. Not a Numen."

"Will they still work?" Minnie asks. She's tied her black hair up, which makes her look severe and terrified. A necklace sits in the hollow of her throat—a square of gold stone painted with red symbols in a language I can't read.

"It was my father's," she sighs when she notices my interest. Her tone indicates she doesn't want to talk about it, which is fine by me. My stomach is thrashing so hard, every time I open my mouth, I'm scared I'll be sick.

The red of the burning Ward must be visible all across Callaire. The sign of an intruder trying to cross, a threat on the other side. My breath is tight but I follow everyone else down the path, flinching at every brush of the trees, every whistle of wind. I know what we'll find before we round the bend and stumble to a stop. Miranda is on the other side of the gate, watching us. Healed entirely, no sign of their head being separated from their head. They don't appear surprised at the presence of a Ward. They look expectant, a smile twisting their red mouth.

It hits me, looking at the Numen grinning through our gates, that it doesn't matter how much we fight, how much Majick Fearne and Guy push into the Ward like they're doing now, Fearne gritting her teeth and sweat soaking the back of Guy's dark vest. Miranda will cross the Ward and come for our Majick.

It's a standoff, with Miranda waiting for the Ward to fall and us doing everything we can to be ready when it does, Fearne groaning with the effort of keeping it up. My heart beats quick, my stomach still throbbing with a dull ache from where Miranda's Majick hit me less than an hour ago. I don't want to do this. I'm so tired, but my body is swimming with fear and alertness and being on edge keeps me awake, stops me from collapsing to the dusty path beneath my feet.

I recoil at a sudden whooshing sound but it's just the wind rippling down Mount Tabor. Its caress raises hairs on my body, goose bumps along my flesh. I keep a tentative grasp on my Earth, the Majick twined around the trees on either side of us, but I know it won't keep Miranda down even if I manage to hurt them again. But I have my family with me—it's all of us against one of them.

Those should be reassuring odds.

Footsteps pound the path behind us and wound so tightly as I am, I spin, lifting my hand to call a vine of Earth—but it's just Amity. In all my fear, I hadn't noticed she was missing. I can see the strain this is having on her, a Numen at our gates threatening her family, deep sadness and something more vast and aching in her eyes. I know that feeling, the bone-deep desire for anything else to be happening but this.

"I love you so much," she says to Mavers when she's close enough to touch him, winding both arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. I look away to give her privacy. I know that feeling too—wanting one last kiss with Fray so badly before the Numen kills me.

"Amity," Mavers says—not breathless or sad but in a tone I recognise as a warning. My eyes shoot to them, to the gates, expecting Miranda to have gotten through the Ward, but instead my eyes catch on Amity, her palm outstretched and a look of deep concentration on her face. My stomach drops. For Mavers to sound like that ... she must be doing something extremely dangerous. Risking her life to keep us safe. I take a faltering step towards her, about to tell her to stop, she doesn't have to do this, we'll all fight together. Please don't sacrifice yourself for us. It's on the tip of my tongue when the air around us gets colder, the temperature dropping by Amity's Majick. My heart trips in my chest when the fire of the Ward goes out.

I don't ... understand.

I stare at Amity, waiting for her to explain the plan, trusting her completely.

Mavers grabs for her but she sidesteps him and takes a few clipped strides down the path towards the gates. My heart races and I take another step, one false move away from reaching for her and pulling her back here, to us, where it's safe. I won't let her do whatever this is, not even to save Guy or Minnie or Mavers. I can't lose any of them.

"Please, Amity," Mavers begs, marching after her. "Please. Think about what you're doing, what this means."

She doesn't look back at him, taking another step but slower, like she's fighting through quicksand, like it's taking every bit of effort to walk away from him. "I've thought it through, David. This is the choice I made."

"What's going on?" Rowan snaps, his voice a crack of panic.

"We're your family," Mavers shouts—really shouts, so loud they might hear it in the village at the bottom of the hill. I'm suddenly unsure, suddenly questioning my understanding of what's happening.

"Amity?" Minnie asks in a small voice. Her face is red with oncoming tears.

Amity doesn't turn back but her whole body tenses and her progress away from us halts. "Laverna is my family."

All the breath goes out of me. This isn't ... no, this isn't right. I don't understand. My chest squeezes so tight it's a physical pain, a continuous stabbing in my heart. "Am?" I ask, and it's only when my voice comes out as a thick mess that I realise I'm crying.

Guy edges closer to me, squeezes my arm so tight it hurts. One glance at him shows him as wrecked as I am. But this can't be right. I don't understand. Amity—this is Amity. I've known her since I was small. She's family. She's ours.

And we're hers.

I try to speak past the lump in my throat but I can't get the words out, can't make any sound except the smallest whimper.

Amity is still stood a few steps in front of us, her back ramrod straight. I can't believe this, won't believe it.

Guy doesn't let go of my arm even as he edges in front of me. "Leave," he snarls. "I don't care where you go or what you do. You want to side with them? Fine. But you leave right now."

Amity nods, one jagged movement. It's a moment before she speaks. "My mother wants me to help Discordia."

I can't manage much more than a whisper. "Who?" But it's obvious who. Miranda—their real name is Discordia. That's no God I've ever heard of but ... why does it sound familiar? Even terrified, it doesn't take me long to find the answer in my mind. I remember reading about Concordia, the incarnation of harmony and peace. A note in her entry—her opposite, the person who killed her. Discordia—chaos.

My stomach flips. The incarnation of chaos. But they're ... they're gone. The incarnations were wiped out in the roman era by the Gods who envied them. Who were scared the incarnations could beat them in a fight, replace them. They're gone, have been for centuries.

And yet ... it makes sense. The wave of amnesia in Europe; that would create chaos for Miranda to feed off. And they've certainly created chaos in me, and among all of us here in the Red. And Amity...

