Chapter Twelve
By the time we returned to the house, washed the grit from my scraped palms, bandaged them, and tended Tani’s wounds, night had fully settled over Hickory Hollow. Darkness pressed against the windows, thick and listening, as if the world outside had leaned closer, curious what would happen next.
The house smelled faintly of herbs, old wood, and ozone.
Tani—pale, furious, and muttering under her breath—had shrunk back to her smaller form and vanished into the greenhouse with a promise of vengeance and healing salves.
The Red Queen remained barricaded in the upstairs guest room under strict orders not to wander, sulking loudly enough to be heard through the ceiling.
Willow perched regally on the arm of a chair, tail wrapped around her paws, golden eyes tracking Owen as he swept shattered glass into a dustpan.
I sat curled at one end of the sofa, one leg tucked beneath me, bandages snug around my palms. Every muscle felt hollowed out, wrung thin.
“Thanks for doing that,” I said quietly.
Owen glanced up. “Of course.”
He tipped the last of the broken glass into the trash and leaned on the broom, shoulders sagging now that the danger had passed.
“Piper… I’m sorry.”
I frowned. “Sorry for what?”
“For not stopping it sooner. At the shop. In the woods.” His jaw tightened. “I should’ve bound that demon the second I saw it. I hesitated.”
“You didn’t hesitate,” I said firmly, pushing myself to my feet. Crossing the room felt like walking through water. “You protected me.”
He shook his head. “Not fast enough. My father wouldn’t have waited.”
I took the broom from his hands and let it fall to the floor. Then I threaded my fingers through his, careful of the bandages. “You’re not your father. And I’m alive because of you.”
He searched my face, something raw slipping through the careful control he usually wore.
“I’ve wanted you safe for a long time,” he said quietly. “Longer than I ever admitted to myself.”
The words landed heavier than a declaration ever could. My chest tightened and my breath caught.
“Owen—”
“It’s all right,” he said quickly, already retreating half a step. “You don’t have to answer that. I’ll wait. However long you need.”
No one had ever said that to me.
The realization hit harder than fear.
Emotion surged up fast and unmanageable. I stepped into him instead, pressing my forehead to his chest. His heart beat steady beneath my ear. He didn’t kiss me. He didn’t rush me. He wrapped his arms around me and held on, solid and unmovable, until the shaking eased.
Only then did he tip my chin up.
He kissed me like he’d been waiting—patient, careful, but unable to deny it any longer.
His lips were warm and sure, fitting to mine as if they’d always known how.
The world softened around us, the noise and fear falling away until there was only the quiet press of his mouth and the steady strength of his arms holding me in place.
It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t asking for more. It was a promise made without words.
When I pulled back, breathless, it was only because I needed air.
“There’s something you need to know.”
His expression sharpened instantly. “Okay.”
“When the demon spoke…” My voice wavered. “It didn’t scare me. It did something. Like it reached inside my head. Tried to convince me I’d never be alone if I went to him. Made me want to believe his lies.”
His grip tightened, careful of my hands. “But you didn’t choose it.”
“No. And every time you spoke, it stopped.” I swallowed. “If you hadn’t been there…”
“Then I’m not going anywhere,” he said without hesitation. “Not tonight.”
Relief hit me so hard my knees nearly gave out.
We curled together on the sofa beneath my aunt’s crocheted afghan, his arm firm around my shoulders, my cheek over his heart. The house creaked softly around us. Willow hopped down and curled near our feet.
Sleep came quietly this time.
A scraping sound tore me from sleep.
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
I bolted upright. Owen was already moving, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“That’s not the Red Queen,” he said.
Cold fear slid through my veins. “I heard that before.”
He was up the stairs before I could stop him reaching for the attic ladder. I hurried after him.
“Wait.” I grabbed his arm. “It was… fire. Light. Power. It vanished.”
“Then we’ll find out why.”
Willow appeared silently, staring upward, tail lashing once.
Owen pulled down the ladder and climbed first. I followed, heart pounding.
The attic was dark—until Owen lifted his hand, light crackling into existence in his palm like trapped lightning.
The sound came again.
From the trunk.
The lid launched toward us.
We ducked as yellow-orange light exploded upward, washing the attic in an unnatural glow. A shadow form surged out—thin, clawed, its eyes burning red.
It went straight for me.
I screamed.
Owen hurled the lightning, ripping through the specter—but it reformed, shrieking.
Wind roared suddenly as Owen raised both hands, forcing the thing back toward the trunk.
“Get the lid!”
I moved on instinct, hauling it across the attic floor—
And froze.
Something else came out.
This one was solid.
Scaled. Horned. Fanged. Holding a sword.
And it charged Owen.
Lightning struck again. Once. Twice. The blade flew from its grasp.
Owen snatched it mid-fall.
The sword hummed.
He swung.
The creature howled—and dissolved into black smoke.
More shadows surged upward behind it.
“NOW!”
I slammed the lid shut as something punched upward beneath it, nearly throwing me back. Owen leapt forward, white light flaring from his hands and sealing the trunk in a binding glow.
Silence crashed down.
I collapsed to the floor, shaking.
“That wasn’t… a haunting,” I whispered.
“No,” Owen said grimly. “It was a containment anchor.”
My breath hitched. “For what?”
“Unstable crossings. Alice didn’t open doors—she locked them.”
“They came for me,” I said.
Owen knelt in front of me, firm grip on my shoulders. “Because you’re the Guardian of the Crossroads now.”
My blood ran cold.
“We need to move this,” he said. “Before it tears wider.”
“Where?”
He met my gaze. “My father.”
The truth settled like a final, echoing bell. This wasn’t Alice’s legacy.
It was mine.