Chapter 7
7
T hey lead her past the ruined tatters of Chloe’s old demon circle to a rock outcropping, then duck down in between two boulders, leading her to a crevasse before a set of stairs in the stones, then deeper into a proper cave.
It’s clean, tidy, with a threadbare couch and a table just barely big enough for two. A single twin bed is crammed into a corner, and down a meager hall is another.
The floor is swept, the room is well lit from a sconce on the wall that’s absolutely not connected to any electricity, and a stove with an actual spot for a wood fire is tucked against a wall.
And the floors are hewn precisely from the same stone, with a beauty that suggests time and power and care.
Stella gives one glance to Chloe, then disappears, reappearing next to the cupboard in the kitchen.
“Uh,” Chloe begins, once the older Wight makes no more attempts to talk. “Thanks?”
“Why did a demon teleport in our territory?” she says, and Stella throws a glance back at her, like she’s gauging the response.
“You know, your guess is as good as mine,” Chloe says, then rubs her face. “He knocked me out, stole my research, and…left me here. I was in northern Canada one moment, then back…back in my bed.”
Her bed—the one she hadn’t slept in for well over a month and missed dearly.
The Wight gave her an unimpressed look, and Chloe is immediately reminded about how Ambra really doesn’t like dealing with the Wights, complaining about them being annoying and completely stuck in themselves.
“We don’t want him in our territory,” the Wight says, but milder this time. “You see him again, tell him to stay out.”
“Uh,” Chloe starts. “Sure, do you have a phone?”
Again, another unimpressed look.
“He stole mine,” she says, and this time, the Wight’s brows raise. “And I bet my friends are worried.”
“I can get a message to Zoel,” the Wight says, neutral. “And he can inform Ambra.”
At Ambra’s name, the young Wight shot the older—she has to be a relative, her mother, aunt, something—a terror filled glance.
“It’s okay, Ambra’s nice,” Chloe says, the immediate instinct to defend her friend kicking up. “She won’t hurt you, she…she just wants to live peacefully.”
“She’s not afraid of Ambra,” the older Wight says, severe, like it’s such a rude thing to say, and everything is so much for Chloe.
In the space of however many hours, she died, was resurrected, teleported, knocked out underground, shot someone, and got her research stolen, then had to battle her way out of her former home.
And exhaustion still itches in the back of her mind, crunching around her eyes, no matter the amount of time that she had slept for at the demon’s hand.
So she sits, all at once, on the rickety couch, and it creaks underneath her weight.
“How long was I out?” she mutters, rubbing her hand through her hair and finding a dead leaf and more than a little dust from underground.
Both Wights shoot her an odd look.
“Look, I was unconscious when I got here, I think,” Chloe starts, and hates that she has to quibble about it. “I shot the demon guy, then…woke up in my old bed.”
The two Wights exchange another glance, and with that glance is a weight of knowing each other and knowing the situation and Chloe hates it. Hates being such an outsider.
“He teleported in and out about fourteen hours ago,” Stella says, and her voice is soft, hoarse. Like her vocal cords are still fried from screaming in Toronto.
“And I only woke up like…I dunno, thirty minutes? How long were we walking?” Chloe asks, and Stella’s just watching her, her eyes wide, like she’s afraid Chloe will bite her. “Sorry, not your fault, I’m just…”
With another glance to the older Wight, Stella pulls a completely normal bottle of water out of the fridge, creeps over to set it on the coffee table, then immediately backs up, scrambling out of reach.
“Thanks,” Chloe says, weary, rubbing her face. “Sorry about snapping, it’s been…a day?”
“You died, didn’t you?” Stella asks, soft, and the older Wight sighs, like she desperately didn’t want Stella to say that but couldn’t stop her. “Was that today?”
“I don’t think so?” Chloe says. “I mean, I got knocked out for fourteen hours and there was a four hour knock out earlier and I didn’t sleep the night, so…”
“Why’d they let you out?” the older Wight asks, crossing her arms, and she’s way more intimidating than she has any right to be. “You should be recovering, necromancy isn’t a thing you shrug off.”
Chloe wishes she had a snappy comeback, something, anything, to rebut that, but she just leans further back into the couch instead, like it could swallow her up.
“Am I stuck here?” Chloe asks, her palms going sweaty, as both Wights turn and stare at her. “Am I free to leave?”
“Do you want to?” the older one asks, sarcastic. “They’ll be combing the land for you, they’ll find you within the hour.”
And that’s true, so Chloe forces herself to breathe into the cup of water.
“By all means, if you think you can,” the first one says, and something unwinds a bit in between Chloe’s shoulders at that. “We won’t stop you.”
Chloe takes another deep breath, schooling herself. “No,” she says, and Stella nods at her, like she gave the right answer. “No, I’m okay, I just…”
“Wights don’t keep prisoners,” Stella whispers, voice bone dry in the relative chill.
The moment stretches on, before the older Wight gives the water a significant glance, so Chloe sighs and cracks it open.
“Thanks,” she says again.