Even as my face burns with tears, my throat tight, a dark, hollow part of me understands why she'd do this. She wants her mother's love and approval.

"Go." Guy's voice is tight. With anger, or with hurt? His next words come out choked and there is the answer. "I don't want to fight you. Just go."

Amity tenses, wrapping her arms around herself. Still frozen a few steps in front of us, her back turned. Why? If she's going to leave us she should just go, like Guy said. My heart squeezes tighter at the thought. Amity, walking away from us. Helping Miranda is one thing, unforgiveable but not this kind of betrayal. Leaving us...

"She asked me to help her," Amity says in a flat voice. I watch Mavers flinch, his shoulders bunching up. "She's my mother. My blood mother. I couldn't—I couldn't say no."

Am takes a jerky step, then another and another, each one surer. Further and further away from us. She doesn't open the gate, doesn't get that far. My breath catches and I'm one second away from falling to pieces as her image blurs and shrinks—not Gateway Majick but some other kind. Numen Majick. The pained thing inside my chest shrivels, compacting into a hard knot. She just ... left. She left us behind. Amity's gone.

How could she do this? How could she do this to us?

At my side, Minnie presses her hands to her face to hold back the little sounds of pain escaping her. No one speaks. For a long minute we just stare at the place where Amity stood. Fearne has nothing unkind to say, Rowan no harsh words, Vic no joke. Even Ran who, from what I've seen of him, always makes light of serious matters, is silent.

Miranda curls bone-white fingers around the wrought iron of the gates and that's when I understand the full scope of Amity's betrayal. The Ward isn't invisible—it's gone. She didn't just leave us behind. She left us to die.

I wipe my eyes savagely with the sleeve of my jumper, my coat lost somewhere between finding Fray missing and throwing together a panicked plan in the meeting room minutes ago. This betrayal slices right past my fear of Miranda, of a Numen abducting Fray, of my Majick being stolen. This is worse than anything.

"Hello, little Legendaries," Miranda—Discordia—croons from beyond the gates. Three metres away. That's nothing to them, to a Numen—incarnation, whatever they are. They're going to get through the gates, wrap their green smoke around us, and drain every drop of Majick from our veins.

"Are you going to fight me?" they ask with a grin. "I hope so. I had so much fun earlier with your daughter of Venus."

They point a sharp finger at me and a tendril of emerald Majick winds its way across the dead scrape of the Ward, through the gates, and onto our property.

All at once the fight for our Majick, and our lives, begins.

FORTY FOUR

THE INCARNATION

I jump out of the way of the lashing vine, green air burning in the corner of my vision as I lose my balance. Guy catches me with his shoulder, his hand tight around an Akasha sword. Where moments ago it was dull glass with smoke inside, now it's lit up in crystalline shades of yellow and red and lilac. I steady myself and mumble thanks but my attention is elsewhere, searching for that cruel Majick that almost hit me.

A furious scream comes from behind me, starting with a low growl and building to a war cry. Sword alight with lilac fire, Cornelia races past me with murder written on her face. My breath catches as I watch her move, every part of her clearly made for this, for battle and war. She's part avenging angel, part hardened warrior as she flies through the air on nimble feet and makes to thrust her sword through a gap in the gate's design and into Discordia's stomach.

I call out a warning but too late and before Cornelia can even hit flesh with the tip of her sword, Miranda flicks her wrist and backhands Cornelia with a strike of emerald power. Cornelia loses her balance, hits the floor, and skids backwards along the path, her teeth gritted against a scream. Guy and I, closest to her, help her up. It's only now, with her trembling body under my hands—furious, not frightened—that I question why she'd run in a blind rage at the incarnation.

Cornelia spits a string of words in a rolling, foreign language. A Numen language judging by the way Discordia seethes and spits a similar word back at Cornelia. Cornelia just grips her sword easily, not in a fist like me or a trembling hand like Vic, and pushes herself off the ground, spitting blood onto the stone like it's an insult itself to Discordia.

"Are you alright?" I murmur, my eyes darting from her to Discordia, still stood easily on the other side of the gate, looking thrilled and amused at Cornelia coming for them. They're enjoying this—that's why they're not attacking us, only pushing us back. They're batting us around like a cat with a ball of wool. This is a game to them—fun. My heart pounds quick but with anger now as well as fear. These are our lives, and Discordia is playing with them.

"Fine," Cornelia replies in a hard voice. She jerks her chin at the incarnation. "That Majick she sent at you was a distraction. She hit my sister."

Alarm has me spinning, putting my back to Discordia, to search for Priscilla. She's on the ground, Mavers knelt beside her and Vic standing guard over them. Oh Gods. Is she alright? Is she...

Guy marches over to the girl, dropping to his knees and hovering his hand over her, using a healing wind to help her like he did when I was shot. Cornelia takes a threatening step towards him but I grab her arm. "He's healing her."

Cornelia jerks her arm free, watching Guy and Priscilla intently, but she lets him heal her sister, turning instead to bare her teeth at Discordia, who's still watching everything with a smirk.

Why not send another strand of Majick at us? Why are they just standing there? My hand starts to shake around the sword, my grip going slick.

Cornelia mutters under her breath in her native language and I almost jump out of my skin as Ran joins us on what has become the frontlines. "What are they doing?" A muscle feathers in his jaw, he's clenching it so tight.

"I don't know," I breathe. Waiting—I'm sick of waiting, my breath held, my heart racing, my life a pathetically fragile thing held in the hands of this incarnation.

A bark of alarm has my head whipping over my shoulder without a thought, recognising that voice, that cry of hurt, and I gasp at the sight of Priscilla on her feet, a heavy Akasha sword in both hands swinging out at Guy, at Mavers and Minnie and Vic. What the...

"Priscilla," Cornelia says, soft. "It's alright. Put the sword down."

