Chapter 12 #4
"Within the last twenty-four hours. They strengthened it and entered."
Twenty-four hours. One day. I’ve been at Thibodaux for less than twenty-four at this point.
Which means while I've been here—eating gumbo and sitting on docks and killing rosemary at a farmer's market—someone has been at my cottage. At my door. Feeding the anchor with their blood. Keeping the passage open. Walking into my personal space while I wasn’t even there.
My skin crawls. The wrongness of it sits in my stomach like something swallowed whole—heavy, sharp-edged, impossible to digest. Every moment I'm sitting at this table is a moment that door is unprotected.
Every minute is another minute someone could be in there right now, touching the surfaces I sleep on, going through the drawers, standing in the dark of a room I thought was mine—
"I need to go back." The chair scrapes as I stand. "Now. Tonight."
Nellie's face falls. "Cal—"
"I can't sit here knowing—" My voice is too tight. I grab the chalk, the candle, the folded diagram from the table. "I need to draw the ward. I need to do something. I can't just—I need to go home."
The word slips out before I can stop it.
Home. The cottage I've been living in for two weeks is not my home.
It's an assignment. A cage with better lighting.
But apparently some part of me has claimed it anyway, and the thought of someone violating that claim has my hands shaking and my magic pressing against my ribs.
Nellie opens her mouth. Closes it. She wants to argue—I can see it building behind her eyes—but she's smart enough to know I'm right.
"I'm sorry," I say. And I mean it in every direction—sorry for cutting the weekend short, sorry for bringing this to her mother's door, sorry for being the kind of person whose life comes with threats carved into wood.
I go upstairs. Grab my bag. The guest room still smells like cedar and clean sheets and the particular magic of a house where someone loves you. I take one breath of it. Memorize it.
I hope to come back here. This place is special. Odette is special. And I owe her big for what she’s just helped me with.
Downstairs, Odette is waiting. She pulls me into a hug—fierce, tight, her arms strong around my shoulders.
"You draw that rune and light that candle every night," she murmurs against my hair. "Every single night, Calypso. Promise me."
"I promise."
"And you tell that vampire—" She nods toward the front door. "You tell him about the anchor. He should know."
"I–I will."
She lets go. Cups my face in her hands. Looks at me with those sharp brown eyes.
"You come back," she says. "Whenever you need to. This door is always open. No anchor required." She winks.
I pull back. Look at her. This woman I met less than twenty-four hours ago who has already demonstrated she would give me the shirt off her back. Just because it was the right thing to do.
Because some people are just built that way and Odette Marchand is one of them.
"Thank you," I say. And the words aren't big enough for what I mean so I try again. "Seriously, for everything. This has been–" My voice threatens to crack. I hold it together by sheer force. "Nobody's made me feel more at home than you and Nellie. I truly appreciate it."
Odette's eyes go bright. She cups my face one more time, presses her thumb against my cheekbone, and nods once. Hard. Like she's making a decision about me that she's not going to share.
Nellie is already grabbing her keys from the counter. "Let me get the car—"
"No." I catch her arm. "Stay."
"What?"
"Stay here. With your mom. Enjoy the rest of the weekend." I squeeze her arm once. "You drove me here. You introduced me to your mother. You gave me a place that feels like—" I stop. Swallow. "Just stay, Nell. I'll go back with Aamon. I'll be fine."
"You'll be in a car. Alone. With Mr. Smolder-by-the-Soap-Display. For an hour."
I bite back a smile. "I'll survive."
"Will he?"
Now I can’t help but laugh.
Nellie searches my face for another second, then pulls me into a hug—tight, fierce, the kind that says everything her mouth is too full of jokes to say. I hold on longer than I mean to. She smells like her mom's shop—lavender and old paper and warmth.
Endless warmth.
"Text me when you get back," she says into my shoulder. "On the stupid monitored laptop. I don't care. Just let me know."
"I will."
She lets go. Steps back. Bumps my shoulder one last time.
"Be careful, Cal."
"Always."
"Liar."
I grin. It's watery but it's real. I grab my bag and walk out before the tears can win.
Aamon is waiting on the sidewalk. The Aston Martin is running, engine purring low in the late afternoon light. He's standing between me and the passenger door with his hands at his sides and an expression that tells me he heard every word through that window.
The summoning anchor. The blood. All of it.
I reach for the door handle. His hand lands on the roof of the car, blocking it. Not aggressively. Just—present.
"Tell me," he says.
"You heard everything."
"I want you to tell me yourself."
I stare at him. "Are you serious right now? We need to go—"
"We will. After you ask me."
"Ask you what?"
"For help." His eyes hold mine. Steady. Unyielding.
The same hazel that talked me down from a spiral on this porch not even thirty minutes ago, except now there's something behind them that looks less like patience and more like a man drawing a line in the dirt.
"You found a threat on your door and you didn't come to me.
You took someone else's blood and you didn't come to me.
You burned yourself instead of letting me help you.
You've been handling everything alone because you've decided that's the only option, and I let you because I thought you needed the space.
" His jaw tightens. "I'm done giving you space on this. "
My throat is tight. The neon sign flickers behind me. Somewhere down the street, the bar music plays. And Aamon is standing three feet away asking me to do the one thing I've been avoiding since I walked out of that facility—admit that I can't do this by myself.
"You know, the whole desperate-to-be-needed thing isn't a great look on a hundreds-year-old vampire."
He doesn't blink. Doesn't flinch. Doesn't take the bait. Just stands there with his hand on the car roof and those steady hazel eyes and waits.
Dammit.
“Can you move?” I ask.
He doesn’t budge.
“Seriously?”
Silence.
"You're really going to make me say it."
"Yes."
I close my eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out. Odette’s instructions and her chalk and candle are weighing me down and I need to do something to protect the one place I thought I had to myself and–if I’m honest with myself–I am so, so tired of carrying this alone.
I swallow, letting out another long exhale.
"I–I need your help."
The words come out quieter than I intended. Stripped of the armor.
"I need you to drive me back to campus. I possibly need you to help me train for the counter-rune. And I need—" I falter. Open my eyes. He's watching me intently and a part of me wants to shrivel up and die. "I need more help than you've already given me. Which is already more than I deserved."
"That's not true," he says. Quiet. Immediate. Like it was loaded and waiting.
For one second—just one—his composure drops entirely. The professional mask, all the centuries of practiced stillness, the measured distance he maintains like architecture. All of it falls away and for a second I think I can see someone who actually… cares.
Then it's back. The composure clicks into place. He steps aside. Opens the passenger door.
"You can explain the details on the way," he says. Level. Professional.
But his hand on the car door tightens. Just barely. Just enough.
I look back at the shop. The neon sign flickering pink and orange. Nellie in the doorway with Odette's arm around her shoulders, watching me go. She lifts one hand and waves gently.
I get in the car.
The leather is cool. The interior smells like him—cedar and old paper and something warm underneath. The dashboard glows soft amber. He settles into the driver's seat beside me, pulls away from the curb, and the shop shrinks in the side mirror.
“Thank you,” I murmur. Almost inaudible.
But I know he heard me.
He nods once.
I say a silent goodbye to Thibodaux, promising to come back soon.