Chapter 45
Lochlan
“HAVE YOU SEEN LOCHLAN’S BIG brOTHER? HOW DO WE SUMMON HIM?” —MESSY_IVY
He had made Nia cry.
The thought was enough to make him consider walking off the cliffs of Stella Rune and letting the ocean swallow him.
Instead, he’d ended up here, wandering aimlessly through the tunnels, his shoes scuffing against the uneven stone floor.
The air was cold and damp, the walls too close, pressing in like a punishment he couldn’t escape. It was fitting. He deserved this.
He’d made a mistake.
No—he was the mistake.
His mother’s voice rang in his head: “A mistake from the beginning.”
Lochlan dragged a hand through his hair, gripping the strands at the back of his neck.
If he had just come clean from the start, this wouldn’t have happened.
Maybe Nia would have hated him in those early days—hated him for being connected to her father.
But wouldn’t that have been better? At least then they could have had a chance to work through it.
His chest tightened as the question hung in his mind, heavy and unanswerable.
Would they work through this?
Her tear-streaked face flashed before his eyes. The memory hit him like a punch to the gut and he fought the urge to crumble right there in the cold, damp tunnel.
What could he do to fix this?
Nothing, at least not here in the tunnels, he realized. Every step away from home felt more wrong than the last. He should have stayed. He should have gone to her, told her what he’d feared and wanted, how much he cared for her, until there was nothing left to hide.
Goddess help him, he was an idiot.
Lochlan stopped, dragging in a shaky breath as he glanced over his shoulder. The pull to go home was so strong, he imagined he could hear his ducks quacking in the distance. Long, rapidly waddling shadows stretched up the tunnel walls, distorted in the dim light.
“Taco?”
It wasn’t his imagination: a small, black figure emerged from the gloom, its neck stretched out and wings flapping furiously as it barreled toward him.
Lochlan had seen a lot of ridiculous things in his life, but nothing quite matched the absurdity of a duck running.
Taco’s legs churned, his head bobbing in time, and his wings flailing in a way that didn’t seem remotely aerodynamic.
Celia and Cynthia emerged from the shadows, circling him in an erratic flurry of feathers and quacks.
“What’s this?” Lochlan muttered, his heart pounding as the ducks nipped at his ankles, herding him back the way he had come.
He stumbled, nearly tripping over Taco as he let out a massive, exasperated quack.
“I need to go home?” Lochlan asked, feeling a mix of incredulity and rising panic.
Taco’s commanding quack reverberated through the tunnel.
Lochlan’s stomach twisted with fear.
Nia.
He turned and ran, the sound of his boots pounding against the tunnel floor mingling with the frantic chorus of quacks behind him. As Lochlan rounded a corner, a group of witches gasped, their conversation cutting off as they watched him sprint past.
“What the—?” one of them began, dissolving into laughter as Taco and the other ducks waddled after him, their wings flapping wildly.
“Are those ducks?” another asked.
Lochlan ignored them, yanking his phone from his pocket as he ran. His thumb hovered over Nia’s contact for a split second before he pressed call.
It rang.
And rang.
“Come on, Nia,” he muttered, his heart hammering harder with every unanswered tone.
The call clicked to voicemail.
“Nia, it’s me.” His voice trembled. “I—something’s wrong. Please call me back.”
He shoved the phone back into his pocket just as the tunnel’s end came into view, the late-morning light spilling into the opening as he burst through, chest tight as he sprinted toward home.
Lochlan reached the front door and threw it open, slamming it against the wall as he stumbled inside. A strange smell lingered in the air, faint but unmistakable—damp and earthy, with an edge that made his stomach twist. He tried calling Nia again, the phone pressed so tightly to his ear it hurt.
Nothing.
“Nia!” His voice cracked as he stormed through the house, shouting. “Jade?”
The quacks of his ducks echoed behind him as they waddled in his wake, hopping awkwardly over the overturned furniture and tangled vines. The ducks clustered near the remains of a canister on the floor, pecking curiously at the metallic shell.
Horror froze Lochlan, like ice in his veins
“No,” he whispered, his heart racing as he turned and bolted for the stairs.
He took them two at a time as he called her phone again. The ringing barely registered before he heard it—but the sound wasn’t coming from the line.
It was coming from inside the house.
The sound grew louder as he neared the office. He pushed the door open, the sight inside hitting him like a punch: her phone sat on his desk, next to her mother’s diaries.
He sank to the floor, knees hitting the wood hard.
“Where is my dog,” he whispered. “Where is my wife.”
They weren’t here. Lochlan’s hand trembled as he pulled his phone away from his ear. His thumb hovered over Becket’s name for a split second before he stopped.
He called his brother instead.