But all Cornelia's voice does is make her the target. Priscilla moves inhumanly fast and brings her sword down on her sister's outstretched arm, but Cornelia, even quicker, so fast and lithe she blurs, meets the sword with her own. The clang vibrates through the space like shattering glass but the Akasha holds. Cornelia twists her sword, disarming her sister, and with her free hand, grabs Priscilla's chin.

Cold fills my body—not Majick but horror—when I see Priscilla's eyes. Entirely blank, pale silver like normal but stripped of emotion and personality. It doesn't look anything like the quiet, shy girl I share a house with

"They're controlling her," I say in a thick voice. Will it ever end, the pain? Amity betraying us and now this? Discordia can ... they can control us with their Majick. "It's Psychic Majick," I rasp. My Majick.

Miranda—Discordia—is visibly amused by the spectacle they're causing. Their grin distorts the flesh of their cheeks.

Mavers steps past us, trembling. "Enough of this. If you want to fight somebody, fight me."

No. I reach for him but a hand catches mine—Minnie's—and I realise they must have come up with this plan while they were kneeling around Priscilla.

Mavers's Majick isn't as simple as the rest of ours. He has Creation and Destruction Majick—but he can only make and destroy life. The simple answer would be to destroy Miranda's life force but that would be going against everything Mavers stands for. And there's no telling, with me taking their head off earlier that will even work. But it could buy us time...

I watch him, every fibre of my being wanting to claw him back to safety as he takes another step towards the iron gates. I don't know what he'll do.

"No, thank you," Discordia says, looking past him at the rest of us. At Cornelia. At me. "You're no fun. There's no fire in you."

And with a twitch of their mouth, five lashes of green-tinged smoke dart past Mavers towards the rest of us. I duck, throwing my body out of the way on instinct, my Earth Majick a sudden hum in the back of my throat, my stomach. The wound across my belly screams as I land on the hard floor, twigs and dead leaves scraping my skin raw, but I escaped the bolt of Majick meant for me.

Cornelia yells, pain and fury mingled in the sound, and I know I was lucky. I know what it feels like to get hit, know the searing force of it. Even hours later, even with Guy's Majick having healed me partway, it's still an effort to get back to my feet with the pain across my stomach. I'm breathing fast, panicked now, as my eyes flit from person to person. Cornelia grunting as she shoves herself upright, Minnie beneath the skeletal trees, tears carving down her round cheeks and Ran holding her upright, Guy with teeth gritted and his eyes shut. I can't see where he got hit but maybe, like me, his injuries from earlier are paining him. I check everyone else—Vic, Priscilla, Fearne, Rowan—but although they all look terrified, they're not hurt.

Mavers throws a glance behind him. A signal.

Ran tosses his Akasha sword to the floor and raises his hands. In response to his Majick, cords of light—Lumination—emerge from the air in the space behind Discordia. The incarnation whirls to face the light but that doesn't stop the ropes looping around their chest, so bright they sear my eyes. I freeze, looking from Discordia, trapped, to my family, waiting to see what will happen. It won't work. I know it but saying it out loud feels like a curse.

The lines of blood welling up on Discordia's arms are testament to the strength of Ran's Majick, but it has no effect on them; they grin wider at the sight of their blood, at a real challenge. Discordia shrugs, a laugh under their breath, and the Lumination cracks. They grab a broken cord of it before it can dissolve into nothing and squeeze.

Ran cries out and my eyes shoot to him, my stomach flipping as I watch him lose his balance. Minnie, beside him, does her best to keep him upright until Discordia barks a laugh and releases the power that doesn't belong to them. Ran collapses to his knees, a vein standing out on his forehead, and is sick in the soil beneath a tree.

Shaky, I turn back to Discordia. Not only can they use their own Majick to hurt us—they can use ours. Beside me, Cornelia adjusts her grip on the sword, watching for Discordia's next move. Her face is stony, calm. I wish I could look like that but tears are burning my eyes and I'm sure I look as petrified as I am.

Tense enough to snap in two, Guy bends to collect Ran's Akasha sword from where he dropped it, wielding one in each hand. He looks at Ran, climbing to his feet, so pale compared to his usual tan, and says, "Do that again."

Ran barks a laugh.

"If you don't, that bitch is going to come in here and kill us all."

"He's not wrong," Discordia adds from behind the gate. Their bone white hands are wrapped around the iron, not twisting or dissolving it but just holding, reminding us of how easy it would be to remove that final barrier between us.

I grasp that warmth in my throat, vibrating in my chest, and pull at the trees bending over us, the dirt beneath them, the stone under my feet. I bring it as close as I can without it manifesting into an actual shape, without it giving away my intention.

Deadly still, Ran mutters to Guy, "I'll remind you of that when they grab hold of your Majick," and before Guy can respond, he strikes. It's beautiful, watching lashes of his Majick rain down on Discordia, elegant lightning bolts that snap around the incarnation's wrists, their ankles, their throat.

I wait, wait... my every breath scraping up my throat.

When the Lumination Majick holds Discordia again, for however many seconds it will last, Guy darts away from our group, a dark shape blurring across the path. I press my lips together, fighting the will to cry out as my brother stabs Discordia swiftly in the stomach. The tip of the glassy Akasha emerges from their back, a glow coming from within tinged red by their blood.

Discordia screams—but it tapers off into laughter.

I strike. Huge branches rip from the trees, filed to a deadly sharp point on each end. The spears, hurled with deadly accuracy not by me but by the Manticore's eyesight, hit Discordia at each shoulder. Discordia's howl of pain isn't faked as the deadly points spear all the way through their body from shoulder to hip on each side. A final spear I direct to drive through their chest, where their heart would be if they were human. I grit my teeth against the effort, against the pain in me like something torn, pushed too far.

I wobble on my feet, swaying forward but Cornelia grabs my arm in her free hand and a brace of Aqua catches my other, holding me up until Vic can duck under my shoulder and support me. My head feels like someone scooped everything out, all thoughts and coherence gone but replaced with an ache so vast and loud, I hear nothing except the pulse of it.

