Chapter 15 Witch's Price (Sage's POV)
My phone started ringing before we'd even made it out of the locker room.
The ringtone made my blood run cold. That wasn't my normal ringtone. That was the emergency family line, the one that only rang when the Whitmore elders needed to talk immediately.
"Shit." I stopped walking, staring at the screen. "Em, I need to take this."
"Is everything okay?" She looked from me to my phone, her silver eyes still dilated from the adrenaline of the attack.
"I don't know yet." I squeezed her arm. "Go find Trey."
"But..."
"I'll catch up with you later. Promise." I gave her a gentle push toward the door. "Go. I need to deal with this alone."
She hesitated, but the phone kept ringing. Finally, she nodded and left, casting one last worried glance over her shoulder.
The moment the door closed behind her, I answered. "Hello?"
"Conference room. Now." My mother's voice was ice. "You have sixty seconds before we start without you."
The line went dead.
I swore again, looking around frantically. The locker room wouldn't work—too many people could walk in. The gym was still occupied by Coach Martinez dealing with the broken window. I needed somewhere private, somewhere I wouldn't be overheard.
The storage closet at the end of the hallway.
I ran, my heart pounding. Fifty seconds. I reached the closet, yanked open the door, and squeezed inside among the volleyball equipment and cleaning supplies. The space smelled like pine cleaner and old leather.
My phone buzzed. Incoming video call from the family secure line.
I propped the phone against a stack of towels and accepted the call.
Five faces filled the screen, arranged in the formal configuration I'd only seen a handful of times in my life. My mother sat in the center, her expression carved from stone. On her left, my grandmother—white hair pulled back in a severe bun, pale eyes that missed nothing. On her right, Uncle Efren, Aunt Lydia, and Cousin Thomas, all looking equally grave.
"Sage Whitmore." My mother's voice carried the weight of centuries of family tradition. "You used offensive magic on Thornfield Academy grounds. Explain."
"Three Silvermoon wolves were attacking Ember Thorne in the locker room. I defended her."
"Defended." Uncle Efren leaned forward. "Or interfered in pack politics that aren't our concern?"
"They were forcing a transformation on her. Using pain magic to drag her wolf to the surface against her will." I kept my voice steady despite the anger rising in my chest. "That's torture, not pack politics."
"The Silvermoon Pack has every right to prepare their future alpha according to their traditions." Aunt Lydia's tone was clinical, detached. "We don't interfere with internal pack matters. That's been family law for seven generations."
"She's not their alpha. She doesn't even want to be involved with their pack."
"What she wants is irrelevant." My mother's eyes were cold. "The prophecy dictates her role. Our role is to observe and record, not intervene."
"The prophecy." I laughed, the sound bitter. "You mean the one we've been lying about for three hundred years?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
My grandmother spoke for the first time, her voice soft but deadly. "What did you just say?"
"I've been in the archive, Grandmother. I've read the original texts." I met her eyes through the screen. "The Whitmores didn't just record the Silver Wolf prophecy. We created it."
Uncle Efren stood so fast his chair fell backward. "How dare you..."
"Sit down, Efren." Grandmother's command cracked like a whip. He sat.
She turned her attention back to me, and I saw something in her expression that terrified me more than anger: resignation. "So. You know."
"I know enough." My hands were shaking, but I forced them still. "A Whitmore witch wrote the prophecy three hundred years ago. Wove it into a spell designed to create balance in the supernatural world. But spells have consequences, and now we're bound to whatever happens to the Silver Wolf."
"Not we." Grandmother's correction was gentle, almost pitying. "You."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "What?"
"The spell requires a guardian. A witch tied to the wolf's fate, tasked with guiding her toward the prophecy's completion." She paused, letting the words sink in. "In every generation since the spell was cast, a Whitmore has been born with that bond. Three centuries of witches who lived and died according to the Silver Wolf's destiny."
"But she only just awakened. How could I be bound to her before..."
"The bond forms at birth, child. It simply lies dormant until the wolf awakens." My mother's voice had softened slightly, taking on an edge that might have been sympathy. "The moment Ember Thorne's wolf surfaced, your bond activated. You didn't choose to be her guardian any more than she chose to be the prophesied wolf."
