Chapter 1
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What? It’s not like I’m insecure or anything…
Castor
Me: What did you talk to my soulmate about?
Willow: If I wanted you to know, I wouldn’t have told you to go away.
Back pressed to the door of a room that is actually a closet, I sneer at my phone. Despite the fact I spent several minutes using a magic orb to readjust my eyes to light and have the dimness turned all the way up, my blinding device sears my seldom-used and deadly eyes.
For good measure, I’ve locked the closet door behind me.
I’ve also thrown up a barrier.
Or seven.
And possibly a dozen protective enchantments, too.
Never mind that my beloved soulmate is safely tucked away in her cage and sleeping peacefully with her pixie right now. Never mind that this isn’t my closet. Or my palace. Or even a place in Faerie.
Where it concerns my love’s safety, there can never be too many precautions.
And, no, this isn’t a result of paranoia at all.
Me: Please tell me. I am little more than a bundle of pricked nerves at the moment, and it is quite akin to torture.
Willow: That sucks.
Willow: Maybe I’ll tell you if you work things out with Cael and Pollux. Come to movie night with Dani. And bring snacks.
Me: “Working things out” with Cael and Polly is not that simple.
Willow: Why not?
Me: Because. We already “worked things out” decades before you were born, and they decided I didn’t belong with them. “Working things out” was working me out of the friend group. The end.
Willow: What happened?
What happened?
What didn’t happen…
Forcing down a deep breath, I type furiously.
Me: That’s none of your business.
Willow: So, what you’re saying is: a conversation I wasn’t invited to is none of my business?
Willow: How odd.
Willow: How strange.
Screw her.
I absolutely despise her.
And, yet, it is exactly this attitude of hers that no doubt played a large role in the outcome of all my schemes last week.
After Thursday when I showed up at Alexios’s first birthday party and revealed that Alana and Willow had organized a little Villain Protection Program without permission in front of everyone, I expected pain, suffering, and backlash—for all those involved, including me.
With all I did, I never even anticipated that there would be peace at the end of the day.
I wanted them to hurt.
I didn’t care if I hurt, too.
I orchestrated dissonance between Cael and his soulmate. I prompted Zahra to choose between her baby and her friend. I instigated broken trust between Alexios and Pollux. I puppeteered betrayal upon betrayal.
I practically proved why it was so very good for them all to get rid of me.
I should be hated.
Cael, in all his brilliant moth prince glory, should be rallying troops to eradicate me by now. Both he and Pollux were meant to regret not having destroyed me years ago.
Instead of all that, because of Willow, everyone with a cell phone sent me a friend request on Finch.
Less than an hour after I’d teased and mocked and tormented all of them, they’d filled my Tree Town. I don’t know what power this woman holds. I don’t think I’ll ever understand how such a mismatched group of people could respond to my schemes with kindness.
On top of having my anger met with such explicit grace, finding my soulmate felt like a turning point.
A chance.
For the first time in a century, and on the tailend of my having kidnapped his family earlier this year, Pollux is associating with me.
Regularly. Via a little pink birb abomination named Peony, sure.
But still. He has been sending me Good Vibes every single day since Alexios’s birthday on July 6th.
And I…I’ve been sending him Good Vibes back.
Even though it’s not exactly communicating since the app doesn’t have DM functionality beyond the handful of reactions in their “Good Vibes” library, it’s…something.
Something warm.
I don’t know what to make of it.
According to my past experiences with revenge, this is not how the vengified party behaves in the aftermath.
Yet, here we are.
On…tentative terms. Texting. Annoying me with boundaries and privacy.
Me: You have my dagger. What more do you want?
Willow: A happy ending. For you. And Dani. And the rest of us.
Me: Endings, generally, aren’t happy, you meddling weed.
Willow: The best ones come with new beginnings.
Willow: Just for the sake of your sad boi anxiety, I didn’t say anything to Dani that would hurt your chances unless you’ve already hurt them all by yourself.
My stomach knots as I sag against the closet door and tilt my head back into the wood. In front of me, a menagerie of boxes lies in askew stacks. In the corner, a spider takes residence, dangling from a cobweb. Or. At least. It did. Up until a moment ago.
