Hidden: House of Night: Book 10

and I’ll be there soon.”
    “Okie dokie,” Stevie Rae said.
    I watched the three of them walk off. I could hear Kramisha asking Shaylin about her color, and before the kid could answer her, she was already explaining to Shaylin that there was no damn way her color could be any kind of orange ’cause she didn’t like her no orange. Shaylin was looking confused but interested. Stevie Rae looked thoughtful and determined, like she was trying to reflect on the outside the leadership she was working on on the inside.
    Me? I imagined if you put a mirror up to me I’d look confused and tired and see that my mascara was clumping and my hair was frizzing.
    I wanted to go with my friends and help them get the stables cleaned up. I wanted to find Stark and have him hold my hand and tease me about over-worrying and Internet health symptom googling. Mostly I wanted to forget about the stupid Seer Stone around my neck and focus on something that made more sense—like hateful red fledglings and homework. But I knew Thanatos had been right. We would need all of our gifts to have a chance at even just keeping Darkness at bay. So instead of following my friends, I walked a different path. I cleared my mind as much as I could, and let my instincts guide me. When it was obvious where my feet were leading me, I whispered, “Spirit, please come to me. Help me not to be too afraid.” The element I felt most comfortable with soothed my fear, so that by the time I was standing before the shattered oak tree, it was like my emotions were wrapped in a soft, warm blanket.
    I needed the comfort blanket. This place scared me. Professor Nolan had been killed here. Stevie Rae had almost been killed here. Kalona had ripped from the earth here. Jack—poor sweet Jack—had died here.
    My gut had taken me here. Worse, my Seer Stone had started to radiate heat.
    Yep,
Ithought.
Like Kramisha said, following your gut can cause a shit ton of trouble.
I sighed and admitted the truth my instinct had followed—if there’s old magick at the House of Night, this was an excellent place for it to be hiding. Sgiach had told me that old magick was powerful. It was also unpredictable and dangerous. I remembered her explaining that how it manifested had a lot to do with the Priestess who had called it to her.
    So, what did that mean for me? What kind of Priestess was I becoming?
    I sighed.
A confused, crappy one who didn’t get enough sleep
.
    One with potential,
drifted through my mind.
    One who doesn’t know enough,
I mentally countered with.
    One who needs to believe in herself,
the wind whispered to me.
    One who needs to quit screwing up,
my mind insisted.
    One who needs to believe in her Goddess.
    And that stopped my mental battle.
    “I do believe in you, Nyx. I always will.” Resolutely, I pulled the warm Seer Stone from under my T-shirt, took a deep breath, lifted it, and stared through the little Lifesaver-like hole at the broken, battered oak tree.
    For a second nothing happened. I squinted, and the tree was just a messed-up old tree. I started to relax and, typically, that’s when all hell broke loose.
    From the center of the shattered trunk an ugly, terrible whirling vortex of shadows emerged. Within the whirlpool I could see horrible creatures with twisted bodies covered in skin that was mottled, as if they were rotting from disgusting diseases. Their eyes were cavernous sockets. Their mouths were sewn shut. I could smell them. It was a stink like old roadkill mixed with a backed-up toilet. I gagged and must have made a retching sound, because as a group, they turned their sightless faces to me. Their long, skeletal fingers reached toward me.
    “No! Stop!” Spirit’s comfort was shattered. I was paralyzed by fear.
    And then from the very center of the vortex a beautiful, full moon-colored light flashed up, burning the horrid creatures into nothingness and knocking me backward on my butt. I dropped the Seer Stone, severing my link to the old magick. As I blinked and gasped, the tree became the tree again. Old and creepy, but mundane and broken.
    Not caringabout Thanatos or Death’s commands I scrambled to my feet and ran like hell.
    “I’m not crazy. It’s my life that is crazy. I’m not crazy. It’s my life that is crazy …” Between panting breaths I spoke the words like a mantra, over and over to myself, trying to find my normal—my center, or even just a small measure of calm, but my heartbeat was pounding so loud I could