“Stella,” the older Wight began, “why don’t you send the missive off to Zoel outside?”
The small Wight flinches, before twisting and staring at the door, a panicked expression filtering over her face.
Like the outside scares her.
“It’s okay,” Chloe says, and the older Wight eyes her. “It can wait if you need.”
It can’t, her friends are gonna lose their shit, but the little Wight’s fingers tremble at the very idea.
“Then go into the other room,” the older one instructs, and Stella nods, curt, disappearing from where she stands.
It’d be disorienting if Chloe hadn’t spent so much time with Ambra, who often teleported between rooms to get out of awkward conversations.
“Did you bring the gun here?” the older Wight asks, voice deadly quiet, and all at once, Chloe understands.
She didn’t want Stella around a weapon. She didn’t want Stella hurt, and Chloe’s very presence is a threat.
“He took it from me,” Chloe answers, because this, at least, is something she can give declaratively. “I woke up without it.”
“Good,” comes the response. “Why’d you shoot him at all?”
And Chloe sighs, almost tired of the idea of explaining the entire thing, even though it's a perfectly valid question.
But Wights are creatures of the land, wild spirits who are renowned for being peaceful and non-violent. Who prize independence from humans and demons alike, staying out of the way as much as possible.
“Do you know of the spirit fox?” Chloe murmurs, and the Wights brows flash up. “I was…once in a prison with her. She saved my life. She’s…she’s still in captivity.”
“Was the demon misusing her?” the Wight asks, with barely disguised fury.
“He was tracking her as well,” Chloe says, and it’s so strange, speaking about this so openly. “I have research, ways to find her, he stole them.”
“She should never fall into the hands of a demon,” the Wight says, and it’s a bit strange, to hear so much anger from someone with such a reputation of being even keeled. Even Axel at the compound had lightly complained about how impossible to anger Zoel had been, almost to the point of parody.
“I mean, I agree,” Chloe replies, taking another sip from the water, and it’s blessedly cool on her throat.
Besides the lukewarm 5-hour energy shot, she hasn’t had anything to drink for well over 20 hours.
“Who knows you’re going after it?” the Wight continues, still deadly quiet. “How many people have you told?”
The answer is probably more than she should have, but Chloe just takes another drink.
“Any other demons?” she asks. “Any other abominations, anyone who is a shell of their former power?”
She’s talking about Ambra, Chloe knows it.
“Anyone trapped?” The Wight leans forward, intent. “Terese, did you tell her?”
Chloe blinks, as she wouldn’t exactly put the terrified and traumatized woman on her list of threats, despite the fact that she did almost destroy the world.
“I told her boyfriend,” Chloe says, a bit unsteady, because it’s also a bit spooky that the Wight knew they were staying at that compound. “Terese isn’t a big talker.”
“So she definitely knows,” the Wight says grimly.
“She doesn’t want trouble, I can guarantee that,” Chloe says, wrinkling her face. “Neither does Ambra. She just wants to be left alone.”
The Wight just scoffs.
“Look, the demon who actively has all my research, everything that crafts an exact map to the spirit fox, he’s a much bigger threat, I can guarantee,” Chloe says desperately. “And now he has the ability to find her, way easier than Terese or Ambra who didn’t even want me to go on this quest.”
The Wight inclines her head, then throws a glance to the other room, where Stella must be behind the door.
“I don’t like the idea of any demon—full power or not—knows about your attempt,” the Wight says, which she can understand, even if it is massively unfair to Ambra and her attempts at peace. “And if they think you’ve failed…I like that even less.”
“Why?” Chloe asks, and for the first time since she woke up in her old bed, a fission of curiosity wells up in her. Why would this Wight distrust them so much, why would she delay telling them about Chloe’s failure?
And she looks up at Chloe, her gray eyes clear. “Have you ever thought of what they would do to Terese if they ever got their hands on her? Have you ever thought of the information they could wring out of Ambra, if they recapture her?”
Chloe has, but not in this context.
“Or if another demon, full powered, finds Terese? They hollowed that girl out.” The Wight leans forward. “She’s a walking time bomb of discovery, a demon will find her and carve its way into her mind and then they will know of your attempts.”
“Hey,” Chloe replies. “She already rebuffed one. Maybe two?”
“Past success does not guarantee future.” The Wight sits back, regarding her like Chloe’s a bug under a microscope, and Chloe bristles underneath it, at the long silence, sitting on the rickety couch in a crevice of stone. “There’s still demon blood on you.”
“I didn't have time for a shower,” Chloe mutters.
“Do you have something on you that could be useful for his attempt to find the spirit fox?” the Wight asks, sharp. “I know he grabbed you to teleport.” The Wight taps against Chloe’s shoulder, then her hip.
Chloe swallows, her brain skipping to keep up. “Why?”
She doesn’t like the idea that the demon touched her hip. Makes sense, if he teleported her and put her in bed, but…
The Wight smiles, showing her teeth in a decidedly unfriendly expression. “We can track him.”