After I’d taken my last bite, both of our phones buzzed at the same time. We grabbed them. I pulled up the message, my heart sinking when I read Dr. Garriso’s response.
“He doesn’t recognize it,” I said. “At all.”
“Florence did.” Roarke met my gaze. His was dark. Full of questions. “But she can’t read it.”
“What language is it?” It was a long shot, but maybe there was a Google translate or something.
“It’s a dead demon language. She doesn’t know which.”
“What?” I dropped my phone onto the table. “I’m supposed to know an ancient demon language?”
“Apparently.”
Damn. “That’s not good.”
“It’s strange, that’s certain. Are you sure you don’t know anything about your past?”
“Nothing.” I rubbed my forehead. “What are we going to do? How do we read it if everyone who knows the language is dead?”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew. Dead.
Death couldn’t stop me.
“I think you know what to do,” Roarke said. He was on the same page.
“Yeah. But can I? What about the block on my mind that Cassandra mentioned?”
“That gift is an inherent one, so you can still get around it. If you try hard enough.”
He was right. The experiment with the A.J. Goddard hadn’t gone well. But I had brought it back.
And the person who had written this map had a message for me. If only I could talk with them. Even if we didn’t speak the same language, it was better than nothing. We could figure it out.
“I can try,” I said.
“Do you want to try now?”
I nodded, then pushed back from the table. “In the living room. There’s more space.”
I grabbed the map from where it sat on the counter and led the way into the mini ski lodge that Roarke called a living room. He’d built a fire while I was in the shower, and it crackled away merrily in the stone hearth. Comfortable couches and a massive coffee table were crouched in front of it.
I set the map on the coffee table and took a seat in front of it. Roarke took the chair to my left. It all looked so normal, with the exception of the fact that I was about to bring back the dead.
The squiggles on the map stared up at me, daunting.
I could do this. The shipwreck had been practice, and I’d succeeded there. Kinda. Whatever block was over my magic, I could get around it sometimes. Cassandra said I might be getting stronger.
So I’d have to try to be strong.
With that in mind, I rubbed my remaining lucky necklace for luck and then knocked on my head for good measure.
I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath, focusing on the hum of magic within me. When the voice of Horatio Penderren echoed in my head, telling me that no one had ever truly mastered this gift before, I pushed it aside. This was harder than anything I’d ever tried before, since I wasn’t technically in the place where the map had been created.
Since the visualization trick had worked last time, I tried it again. My magic formed as a dim orb of light in my mind. I reached for it, straining. After a moment, my fingertips itched as if they were close. I tried to picture what the scene had looked like when this scroll had first been created. Some supernatural had sat down and left me a message.
The image grew in my mind, stronger and brighter. Magic hummed in the air. The space around the map shimmered slightly, as if something were trying to come forward.
My heart raced with the effort, and sweat broke out on my skin. My magic still felt wild, uncontrollable, but I was directing it in the right way.
Something was happening. The air was definitely shimmering.
Then a wall slammed down in my mind, crushing the orb of light that had symbolized my magic. The air around the map stopped shimmering. My magic died on the air, leaving it still and dead.
I collapsed back on the couch, panting and exhausted.
The cozy fire-lit scene was just as normal as it had been before I’d started, much to my dismay. Tears prickled at my eyes. Embarrassed, I blinked them back, determined not to cave, and looked at Roarke.
The sympathy on his face just made my eyes prickle worse. I wouldn’t let the tears escape, though. They stayed stuck in my eyeballs, right where they belonged.
“It’s not easy,” Roarke said.
“No.” Thankfully, my voice was firm. “But it’s necessary. What kind of Guardian am I if I can’t do what’s necessary?”
This magic would kill me eventually. I wouldn’t even have a chance to figure out what it meant to be Guardian. Without any control, demons would find me. One day, in such great numbers that I couldn’t protect myself. Maybe I’d bring others down with me. More than likely, I would.
“You can do it, Del. We just need to find a way.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I’m serious. Just because you failed now, doesn’t mean you will always fail. Sometimes we try our best at the most important thing we will ever do, and still we fail.”
My gaze snapped to him. There was first-hand knowledge in his voice. “What do you mean? What did you fail at?”
He shifted, his gaze suddenly blank.
“Does it have anything to do with your brother? Is that who Horatio tried to help you with?” I couldn’t help but poke, wanting to know now more than ever. Needing to know.
Roarke frowned. “This is the second time you’ve asked that.”
“And the second time you haven’t answered.”
“I told you not to pry. Not everything is your business.”
But it was. If he’d really turned his brother in, it was pretty freaking relevant.
“I really can’t talk about it.” Roarke’s voice was heavy.
“No, you won’t.”
“Maybe. But that doesn’t change the fact that I want you to succeed. And that I understand the failures that can be had on the path to success.” His gaze was sincere. He meant what he was saying. He couldn’t be that good at faking it. “You can do this, Del.”
I sighed. Odds were strong that he was a good guy, right? I’d thought so countless times.
But he’d turned his brother in to the Order, that dark little voice inside of me said.
Shut up, you.
I had bigger problems than worrying about Roarke. True, he knew my secret and could turn me in. But I just had to trust him for now and fight my own stupid instincts to blow things up that seemed too good to be true. Because I was currently facing a seemingly insurmountable problem.
All I could do was focus on that and try.
The dream came in fits and starts, feeling so real that I knew it had happened before.
I stood in the middle of a circular room. Windows covered the walls, allowing a view of mountains rolling into the distance. The tower was an older part of the castle, the place where I spent most of my time.
Alone.
The sword I gripped in my hand hung limply, pointed toward the ground. Blisters stung my fingers and palms, right where the hilt of the sword rubbed. The blade was small, like me, a child’s practice weapon.
Hopelessness welled inside of me. No matter how hard I tried to learn, still I failed.
I was clumsy and inept, capable of only the most rudimentary moves.
How did a girl like me, child of such a powerful family, do so poorly with a skill I needed to learn?