Until the fog and pain fades enough for a single, strident sound to cut through. Laughter. Dread pulses through me, matching the thump in my head, and I force my eyes to open so I can see, prepare for the nightmare that's coming. Because deep down I know that did nothing. I exerted every bit of Earth I have, drained the last of my strength, and it was for nothing.

Ran's Majick shatters into shards of starlight. Discordia flexes their wrists and grits their teeth, mad fury on their face now—we've worked them into a frenzy. The spears dissolve to black ashes and Discordia grunts, wrenching the sword from their belly. This happens in a split second, so fast I struggle to process what it means—they're free.

One inhumanly fast jerk forward and Discordia's hands shoot past the bars of the gate, their furious green Majick melting the iron to puddles on the ground. My breathing falters as the incarnation closes their fingers around Guy's shoulder before he can get out of the way.

Vic exhales a shuddery breath beside me, and then a tidal wave engulfs Discordia, dropping out of the air. No, out of a passing cloud. Discordia only laughs harder, and harder still as I jerk out of Cornelia's hold on me, stumbling across the path to my brother as Mavers does the same. I'm forced to stop as Akasha barrels past me, a lightning bolt striking Miranda's skull. Amber light explodes from them in a wave and they freeze, their hands locking long enough for me and Mavers to grab Guy and pry him free as Discordia twitches and convulses from the shock of electricity.

"Shit, shit, shit," Guy is swearing under his breath, trembling all over. His hand curls around my arm and he holds on tight enough to leave impressions on my skin.

"It's okay," Mavers says quietly. "You're okay now."

Thank you, I think to Fearne. If it hadn't been for her Akasha...

Rowan grabs Guy in a tight hug when we reach them and Guy fists Rowan's shirt. I watch them, realising something. They're friends. They step away from each other, Rowan coughing to cover up how emotional he is, but I can feel his fear. It's an elastic band pulled taut, about to snap.

"Rowan," Mavers says. "Be ready to start getting people out of here. On my signal."

Rowan nods, even as some of his terror shines through his eyes.

I look between them, even the smallest movement of my head sending sharp daggers into every corner of my brain, and struggle to pull the meaning from Mavers's words. Rowan's going to get us out using his Gateway Majick, but what about Mavers...?

I try to form his name but my lips are clumsy and only sound comes out. I grasp out with a faint tether of Psychic. The favour, the Vow—I call for the Phoenix. Please, I beg. Help us.

My head swims with dizziness but the connection never holds.

Please, I try again.

I'm sorry, Yasmin Wikke, comes the quietest reply—not because there's distance between us but because they're concentrating hard on something else. I recoil in my mind at the heavy sense of violence hanging over them, the red of bloodlust, the pure white of valiant protection. Hopelessness catches me and forces a sob through my throat. The Phoenix is too busy to help us.

The connection breaks.

"Hey." Guy is suddenly in front of me, his warm hands on my face, almost feverish. "Yasmin? Rowan, get her out of here."

No. I fall only my most natural way of communicating. No. Mavers will ... he won't come with us.

Guy nods, his jaw set, throwing a glance at Discordia as they stoop to angle themself through the melted portion of the gate. My blood runs cold at the sight, at the thought of them getting close, touching me again, that freezing, probing Majick that left ice in my blood. I know, he says, but you need to go.

I won't. I can't. Not without my family—my whole family. My eyes blur with tears when I search everyone, checking no one is missing, and stumble to a halt when I find Amity gone. I remember and it's cruel. I've just got them back, I've just started allowing myself to trust them, love them again, and now I'm going to lose them.

"Good," Discordia says and I flinch back a step, grabbing Guy and bringing him with me. I want to grab Vic too but my right hand has practically calcified around the sword I don't know how to use. "But you can do better. Try to make it a real challenge for me."

We flee, stumbling away from the incarnation as they take measured, grinning steps down the path, looking as if they're out for a leisurely countryside walk not a fight to the death. My chest burns with the effort of breathing, my bones with effort of holding myself up and not simply collapsing to the floor with exhaustion. It's instinct driving me now—not Dei or Crea nature, but pure survival instinct, the desperate need to hold onto life.

Guy throws up a wall of Akasha and bright as hard as the Ward when we reach the open courtyard, the sweet tinkling of a wind chime Amity hung next to the door making me shudder. I feel suddenly as if I've been trapped in a horror film or a nightmare, like if I pinch myself hard enough I'll wake up shivering in bed. But if pain was the factor needed to wake me up, I'd have broken free of this when Discordia slashed me across the chest with their Majick, when I stretched my fledgling Earth Majick and tore something inside myself.

Discordia sends out a slow limb of emerald Majick when they reach the curved shield of Akasha, the Majick shimmering like opal as Fearne builds on it, sweat shining on her face and her hand gripping tight to Rowan's. The green smoke goes no further than the shield, just presses against it and strokes the surface, and I think to myself it might hold, there's a chance—and a gunshot rocks across the courtyard.

I duck, covering my ears against the too-close, too-loud bang, my eyes squeezing shut as I instinctively curl into a ball on the ground. Someone shakes my shoulder and I peel my eyes open to see Priscilla, not shaking my shoulder but trembling all over her body, her pale fall of hair shivering with every shudder that wracks her body. She fell against me on the ground and she's staring with doe-like, terrified eyes at the line of trees that run down the side of the Academy.

I touch her shoulder, not sure where the urge to comfort her is coming from when I'm dying for some ounce of comfort myself, and follow her line of sight. The Manticore, absent of its usual roil in my blood but there in the sharpness of my eyes, picks out the men and women hiding among the tall oaks. They're dressed in camouflage that blends perfectly, but where the branches are creaking and swaying in the wind, these shapes are motionless. Seven of them, all with guns trained on the courtyard. Guns—who was shot?

