Chapter 12 #2
He leaves. The warehouse empties. And I'm left with evidence scattered across my desk and the knowledge that more people could die before this ends.
Unless we stop it first.
Moira's in the main room of my quarters when I return, surrounded by ingredients and open grimoire pages. Salt circles and protective wards shimmer faintly in the air around the space. She's been busy.
"The brotherhood?" she asks without looking up from her work.
"Coordinated. Each location has eyes on it starting tonight." I move to stand beside her, studying her work. "This is impressive."
"It's necessary." Her focus stays on the grimoire page in front of her. "We'll need portable protections when we confront her. And if things go wrong, if we need to fall back, your quarters become a secure position. Multiple layers of defense."
"I won't let it come to that."
"You can't promise that." She finally looks up, and exhaustion shadows her eyes. "You can't be with me every second. And she knows where I am now. Knows I'm the weakness she can exploit."
"You're not a weakness." I look at her directly. "You're the only person on this island who understands what we're facing. Who can counter her magic if it comes to direct confrontation."
"Or die trying." She returns to her work. "The research from Amsterdam. Did it say anything about stopping the ritual once it's complete?"
I don't want to tell her, but she deserves the truth.
"It requires a sacrifice. Someone with power equal to what's being summoned."
Her hands still. "A sea witch."
"Yes."
"So if we fail. If the ritual completes. I'm the only one who can stop it. And stopping it kills me." Her voice stays level. Clinical. Like she's discussing weather instead of her own death.
"We're not failing. We're going to find her tonight and end this."
"And if we don't? If she completes the ritual despite everything we do?" She meets my eyes. "I need to know you'll do what's necessary. That you won't let sentiment stop you from ending this, even if it means my death."
"No." The word comes out harder than intended. "I'm not agreeing to that."
"Rafe—"
"No." I cross to her, hands framing her face. "We just found this. Found each other. I'm not planning your death before we've even tried to end her life."
"It's not about what we want. It's about protecting this island. All the people who live here." Her eyes hold mine. "Promise me. If it comes to that choice, you'll make the right one."
"The right choice is keeping you alive."
"The right choice is stopping an army of the drowned from destroying everyone in Stormhaven." Her hands cover mine. "Promise me."
She's right. If it comes to that choice—her life or the island—the answer is clear even if it destroys me.
"I promise." The words taste like ash. "But it won't come to that. We're going to stop her tonight."
She nods. Believes me because she wants to. But doubt shadows her eyes. The acceptance that she might not survive this.
"Show me what you've prepared." Subject change before I do something stupid like forbid her from leaving these quarters ever again.
She walks me through the defenses. Salt circles that will trap necromantic energy. Wards that respond to corrupted magic with purifying force. Protective barriers keyed specifically to my signature so I can pass through but nothing else can.
"You've been studying."
"I've been terrified." She closes the grimoire. "Every shadow looks like my sister. Every sound could be the necromancer coming for me. So I prepared. Because preparation is the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely."
Pull her against my chest. She trembles despite the brave face. "We're going to end this. Tonight."
"You keep saying that."
"Because I believe it." My hand strokes her hair. "The necromancer made mistakes. Killed Marco in my territory. Threatened you directly. Gave us information about her timeline. She's arrogant. Overconfident. And that's going to get her killed."
Moira relaxes slightly in my arms. "What happens after? When this is over?"
"What do you want to happen?"
"I don't know." Honest. Raw. "Last night was... intense. Real. But also complicated. You're a criminal. I'm supposed to be just an innkeeper. And everyone on this island will know what happened between us."
"Let them know." My voice drops. "You're mine now. Anyone who has a problem with that can take it up with me."
She pulls back enough to meet my eyes. "Yours? That's very presumptuous."
"Is it wrong?"
The pause stretches. Then: "No. It's not wrong. But it's still complicated."
"Everything worth having is complicated." I brush hair from her face. "We'll figure it out after we end the necromancer. After you're safe. After this island is secure."
"And if I don't survive this?"
"Not an option." I kiss her forehead. "You're surviving this. We both are. And then we're going to have a very long conversation about what happens next."
She manages a small smile. "You're very confident for someone facing a necromancer with an army of the drowned."
"She doesn't have her army yet. I've survived worse. So have you." I step back, giving her space. "Finish your preparations. I need to coordinate with Santos about the security upgrades. But I'll be back before sunset, and we'll go through the plan one more time."
"Rafe?" She stops me at the door. "Thank you. For protecting me. For caring. For making me feel like I'm worth fighting for."
"You are worth fighting for. Worth killing for." The truth comes easier than expected. "And anyone who threatens you is going to learn exactly what I'm capable of."
The afternoon passes in preparation. Santos implements the security upgrades—motion sensors, cameras with night vision, alarms that trigger directly to my phone. The dock workers receive new protocols: no one works alone, everyone checks in hourly, any suspicious activity gets reported immediately.
The research from Amsterdam gets studied until I've memorized every detail. We believe the summoning requires specific conditions. Tide patterns. Moon phases. Convergence points where sea magic naturally pools. And the anchor—the person performing the ritual—must be present at each death.
That's the weakness. Find the anchor. Stop them before they complete the final deaths. End the ritual before it reaches completion.
Simple in theory. Complicated in execution.
My phone buzzes. Declan: All positions staffed. Ready when you are.
I text back: Hold position. Report anything suspicious. I'm running one more check of the eastern convergence point.
The lie feels necessary. Because I'm not checking convergence points. I'm making sure Moira has everything she needs to survive if this goes wrong.
She's in the kitchen when I return, making coffee. The exhaustion shows in the set of her shoulders, the shadows under her eyes.
"You should rest." Move behind her, settling my hands on her shoulders. "We've got hours before anything happens. You need to be sharp."
"Can't rest. Every time I close my eyes, I see Elspeth. Hear her laughing." She leans back against me. "How do you do it? How do you face terrible things and not break?"
"I broke a long time ago. In Spain, when my family chose to banish me over truth." I work the tension from her shoulders. "But breaking doesn't mean ending. You gather the pieces. You rebuild. You become something harder. Something that can't be broken the same way twice."
"I don't want to be hard."
"You don't have to be. You just have to be strong enough to survive this." I turn her to face me. "And you are. You've survived ten years of hiding your power, watching your grandmother die, carrying guilt that wasn't yours to carry. You're one of the strongest people I've met."
"I don't feel strong. I feel terrified."
"Good. Fear keeps you sharp. Keeps you careful." I kiss her forehead. "But don't let it paralyze you. When the moment comes, when we face the necromancer, you act. No hesitation. No second-guessing. You trust your power and you end her."
She nods against my chest. "And if it's Elspeth? If my sister's corpse is the weapon she uses?"
"Then I'll handle it. You won't have to face her again." The promise comes easy. True. "Whatever it takes, I'll make sure you don't have to fight your sister."
"Thank you." The words come muffled against my shirt. "For everything."
We stand like that for long moments. Her in my arms. Me memorizing the feel of her. The scent. The warmth. Everything I'll protect with whatever it takes.
The necromancer threatened her. Used my people as messengers. Thinks fear will make me hesitate. But love doesn't make me weak. It makes me lethal.