O With Line Through It Novels & Stories

The nerves in my body quietly tensed. Soon, a sleek black car pulled up at the building. Thomas's eyes lit up, and he eagerly waved his hand. "Babe!" Imogen stepped out, impeccably dressed in a cream suit, cradling an enormous bouquet of roses.

Every heartbeat seemed to resonate with one purpose: to help Connie. Then, in unison, they opened their eyes, ready to direct their energy shot. Marko signaled, and the atmosphere grew more intense. "Ready? One... Two... Three..." Marko's voice echoed in the room, boosting their spirits. As the word "Fire!" left Marko's lips, they collectively channeled positive energy towards Connie. A gentle light began to shine from their hands, flowing softly towards Connie's body. The energy felt warm and soothing, as if surrounding Connie with love and support.

His eyes were wide, a deep, searching brown that seemed to be trying to process a thousand different timelines at once. "Two lines," he whispered, looking back down at the plastic. "That’s… that’s a positive." "Yes." He let out a breath that sounded like a shudder. He leaned back against the counter, his legs looking suddenly heavy. He didn't drop the test; he held it like it was made of thin glass. "Are you… how are you feeling?" he asked. His voice was trembling. It was the first time I had ever heard Ethan’s voice shake.

I have had my own fair share of problems. I twirled the needle around my finger and missed, dropping into a puddle of oil. How it got there I didn't know. I quickly picked it up and cleaned it with my clothes. And something very interesting came to light that instant. On the sides of the of the needle was something engraved on it, like a calligraphy. I peeked even a closer and I was able to make out something. It had initials T. Y and O. W and some other things I couldn't quite make out. My heart skipped a bit. I know of the O. W but the T. Y? Who the hell is that and why was it engraved on this needle?

Show me, Kael said. Caden led us back through the trees to the eastern perimeter. The tree was a large pine, bark dark and rough, and the mark cut into it was deep and clean, not hurried. Someone had taken time with it. A circle with three lines through it at different angles and a small crescent shape at the base that made my stomach drop before I understood why. It matched the mark on my wrist. Not exactly. But related. The crescent was the same proportion and the same angle and the three lines through the circle above it were something Dassa's books would know.

I walked over to the long line of glass mirrors hanging above the perimeter sinks, my hands trembling as I reached down to fix the hem of my twisted skirt and pull my oversized sweater back down over my hips. I looked up at my reflection, my breath catching instantly in my throat. I reached down, my shaking fingers pulling the waistband of my skirt slightly to the side. Right there, forming directly over my pale hip bone, was a dark, deep purple mark. It was shaped perfectly by the heavy print of Leo's fingers, a brutal, undeniable brand burning into my skin where nobody else in this school would ever see it.

She looked at the image again and, after tapping around a little on the screen, turned it back to me. I blinked and took the tablet to see the outline’s entire image. I didn’t recognize the strange symbol. It looked like a capital V with a horizontal three and a vertical line between the V. It created a triangle over the boys. I wracked my brain to try and think if I’d ever seen this symbol before, but I was coming up with nothing. “Forgive my ignorance, love. But what symbol is this? And why does it so shake you?” I asked, putting the tablet aside.

Cedric glared at me and then he just smirked. All the children are now tied inside the magic circle surrounding us. I'm inside a different circle inside the magic array, that is not connected to the children but there is one line it's connected to, and when I looked ahead the line, there's another array ahead but that array is empty.

Almost. \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \

Her eyes fixed on something near its base. A line. Carved shallow but deliberate. The start of a letter. “Did one of you do this?” she asked. We shook our heads. She touched the mark. “It’s deeper than it looks.” I leaned in. The line bent just so, unmistakable. A D. Why D? I didn’t know. But my heartbeat had picked up, quick and uneven. We didn’t discuss it further. We simply went about our quiet preparations—checking wards, refreshing runes, setting minor traps.