"Please," Priscilla whispers, crying. "Please, please."

I want to tell her everything's going to be okay but even with my thoughts drowned out by terror, I know I don't want my last act to be a lie.

I meet Cornelia's eyes across the huddle the Red has become on the ground and though I've barely exchanged more than three words with her before today, she nods. Thanking me for having her sister's back, as little as that is when Discordia's Majick is now attacking the shield of Akasha separating them from us with unparalleled violence. I check everyone else—in one piece.

Another gunshot explodes from the trees that frame the Academy and my blood runs cold when a scream comes from not two feet away. Who? Who?

Priscilla curls around her knees, too scared to check on her sister, but my eyes scan everyone. It's the screaming that tells me who was shot. Loud, shattering shouts mixed with agonised crying and then Fearne's voice breaking as she says, "Ro. Rowan. Don't you dare close your eyes, look at me."

Dread pulls at me, telling me not to look, but I turn my head. I need to know if he's hurt or if he's ... dead. My throat closes up. Rowan's chest is torn open, his shirt burned and ripped around a bloody wound that goes deep. Too deep? Fearne screams in fury and gets to her feet, the air around her shivering. Minnie grabs at the collar of Fearne's leather jacket but the force of her rage won't be held back.

Even I recoil at the Majick that tears from Fearne, not an elegant bolt like Ran's Lumination or a precise strike like Vic' Aqua, but a battering ram—pure, violent might. Three hunters are thrown back, limbs breaking when they hit the ground, and more screams fill the air along with Discordia's delighted gasp. I want to do something, I need to do something, but I don't know what would help or make things worse. And when I try to draw on my Earth, ready it, there's no response. I'd need to sleep a whole day to replenish it.

One of the oaks cracks under the strike of Fearne's Akasha and, as if in slow motion, I watch it fall on one of the hunters, crushing her chest under the heavy limb. She didn't move, didn't try to escape, didn't even hear it whooshing through the air, branches snapping.

My breath catches—they're not ordinary hunters. I look for their eyes—it's always the eyes that gives away Majickal control. Theirs are entirely white.

"They're being controlled," I rasp, but my voice is drowned out by Fearne's howling, Rowan's sobbing. But Mavers hears, locks eyes with me, and repeats my conclusion so everyone can hear. Minnie meets my eyes, and I lock gazes with Vic, Guy, Cornelia, Mavers, checking them all as we each check each other. No one else got shot? I expect relief to come but with Fearne taking on every hunter and Rowan screaming, it's no victory.

"The Numen," Mavers says, getting to his feet to block Fearne from Discordia's sight. I don't point out they have unfathomable power and can probably see right through him. "They must be controlling them."

"Can they do that?" Cornelia asks. She's breathing hard, her eyes fixed on her sister, but she holds herself ramrod straight. Unearthly fierceness radiates from her.

"Who knows what she can do?" Guy snaps, his hands pressed to Rowan's chest over the gunshot wound, sweat dripping off his face. He can't have much left, or anything—like my own well of Earth, he has to be close to empty.

Another shot rips across the courtyard but bounces harmlessly off an impenetrable wall of Akasha Fearne has made. The power she has ... Rowan was a hypocrite to call me a freak all these years for having two kinds of Majick. I might have Earth and Psychic but his girlfriend has more Majick than both mine combined. Guilt hits me immediately for the bitter thought. Rowan is bleeding on the ground, Guy struggling to patch him back together.

Gunfire rumbles again, and instead of looking at the hunters, my eyes shoot to Discordia. They're still playing with us. I grit my teeth at the delighted grin on their face, their eyes glued to Fearne's shield, this new challenge. Mavers is a flimsy protection, even blocking her body as he is. I'm suddenly very, very scared for Fearne. Discordia seems thrilled with her.

I was wrong when I assumed controlling Priscilla was the incarnation's move. They were just stalling until the hunters could get here. They never intended to fight us themself, just to bat us back into this courtyard with their Majick. My stomach is throbbing with pain, and that searing smoke is just Discordia playing. What will it feel like when they get bored and hurt us for real, when they kill us? I'm suddenly empty of not just Earth but energy, the drive to get up and keep fighting zapped from my body.

Mavers mutters something to Guy I don't hear and I turn hollow eyes on him. His shoulders are quivering, his shirt soaked with sweat. I stare at him, empty, and slowly recognise the signs of him using Majick. But what is he doing with it? I don't see anything being created, and nothing has been destroyed. I watch him over the tops of Minnie's and Vic's heads, something inside of me wrong. I should be scared but my fear is suddenly gone, I should want to run but I can't find the energy. I've gone ... numb.

"You can't kill the humans," Ran hisses at Mavers, his eyes panicked. "They're being controlled. It's not their fault."

"I know," Mavers grunts. I look between them, confused.

Guy startles me with words in my head. Find a way to break the Numen's concentration. If we stop her, the hunters will leave.

I don't respond. The words flow off my mind like water, not having any sort of effect.

Yasmin.

I don't see the point in responding, so I don't.

Godsdammit, I don't have time for this. "Minnie," he bites out. "Slap my sister."

"What?" she stammers in a weak voice.

"Do it."

Even as I hear the order, I don't care. Minnie's palm hits my cheek but it has no effect. I act as if it didn't happen. The stinging in my cheek does nothing. I blink at Minnie, trying to understand why there's fire in her eyes, why she hasn't realised how hopeless it is.

"Sorry, Yasmin," Ran says and before I can bother to look at him, a sharp blade of pain shoots through my stomach, burning through everything else inside me. I scream, can't hold it back, and the world goes dark for three long seconds. When it clears, when the shapes of my family, Discordia, the hunters—they're shooting at us, how did I not realise they were still shooting?—reform, hot tears are rolling down my cheeks. Ran pushed on my wound.

