Chapter 52

Did the ends justify the means? Did the pain of a single individual, especially one already condemned to death outweigh that of the many? When was "for the greater good" a moral imperative and when was it merely a justification for doing what you wanted?

I had never been one for violence, never tortured or physically intimidated anyone before my magic had shown up. That wasn't who I was, so how could I reconcile that fundamental part of me with this willingness - no, this eagerness - to perform such an extreme and inconceivable act?

If the trauma of the accident had flipped my recessive magic gene to "on" when I was thirteen, what was the primal urge inherent in my blood magic? Because the only answer I had was "rage." Was that the common trait to all Jezebels? A burning rage that elevated us beyond the everyday fire elemental, beyond the Hot Heads and the Van Goghs? A fury so inherent to us that it was part of our blood?