I thought back to that first day of senior year, when Ember had walked into our dorm room. The instant pull I'd felt toward her, the need to protect her that went beyond normal friendship. I'd attributed it to loneliness, to wanting a roommate I could actually connect with.
But it had been the bond. The spell. Three centuries of Whitmore magic deciding my fate before I'd even known Ember's name.
"How bound?" My voice came out strangled. "What does it mean?"
Grandmother and my mother exchanged a look I couldn't read.
"Tell her." Cousin Thomas spoke for the first time. "She deserves to know what she's facing."
"If Ember dies," Grandmother said slowly, carefully, "you die. Your life force is tied to hers through the spell. When one thread is cut, both unravel."
The storage closet suddenly felt too small, the air too thin. "So I'm her human shield. Her magical life insurance policy."
"You're her guardian." My mother's correction was sharp. "There's a difference."
"From where I'm sitting, it sounds like the Whitmores have been sacrificing a witch every generation to prop up a prophecy we created."
"Not every generation." Grandmother's voice grew quieter. "Only the generations when the Silver Wolf awakens. There have been three before Ember. Three Whitmore witches who gave their lives to see the prophecy through."
"And how did they die?" I already knew the answer, but I needed to hear it.
"With their wolves." Grandmother's pale eyes glistened. "My sister was guardian to the wolf who awakened sixty years ago. She died in childbirth alongside her charge. My great-aunt before her perished when her wolf was hunted. And the first guardian, the witch who wrote the spell..." She trailed off.
"What happened to her?"
"She was murdered by the wolf she'd sworn to protect." The words fell like stones. "The Silver Wolf of her generation went mad with power and tore her guardian apart."
I pressed my back against the closet wall, needing the solid support. "And you all knew this. You knew I was bound to Ember's fate and you never told me."
"We hoped it wouldn't matter." My mother's mask cracked slightly, showing the fear beneath. "The Silver Wolf hasn't awakened in sixty years. We thought perhaps the prophecy had run its course. That you'd live a normal life, free from the burden our family carries."
"But then Ember transferred to Thornfield." Understanding crashed over me. "That's why you tried to get me to room with someone else. Why you kept pushing me to distance myself from her."
"I forbade you from bonding with her." Grandmother's voice turned sharp. "Explicitly forbade it. I told you to maintain professional distance, to observe without attachment. Did you listen? No. You became her best friend, her confidante, her protector."
"Because that's what she needed!" My voice rose despite my attempts at control. "She was alone and confused and being hunted by people who either wanted to control her or kill her. What was I supposed to do? Watch her suffer and take notes for the family archive?"
"Yes." Grandmother's single word hung in the air. "That is exactly what you were supposed to do."
"Well, I didn't. And I won't." I leaned closer to the phone. "Ember is my friend. More than my friend. She's..."
"Don't." My mother cut me off, her expression horrified. "Don't say what you're about to say."
But the truth was already clawing its way out. "I love her."
The admission hung in the digital space between us, impossible to take back.
Grandmother closed her eyes. "Oh, child. What have you done?"
"I didn't do anything. The bond made me her guardian, but loving her? That's my choice."
"No." Grandmother opened her eyes, and I saw tears there. "No, it's not. The spell requires a sacrifice, Sage. The witch who loves the wolf must die to complete the prophecy. That's why I forbade you from bonding with her. That's why every guardian is taught to maintain emotional distance. Because love is what triggers the final clause."
The words didn't make sense. Couldn't make sense. "What final clause?"
"When the Silver Wolf's destiny reaches its culmination, when she makes the choice that will determine the future of all supernatural beings, her guardian must die in her place." My mother's voice was hollow. "It's the price of the spell. The cost of creating such powerful magic. A life freely given in love to ensure the prophecy completes."
"But..." I struggled to process what they were saying. "But the prophecy is about Ember's children. About whether they unite the packs or destroy them. That's years away. Decades, maybe."
"Or it could be months." Grandmother's expression was grave. "The moment she conceived, assuming she's already pregnant from her heat cycle with Trey Jarred, the countdown began. When those children are born, she'll have to choose how to raise them. Choose which path the supernatural world will take. And when she makes that choice..."
"I die." The words tasted like ashes.
