Of sorts.
The room was covered with wall-to-wall books, the few tables stacked with piles of tomes taller than she could see over. Bookshelves were placed randomly throughout the room, making it difficult to determine its size. Dust covered everything, small trails in the grime, letting her know to beware of bugs and their big brothers if the size of the imprints were any indication. The books were molding on the shelves.
Moss and vines trailed over the rusted and broken railings on the second floor, and she was surprised to see a number of withered and twisted trees occupied the room.
She turned to see a figure hunched over a desk, flipping pages of an ancient book three inches thick, and it took her a few seconds to recognize the figure. “Ward?”
She rushed forward and grabbed his arm. “Have you found any of the others?”
“I have not looked for them.” He lifted his head for a few seconds, his brows lowered in confusion, before going back to reading his book. “The men are a distraction when you should be focusing on eradicating the fog. Maybe it’s best they remain gone for a while.”
Morgan jerked back at his blunt answer, completely flabbergasted by his single-minded focus on the mission. “You’re a giant ass.”
She didn’t know why she didn’t realize it sooner.
“Explain.”
“We wouldn’t have made it this far without my team. While they might be a distraction, they are needed.” She shook her head, unable to explain herself properly. “I need them.”
Ward cocked his head, clearly not convinced, but begrudgingly pointed over his shoulder. “Your Atlas is over there somewhere.”
Morgan waited to see if he was bullshitting her, then took off at a run. Atlas had been tossed haphazardly across an ancient, undersized couch so moth-eaten, she could no longer tell what kind of fabric covered it. His leg was half on the floor, his arm over the back, his head hung awkwardly forward to rest on his chest.
The position gave her a clear view of his ravaged back. Skin had begun to grow back, the edges waxy, but the bones of his ribs and spine could be seen clearly. Her stomach rolled, and she sat at the edge of the couch and cupped his face.
He groaned, opening his bleary green eyes, blinking a few times before they focused on her face. He grabbed her elbow, brushing his thumb reverently over his mark on the underside of her arm. “Beautiful.”
She shivered, never realizing her skin could be so sensitive, the simple touch leaving every inch of her skin sensitized and craving more. It was the first time he voluntarily reached out to her. Uncomfortable at the flood of emotion, she cleared her throat and grabbed his hand.
As much as she regretted pulling away, now was not the time.
“Tell me how to heal you.”
Atlas didn’t answer, grunting as he straightened, and she scowled down at him. “Stop moving.”
“I’ll be fine.” He was a piss-poor liar, not even bothering to meet her eyes when he spoke.
“Put your hands on his shoulders.”
Morgan jumped at the unexpected voice, and whirled to find Ward standing behind her with an annoyed expression. “What?”
“If you want to heal him, put your hands on his shoulders.”
A surge of excitement shot through her at the chance to finally learn how to use her magic and help Atlas at the same time. She did as directed, ignoring the way Atlas stiffened when Ward neared. “What do I need to do?”
“Focus on where you store your magic and call it forward.”
Morgan eyed him suspiciously, suddenly nervous, remembering the last time she tried to heal herself and the crippling pain that followed. Her magic usually rose in times of trouble, guided by her instinct alone. A glance down at Atlas’s back convinced her to try again.
She closed her eyes, then called the magic from her bones. It rose sluggishly, as if rousing from someplace deep inside, the runes on her back burning cold as magic swept through her body like a wildfire.
“Everyone’s magic is different. Some can call lightning, others can command animals. You need to find what connects you to your magic. That’s how you can control it.”
Morgan expected answers, not a bunch mystical mumbo jumbo. “What the hell? I thought you were going to help me.”
If she hadn’t been struggling to contain her magic, she would’ve punched him. “My greatest magical talent is that I’m immune to magic.” She huffed in exasperation, unable to hold back her sarcasm. “How is that supposed to help?”
He appeared intrigued by her answer, but shook his head. “While that’s interesting, it’s not magic. What happened the last time you actually used magic?”
Morgan snorted, the harsh memories bubbling to the surface. “I was chained to an altar, bleeding to death, being sacrificed to build a bridge between realms. I broke free, ripped open a portal to the void, and sucked the bad guys out of the room, then used the last of my blood to save the life of…” She cleared her throat, shoving away the surge of unwanted emotions. “And saved those that I could.”
His eyebrows rose, rubbing a hand along his jaw as he studied her. He glanced around the room, then grabbed an ancient letter opener that had seen better days off a nearby desk. “Hold out your hand.”
She eyed the dull blade suspiciously, not moving.
Ward shrugged. “Do you want to help him or not?”
Heaving a sigh of pure frustration, she thrust out her hand.
“Morgan, don’t.” Atlas grabbed for her arm, but Ward was faster, slashing the knife across her palm.
Blood welled up from the gash, and she instinctively curled her fingers into a fist over the wound. Ward grabbed her wrist from Atlas, dragging her arm until it was over Atlas’s back, then squeezed her fist. She sucked in a harsh breath, resisting the urged to kick back at him, watching drops of her blood speckle Atlas’s back.
“Now, concentrate on what you want done.” Ward released her and wiped the blade off on his pant leg, then tossed it back onto the desk.
Morgan nodded, lifted her hands, feeling a bit foolish, but did as directed.
Heal.
She waited, not daring to breathe as she stared at his exposed back, not sure what she was expecting to happen.
But nothing, wasn’t it.
A pang of disappointment shot through her, and she felt gutted by her failure. She hadn’t realized how much finally being able to use her magic meant to her.
“Again.” Ward’s voice was hard. “Focus.”
Morgan barely bit back a growl of frustration. Her magic continued to build under her skin until the pressure made her body feel too small.
“Think of your gift as an extension of yourself. It doesn’t have a mind of its own. It’s not good or evil. It’s a tool. One you control like any weapon. You can use it to either destroy or heal.”
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know.” She threw up her hands in frustration. “How do I release the magic without having it rip me to shreds in the process?”
“Magic needs to have a focus for it to manifest. Watch.” Ward waved a hand, and the book on the desk flipped open, pages flapping until it settled on an old picture of a witch casting a spell.
“Focus.” Morgan narrowed her eyes on the picture as the magic churned under her skin, the markings on her skin growing heavier.
The runes!
They focused magic when a witch wasn’t strong enough.
She blew out a heavy breath, then closed her eyes, lifting her hand until her fingertips hovered over his back.
Heal.
To her surprise, magic snapped and crackled down her arms, her fingers moving into a complicated design similar to the runes etched into the flesh of her back. She opened her eyes to see a ghostly symbol like smoke dance in the air in front of her.