Now, I watch the tiny creature fall—thin stone legs remaining intact as it drops to the ground and rolls before my shoes.
Throat closing, I fight back the familiar burn of tears.
Gripping my phone, I change topics.
Me: What’s Polly’s number? Xios was the one who sent his Finch friend code to me, so I don’t have his personal number like I have come to have many of the rest of yours.
Willow: If I give it to you, you have to promise me you won’t harass him. I don’t want to have to change his number in my phone if he decides that he needs a new one. It would be………….simply too much effort.
It would take her literally less time than it took her to type that message.
Grimacing, I take full advantage of the fact fae words hold no power in textual mediums.
Me: I promise.
She sends me ten digits.
My finger shakes as I add Pollux as a contact, open a message stream with him, and stare at the screen until it goes black.
What am I supposed to say to someone who spent years as my advocate, burned through every reason to keep me, and decided it would be best to go a separate way?
I am dangerous.
Always, always dangerous.
When I want to be.
When I don’t intend to be.
When I’m trying—desperately—not to be.
I loved you, Pollux told me not so long ago. He loved me. Once. In the past. He loved me, and I ruined it. Because I ruin everything.
I can’t do anything right. Even while I am trying so hard to be careful for my mate’s sake, I still mess up. I still misjudge what is acceptable to others. I still put a knife through my own hand.
By the time scents of horror hit me, I’m sure I’ve already missed a thousand visual cues. I can’t stay blind like this. I can’t handle knowing it’s already too late for me to fix whatever I’ve done wrong by the time my love’s fear crosses my tongue.
My logic doesn’t work. It never has.
I am so…exhausted.
These past few days, I have never been happier.
But I have also never in my life been both this tired or this scared.
Turning my phone back on, I go to Zahra’s message stream instead of Pollux’s.
Me: Razah. Do you remember when you offered to help cure me once you became fully fae?
Me: After my theatrics this past week, is there any chance you’re still willing?
Breath held, I wait a long time. Finally, she replies.
Razah: Castor. It is two in the morning.
Me: You have an infant. You’re up all hours of the night.
Razah: Yeah. And I’m up for more of them when my phone rings.
It’s hardly my fault she doesn’t bother putting her device on Do Not Disturb when she doesn’t want to be disturbed. I’ve barely had a phone, and I’m rarely in a realm where it has reliable signal, but even I keep it on silent.
Honestly. Some things I can hobble my way through understanding where others are coming from. The putting a knife through someone’s hand thing, for example. I can somewhat comprehend where any action involving blood and pain might trouble a creature.
This, though? This is dumb.
If you’re going to complain when someone contacts you, don’t make yourself able to be contacted.
Me: Answer my question.
Razah: Yes, Castor. I’m happy to help.
Razah: We can talk to Pila any time you’re free.
Pardon. We? As in, both of us? We are going to talk to the dryad I keep antagonizing with my poor children skills?
That woman does not like me very much. She’s been clear about that.
I might not be the best with people, but even I know that if someone tries to put a tree through your chest it means they don’t much care for the fact you’re alive.
Me: Are you not overestimating my social abilities?
Razah: You’re going to have to make your case to Pila yourself. I can’t speak for you, and I’m not going to ask to form a contract without explaining why I want to.
In all my ages, only Pila has managed to look me in the eye without turning to stone.
I’ll not find another person with the power to bypass, and hopefully fix, this little character quirk of mine so easily.
Whether she likes me or not, I am no longer above pleading.
Even if I’m not sorry for what I’ve done that has harmed her, I can beg, and I can reason, and I can bargain.
There is very little I wouldn’t offer for a chance to spare my feather from pain.
Me: Perhaps we should make these plans on your schedule.
Me: Given your raging extroversion, I’m certain it is far more cluttered than mine.
Razah: Fair enough. Me and my raging extroversion can clear next Sunday. I’ll see if Pila’s free and get back to you.
Me: Okay.
Me: I appreciate it.
More than words can ever express.
Slipping my phone back in my pocket, I crouch, pluck the stone spider from the ground, and sigh.