Blind Warrior (The Weavers Circle #3) - Jocelynn Drake Page 0,38

made a sort of strangled noise. “Huh?”

“I know how it sounds, but it’s true. My brothers and I are something called Weavers and we have magic to help stop the creatures—we call them pestilents—from destroying our world.”

The couch squeaked as Cort shifted and stood up. “Magic? Are you kidding me with this? How am I supposed to believe that?”

“You saw fire come out of Lucien’s hands. How would you explain it?”

Cort’s footsteps pounded the floor as he paced. “This is crazy. But I don’t know what else to think because what I saw was definitely some kind of magic. But just saying that even sounds nuts.”

Grey listened to him pace, his heart in his throat. He would be reacting the same way if he’d come into this situation like Cort had. Everything coming out of his mouth sounded fantastical—even to him—and he was used to all this. He had to get Cort to believe him. Hell, the man could just call the fucking police, or he could leave, and Grey wanted him around.

Cort’s sudden laugh held a note of hysteria. “Guess that explains the moving vines and sucking sand that swallowed the one guy whole.”

“It wasn’t a guy, I promise. We don’t kill humans, only pestilents.” He thought about the people who were enthralled by the pestilents and hoped they wouldn’t ever have to kill them. And he would have liked to have seen that sand-sucking thing. Clay’s powers were always so fun to watch.

Cort’s footsteps stopped. “So, you have what? Superpowers?”

Grey nodded. “I’m the Soul Weaver, and I have the power to draw energy from human souls. I can read auras, wipe memories, and see past lives. I can sometimes hear thoughts.”

Cort was silent for a moment before he gasped. “Wait, you can read my mind?”

Grey shook his head. “No, not yours. You’re completely blank to me. But I normally only hear strong thoughts when people are upset.” Or horny, he thought, but he kept that to himself. “I didn’t even hear you out on that beach. It’s weird, actually. But then, my powers have been mostly muted since I lost my sight. The two are tied together.”

“Wow.” Cort sat back down. “Then I really did see Lucien throwing fire. I’m not losing my mind.”

“He’s the Fire Weaver, yes. Clay is the Earth Weaver, and Baer is Animal. He can shift into any animal he wants and also compel other animals.”

Cort got up and started pacing again. It was like he couldn’t stay still. “And that was a giraffe in your backyard the other day.”

Grey couldn’t help the small grin that stretched his lips. “Probably.”

“And Wiley talked about actual spell books. I thought you guys were a little crazy, but this is something even I couldn’t have dreamed up. This is a lot to take in. I’d say I don’t believe it, but I saw actual vines creeping along the sand to attack those—”

“Pestilents,” Grey supplied. “I promise, they aren’t like us, and they’re nasty and evil.”

Cort took a loud breath and blew it out. “What do they want?”

“They come from another dimension, and that world is dying. They broke into our world and leech energy off it. They want to kill us because we’re the only thing that can stop them from succeeding and taking everything. There’s a rift between the worlds, and only the Weavers can close it.” Grey thought about the dying and reincarnation thing, but he didn’t think Cort could handle more information right then. They’d obviously been successful in healing the rift in past lives but not in closing it permanently before they were killed.

That could happen this time, too.

The only difference was, this time there were soul mates. They were the only things giving them a fighting chance this time.

“You’ve had powers your whole life?” Cort asked as he came back to the couch. The couch moved as he sat.

Grey couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to touch Cort. He placed his palm on the back of Cort’s hand. “No. The aunts you met are goddesses, and they hold on to our powers until we get here to give them to us. They’re probably giving Calder his as we speak.”

“How did you know which one was Calder out on that beach?”

“It came to me. His image came to me.” He shook his head and moved his hand, running his palms over the cushions again, feeling the rough texture of the couch against his fingertips. “That’s the first time I’ve been able to do