"You die." Grandmother's confirmation was gentle, pitying. "Unless you sever the bond now, before love takes complete hold. There are spells, rituals that could break the guardian connection. It would be painful, might even cost you your magic, but you'd live."
"And Ember?"
"Would be unprotected. Vulnerable. Without a guardian's magic shielding her, she'd be easy prey for anyone who wants to manipulate or eliminate her." Uncle Efren leaned forward. "But she's not your responsibility, Sage. Not really. The spell bound you to her, yes, but you can choose to walk away."
I thought about Ember in the locker room, terrified and furious as those wolves tried to force her transformation. Thought about the trust in her eyes when she looked at me, the way she relied on my strength when her own faltered.
Thought about losing her.
"No." The word came out firm, final. "I'm not severing the bond."
"Sage..." my mother started.
"I said no." I straightened, meeting each of their gazes in turn. "You all talk about the prophecy like it's this sacred thing we're bound to serve. But the truth is we created it. A Whitmore witch three hundred years ago decided to meddle in supernatural politics, and every generation since has paid the price for her arrogance."
"That's not..."
"I'm not finished." My voice carried power now, the same power that had thrown three wolves across a locker room. "Ember didn't ask for this destiny. She didn't ask to be the Silver Wolf or to carry the weight of everyone's expectations. But she's facing it anyway, with more courage than any of you have shown."
Grandmother's expression hardened. "Be careful, child."
"Why? You've already told me I'm going to die." The words came out bitter, sharp. "What else can you threaten me with?"
"We can remove you from Thornfield." My mother's tone turned to steel. "We can sever the bond by force and bring you home, lock you away where you can't interfere with prophecy or pack politics."
"You could try." I let my magic rise to the surface, felt it crackling in the air around me. "But I'm stronger than you think I am. Stronger than any of you expected. The bond with Ember hasn't just tied my life to hers... it's amplified my power. And if you try to separate us, I'll fight you. All of you."
The silence that followed was electric with tension.
Finally, Grandmother spoke. "You're willing to die for her."
"If that's what it takes, yes."
"Even knowing that your death serves a prophecy you had no part in creating? That you're just another sacrifice to a spell cast before you were born?"
I thought about that. About the unfairness of being born into a fate I didn't choose. About the three Whitmore witches before me who'd died serving the Silver Wolf's destiny.
But I also thought about Ember, alone in her dorm room with pine needles in her hair and confusion in her eyes. About the way she'd trusted me with secrets that could destroy her. About how she'd chosen me as her friend when she could have pushed me away.
"Yes," I said quietly. "Even knowing all that. Because she's worth it."
Grandmother studied me for a long moment.
"Then may the gods have mercy on your soul, child." She leaned back in her chair. "Because the prophecy certainly won't."
"Is that all?" I kept my voice steady. "Because I have a friend who needs me."
"One more thing." My mother's expression was unreadable. "Your feelings for her. The love you've admitted to. Does she know?"
The question felt like a trap. "No."
"Good. Keep it that way." She leaned forward. "The spell requires love freely given, yes. But it doesn't require reciprocation. In fact, unrequited love makes the sacrifice more powerful. If Ember loves you back, if she tries to save you when the time comes, it could corrupt the prophecy's completion."
"So I'm supposed to love her silently? Watch her build a life with Trey Jarred while knowing I'm going to die for her someday?"
"Yes." Grandmother's single word was absolute. "That is exactly what you're supposed to do."
I stared at them through the screen, these five people who shared my blood and my magic but clearly didn't understand anything about the person I'd become.
"Fine." I reached for the phone. "Anything else? Or can I go be the guardian you've decided I have to be?"
"Sage." My mother's voice stopped me. "I'm sorry. Truly. If there were another way..."
"But there isn't." I cut her off. "So let's stop pretending this is anything other than what it is: you all deciding my life is worth less than maintaining a three-hundred-year-old spell."
I ended the call before they could respond.
The storage closet felt suffocating now, too small to contain the magnitude of what I'd just learned. I was going to die. Maybe in months, maybe in years, but eventually the prophecy would demand its price, and I would pay it.
For Ember. For a girl I'd known for less than three months but who'd somehow become the center of my entire world.