"Sorry, sorry," Ran is murmuring, but his eyes are glued to the hunters. His white hair is pasted to his head and I realise pretty quickly that he's out of Majick too.

Yasmin?

I groan, the voice in my head stoking even more pain in my sensitive body.

You're the only one that can do this. Break their concentration.

Even if it kills me? I don't speak the words but they pass through my head. I have nothing left. I can't pick my body off the ground; I'm lucky I haven't been shot yet or struck by Discordia's Majick and it's only the fact that they're enjoying dragging this out that I'm not dead.

Please, Guy begs, and through his mind I feel the slick blood on his hands, his acute fear not just that Rowan is going to die but that we all are, that there's nothing he can do. Like I thought, he's burned out all his Akasha, leaving only a trickle of healing wind left.

Guy doesn't beg. Ever. So I take a deep breath and another, filling my lungs, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek. Psychic comes slowly but I'm relieved it comes at all.

"This is going to happen very quickly," Mavers mutters. "Somebody needs to get Fearne out of the way, and take Rowan inside." Guy and Ran share a nod with Minnie.

You and I distract Discordia, I say into Vic's mind, more than relieved when the link between us holds and doesn't immediately unravel. I can't sit upright but I can do this.

Agreed.

I sense his readiness. We're about to strike out with Majick when six animals race around the bend in the path behind Discordia, growling and with foam dripping from their mouths. Vicious teeth and deadly sharp claws, the dangerous litheness and speed of a big cat, and the wicked sharp antlers and elongated snout of a stag. I mistake them for Creatures, for Numina, a sob tumbling out of me, but they're not—my Dei senses don't flare.

"Now!" Mavers shouts.

An aqua dome surrounds Discordia, in constant movement like a waterfall, the water rushing white and blinding them to everything outside it. If they can't see the hunters, can they still control them?

I don't find out.

I flinch hard as the antlered creatures rush past us, the furred flank of one brushing my arm. With swift, efficient movements, they pin the humans to the ground. The hunters, like before, don't react even to defend themselves as the animals use their sharp canines to rip out their throats. I know Mavers must have Created them, but does he have full control over them? Did he order them to kill? It makes no sense to waste energy on being worried about what this will do to him later—we'll be lucky if we have a later.

On the tail of that thought comes an agreement in a voice that doesn't belong to me and a stab of pure ice into my heart, my lungs, my mind. It burns like brain freeze and I scream, pressing my palms to my head.

Get out!

Discordia's voice is a withered whisper. I'd tell you to make me, but you're weak. And this of Venus's daughter. Pathetic. They should let you die with the others.

The words that come to me are barely mine, shaped by the derision and hatred I'm used to hearing from Fearne. Fuck you.

Laughter. You'd be honoured to fuck me. I am Discordia. Discord personified. Chaos in its purest form. You are an ant, no matter who your parents are.

My mother mentioned again. I try to follow that thought to a conclusion but the cold in my head becomes a heavier pressure, building and building until I can concentrate on nothing else. I'm distantly aware of my screaming, of hands on my shoulders shaking me.

I could put every last ounce of my Psychic into breaking the link but hopelessness has caught me again. What's the point? I'll never win against Discordia. And Guy told me to distract them. I hold his face in my mind but it's another that takes over: Fray's, grinning, her eyes lit up, and then pale, face slack with fear as she runs through Almery wood. Away—away from someone, something.

She was so scared when she ran from my brother and sister, Discordia gloats. Do you want me to tell you how much she begged? They described it to me in perfect detail.

This time I do throw my Psychic against them, a hard wall, a battering ram like Fearne's Akasha to push Discordia out. But the incarnation only digs their claws in deeper. I hear, as if outside myself, my screams turn to sobs. It's then that I realise I'm not seeing the courtyard around myself; it's as if I'm trapped in a dark, echoing chasm. My mind? Or ... Discordia's?

She was calling for you, Discordia tells me with glee at my pain. At the end, right before they took her. She was crying your name. How sad.

Anger rouses my beast and I thrash but my body doesn't respond in this dark place. Fury fills my mind, honing my Psychic, but it doesn't touch Discordia. I can't see them but I can feel them all around me, like I'm trapped in a cage and they're prowling around the perimeter. I see that symbol flash, a pale sign in their mind, the four spirals, and I understand why the hunters have been searching for us so aggressively. Discordia has been commanding them. Was it them on the roof? Threatening me? It can't have been—why else would Discordia have scoured my mind back at Fray's house to find the Red?

She begged for you—

Discordia's voice cuts off and the awareness of something else tugs at my mind. I sense Discordia. Their satisfaction turns to irritation, a sliver of fear. I try to blink, to pull myself free while they're distracted, but nothing works. Panic takes me, and I howl, throwing myself against the cage of Discordia's mind, sending static and noise so loud it should hurt but all of it is drowned out by a throaty whisper. Not Discordia's voice, not mine, but ... my own experience with Psychic allows me to figure it out. Someone speaking into Discordia's head.

I focus on the words right at the end, too slow, but I hear, leave the surplus Legendaries alive, they can be killed later. And let our descendants stay with them for now. Our plan can wait. This cannot.

With a wrench, my balance tips—inside this place, this mind, even as outside it I feel my body tense, frozen on the ground. Before I can process what's happening, my consciousness has been thrown back into my own body, my own head, listless, desperate Psychic trailing over my thoughts like fingertips, checking for anything missing, anything added.

The cold in my blood, my head retreats, and I'm left with an emptiness that has me shaking.

What—

But I'm too weak to finish that thought. The last few minutes circle my mind, Discordia's gloating, that other voice, the words exchanged. I'm shaking all over, every bit of me weak, but hanging onto consciousness as I am, it's not difficult to figure out the meaning.

Yasmin. Vic's voice, and his hands on my shoulders. Hey, wake up. They're gone. They just ... went.

With a groan and a wrench deep inside me, I wrangle any tiny bit of strength to allow me to peel my eyelids apart. I need to check on Guy, Mavers, Minnie, Vic, Priscilla—everyone. But I see everything else first. The hunters have been dismembered around the fallen tree trunk, the beasts prowling with pride in front of their master.

We're alright, I think, but I remember Rowan shot, the rest of us injured and weak, and I come up short on my calculations. I count again. Vic, Minnie, Guy, Mavers, Ran. Fearne and Rowan I sense inside the Academy, and Cornelia is sat a few feet away staring down the path. I check again, and again.

Priscilla is missing.

This final horror empties me of whatever desperate strings were tethering me to consciousness.

I feel the tight grip of sleep pulling me under just as someone's hand touches my face.

"Yasmin, it's over. It's okay now." Minnie, her voice soft and raw.

But it's not, I think with bleary confusion. Everything I heard in Discordia's mind ... I throw it at her in a lazy swipe. Discordia has a brother and a sister. They're working under someone, taking orders, and Discordia is scared of them. Discordia mentioned my mother and that voice ...they said some of us were surplus, that others ... they meant to take us with them. The rest of us, the ones they don't want, Discordia was supposed to kill. If they hadn't been having so much fun toying with our lives, we'd be dead right now.

But the worst part was what that voice said last, those final words. Our plan can wait. This cannot.

There's a plan for us. An ancient species of incarnations wants to use us, and with the sheer amount of power Discordia used when they were simply playing ... we're powerless to fight them.

END

Read on for a preview of the next book THE DRYAD OF CALLAIRE.

Out now!

FRAY

THE IMPOSSIBLY TALL MAN

The monsters come for me three minutes and twelve seconds after Yasmin leaves. I know the exact time because I'm watching the second hand jump from spoke to spoke of the yellowed clock face, waiting for her to return.

My heart leaps into my throat when the front door slams open, the noise crashing down the hallway. The only person who uses that door is my uncle but he'd never kick it open. A whimper catches the back of my throat.

Seconds tick by and I'm glued to the spot, frozen by panic.

In the next room a cabinet collides with the floor, the one with my mother's rare vases on it. The moment I hear the vases shatter, my lungs feel fatally starved of air. I want to scream for Yasmin but she left minutes ago. She won't hear.

I'm on my own.

Feet stomp though the living room and into my hallway. I hear a voice as rough as sandpaper spit a word in a foreign language and that finally bursts the fright holding me still. I fall into movement. Niall is upstairs, passed out in the guest room, but I can't go to him—the intruder is out in the hallway. If I went out there, we'd both end up hurt. Or dead. If I get away I can find Yasmin and the Red. They'll know what to do. They'll protect Niall better than I can.

Acting on pure impulse, I slip my feet into shoes lined up by the door, pull the glass patio doors apart, and sprint across the garden into Almery Wood. An instant chill slips through my flimsy cardigan as it trails through the air behind me. Leaving my friend behind puts tears in my eyes but I blink them away. I'll come back, I promise him, I'll come back Niall, I swear.

Ice has made the wood treacherous. My pumps slipping on the trail, I grab onto a desperate idea. I don't know how Yasmin heard my voice before I knew her, when I never meant to speak, but if it worked by accident it has to work intentionally. I've spoken to her, mind to mind, so many times—even if I never made the first move.

Yasmin! I scream in my head.

Her name rattles around my head, loud and aching, but I can't tell the difference between talking to my girlfriend and shouting at myself. I fight to stay on my feet for an endless minute, the wood whipping past me, frozen branches cracking underfoot. My breath is visible as bursts of silver cloud with every pant that rushes from me. And no reply comes.

I howl Yasmin's name repeatedly, but still there's no connection, no response. The silence in my head makes the noise around me starker. Every little sound is threatening. Every dip of the branches is a Numen's claw reaching for me.

My feet skid across a patch of solid water and I drop into a sharp tangle of shrubs face-first, skinning my hands and knees. Pain sinks its teeth into my right wrist, stealing a muffled cry from between clenched teeth. Throwing a frenzied look behind me, I scrape myself off the floor. Harsh knives of cold lance through my arms and legs. It takes three attempts to get my legs beneath me and all my will power to keep the tears pooled in my eyes and not down my cheeks.

Somewhere behind me a twig snaps. I spin, barely keeping my footing. What I see wrings a sob from my lips. Standing in the frame of two trees is a man, taller than any human should be. He's at least seven and a half feet tall. And watching me.

Smiling.

I throw myself back onto the trail and run with everything I have.

The skeletal branches above me become denser the nearer I get to the heart of Almery and I allow myself a shred of relief despite the sounds of pursuit getting closer. I'm nearing the pool, where the trail forks in three directions. Right will take me near Yasmin's flat, left to Callaire East, and straight forward to Den Vale—to my aunt and uncle's village. Two trails will take me to safety.

The dark canopy releases me and I swerve right, sloshing through the shallow stream to Yasmin. I'll escape Almery, run to her flat, and when I find her we can go to the Academy. We'll be safe there and they'll come back with me to get Niall.

Made braver by the barest plan, I look over my shoulder to see how close the man is. But I'm alone on the path. Maybe he couldn't cross the water? Not daring to question my luck for a second, I barrel down the slope towards safety. I must be coming to the other side of Almery but the trees should have grown sparser half a minute back. What if I'm lost?

I skid to a stop, flattening myself against a thick tree trunk, and I scream for Yasmin in my mind. My head pulses with the effort, which should mean it's working. Magic and miracles take pain, don't they? But still I hear no reply. Wouldn't she respond if she could hear me?

I cover my mouth with shaking fingers, trapping the cries inside. This is hopeless. At some point I've come off the trail and now I have no sure direction. And there's no way to cry for help without drawing the man stalking me. Yasmin's name echoes around my head. I push it out, into a void I must be imagining, praying some kind of Psychic satellite will pick me up. The situation might be hopeless but I'm too stubborn to give up.

I think of Yasmin, urging myself to be strong. Yasmin would be brave. She'd find her way to safety without the trail.

I brush tears from my cheeks, furious they're even there. I wish Yasmin was here. I'd feel so much safer with her beside me. I'd feel invincible. I picture the way she looks at me, like I'm a miracle. She makes me feel like a miracle, something I never thought possible, not with the funeral shroud of abandonment and resentment that wrapped around me when my mother left, choosing my perfect older sister over me. But lately I've felt different, like I could be important after all. Like I could be worth something.

If I really am the girl Yasmin sees, I could be invincible. I could do this. I massage the stiffness from my wrist, though it does nothing for the pain, and straighten my shoulders. I'm not Legendary but I can find my way again. I've read more than a few articles on wilderness survival. All I have to do is trace my footprints back to the pool, and from there I can take the right trail and stay on it this time. Simple.

I step outside the cover of the sprawling tree—

A cold hand closes around my arm. I'm whirled around to face the tall man who chased me. My vision wavers. He has two heads. How can he have two heads? I blink until the image resolves into two people. The impossibly tall man and a woman I've never seen—silver haired, wrinkled, wearing an emerald robe and a wicked smile. At first glance she's a kind grandmother. At second, she's menacing and blood-stained. I jerk away on instinct but the man's fingers circle my elbow, bruising.

The pain cuts through my dizziness, gifts me clarity, and anger rears its head. I was ready. I was going to rescue myself.

I still am.

I struggle madly against the hold on me, making weapons of my elbows, venom of my spit.

"Sedate her," the woman hisses. Her voice is nothing like a grandmother's.

The man bares his teeth, each white and pointed. "What do you think I'm doing?" He dips his head and now all I see is the hazy wood around me, trees as tall as houses, and the old woman with her cruel smile and—bloody hands.

Yasmin! I yell with heightened distress. They're going to kill me! Yasmin!

A sting spreads through my neck, just below my jaw, like a paper cut. It builds into searing, molten suffering. My thoughts are empty and redundant, so I open my mouth and howl. "Yasmin! Yasmin!"

The tall man steps away from me, wiping blood from his mouth. My blood.

His savage face is the last thing I see before Almery tilts and blackens.

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Thank you for reading!

I hope you enjoyed The Beast of Callaire. The next three Legend Mirror books are out now! Get alerted when new books release and receive a free Legend Mirror tie-in novella by joining my mailing list at http://bit.ly/1sDAugj

BLURB:

Johanna's memories have been hidden, but when she meets the incarnation of death, she knows he's familiar.

Nate is from her past life, something she begins to remember in shadows and whispered words. Something terrible happened to her, to both of them, and the more she remembers, the worse the memories get. But there are secrets buried in her mind. Secrets linked to Venus and their children. And Johanna's memory might be the key to saving her siblings.

This book is New Adult and may not be suitable for younger readers. Contains minor spoilers for The Legend Mirror books three and four.

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Please take a moment to recommend this book on the retail site you purchased from, or on Goodreads, Twitter, or your blog! As an indie author, I rely on reviews and word of mouth to get my books into the hands of readers, and even the smallest, one-line review means a lot.

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Also by Saruuh Kelsey

The Lux Guardians series

A Compilation of Side Stories

Under (Novella)

The Forgotten

The Wandering

The Legend Mirror series

The Beast of Callaire

The Dryad of Callaire

The Powers of Callaire

The Divine of Callaire

Non-series

Love In The Gilded Age

Wicked Song

http://saruuhkelsey.weebly.com/

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A Guide To The Beings Of

THE LEGEND MIRROR

NUMEN

These ancient beings can be classified as one of two categories: Gods and Creatures. These are a species, like human or canine.

GODS (e.g. Juno, Jupiter, Venus)

How mythological? The original Gods the Romans worshipped.

Magic? Enough to cause a world war.

Dangerous? Hella.

CREATURES (e.g. the Manticore, the Phoenix)

How mythological? The original Creatures of folklore and bedtime stories.

Magic? Enough to Change forms at will and tear through armies of Legendaries.

Dangerous? Hella.

LEGENDARY

Legendaries are the descendants of Numina, and can be classified as one of two categories depending on how much Legend is in their DNA. These are also a species.

How mythological? Pretty mythical.

Human DNA? None at all.

Magic? If they have God ancestors, it's very likely.

Do they Change form? If they have Creature ancestors, it's very likely.

Dangerous? About as dangerous as a lion.

Breed of Legendary

Depending on what Numina ancestors a Legendary has, they can belong to one of two (or both!) of the following breeds. Returning to the canine example, in the way a dog might be a Labrador or a Poodle. a Legendary might be Dei or Crea.

Example: the child of a human and a Legend-Blood descendant of Mars would be a Cross-Blood Dei because 1) human and 2) God. Things get tricky when someone is a descendant of a God and a Creature—for example, the child of a Legend-Blood descendant of Juno and a Legend-Blood descendant of the Phoenix would be a Legend-Blood Crea and Dei (like Yasmin Wikke!)

DEI (e.g. Minnie, Guy, Mavers)

Descended from Gods? Yep.

Descended from Creatures? Nope.

Can be either Legend- or Cross-Blood? Yep.

Magic? Yes, although Cross-Bloods with mostly human DNA will only have weak Majick— for example, those with Aqua Majick could only influence water temperature, instead of being able to manipulate water into any form like most Legend-Bloods with Aqua.

CREA (e.g. Ran, Willa, Vic)

Descended from Gods? Nope.

Descended from Creatures? Yep.

Can be either Legend- or Cross-Blood? Yep.

Magic? Extremely rare, and only ever elemental Majick connected to their location of Change. If they change near the sea, they'd most likely develop Aqua Majick, for example. Majick in a Crea only ever occurs when the Legendary has a God ancestor.

