Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Two days crawl by without a word from Rowan. I've texted her three times, each message met with radio silence that churns in my gut like bad takeout.
The Hallowind library has become the Brigade’s war room.
Books stack across the mahogany table in precarious towers—half a dozen Mica liberated from the Emberwood coven archives, a few from her family's personal collection, and several Hallowind tomes that Asher and I pulled in hopes that they might hold some kind of clue about the Cinderheart Crucible.
"When are you expecting Asher back?" Wylder's question is nonchalant, but there's definitely some underlying tension.
"He and Orion took the pups to the dog park and then they're headed over to the mercantile to spend more of Lizzy McAllison's money. I'm not expecting them back anytime soon."
Wylder sits across from me, his dark hair falling forward as he hunches over a leather-bound tome so old the pages crackle when he turns them. He's been careful around me since my outburst at Ashcroft Manor.
At least he's stopped avoiding me.
That's progress, right?
I flip another page of the grimoire I'm studying, and the ancient text in front of me blurs. It's been three hours of deciphering archaic symbols and cryptic passages about metallurgy, and the closest thing I've found to a divine forge is a recipe for blessed horseshoes.
I sigh and catch Wylder's gaze lifting to look over.
I pretend not to notice, rubbing my eyes and refocusing on a passage about ancient metalwork. I shift in my seat, my joints protesting from sitting too still for too long.
When I feel the warmth of Wylder's gaze on me again, I set the book down and meet his concern head-on. "Okay, spill it. What's wrong?"
He blinks, those green eyes widening slightly. "Nothing."
"You're staring at me."
"I'm not." His denial is clipped, and he closes his eyes, the muscle in the side of his jaw flexing. "Okay, I am. The truth is… I'm worried about you."
The admission is refreshingly honest and direct. I'm not sure what to do with that. "I'm fine."
"Are you?" He closes his book, leaning back in his chair. "Because what I caught of the show between you and Laurel at Ashcroft Manor didn't seem like you were fine."
Heat crawls up my neck. "I had it under control."
"Did you?"
The question hangs between us, pointed and uncomfortable. I want to snap back, but the truth is I'm not sure he's wrong. The darkness that surged through me felt good in a way that still makes my skin crawl.
He leans forward and props his elbows on the table, pegging me with a look that makes my stomach clench. "You can trust me, you know? With what you're thinking, what you're feeling."
"I know that."
"Do you?" The hurt in his voice is brewing in his eyes, too. "I didn't handle the past couple of weeks well, and I'm sorry about that.”
My stomach twists. "You don't need to apologize for being angry about me agreeing to a blood-contract with a demon. Believe me, I get it."
"No, I don't think you do." He shifts closer. "My reaction had nothing to do with the contract itself."
I stare at him, confused. "It didn't?"
"No." His voice is raw in a way I've never heard from him. "Asher knew. Sebastian knew. But you kept it from me. I thought we were getting close. It hurt that you didn't feel like you could confide in me."
The revelation sucks the air out of my lungs. All this time, I'd assumed he was judging me for signing Tharuzel's contract, disappointed by my desperation or reckless stupidity. It never occurred to me that his anger stemmed from feeling shut out.
"I was ashamed. I was already tainted from my bloodline being demon-marked. You’re right. We were getting close, and I didn't want you to look at me differently."
"Poppy, I—"
"No, listen." I press my palms against the table's cool surface.
"I was trapped in Hell, scared, and alone.
I didn't know what else to do. I was staring up at this hideous, evil beast of a demon who was ready to toss me to the side and go after my little sisters.
I did what I thought I had to in that moment, but that doesn't mean I'm not ashamed and horrified. "
"And you thought I'd judge you for trying to save your family?"
"Wouldn't you? We don't actually have a track record of mutual respect and support."
"No, that's you and Asher, right?" The words come out fierce and accusatory.
Before I can respond, he curses, circles the table, and sits beside me.
"I'm sorry. Your life has been chaos since you got back here, and I didn't make it any easier.
It makes perfect sense that you turned to Asher for comfort and Sebastian for answers.
I'm just saying that in the future, I can be that for you, too. You can trust me to be on your side."
My throat tightens. "Okay. Thanks."
He takes my hand. "I can handle the crazy, the messy, and the scary. All of it."
The sincerity in his expression cracks something open inside me. Before I can second-guess the impulse, I lean forward and kiss him.
He freezes for a heartbeat, then his hand comes up to cup the back of my neck, pulling me closer. The kiss is tender, but with something edgy and wild underneath. The first time we kissed, he surprised me, and I didn’t know what to think.
This kiss isn’t that.
Heat blooms through my chest, chasing away the cold anxiety that's been my constant companion, and I’d swear the house inhales, as if to bear witness.
There's something magical that happens when Wylder lets his guard down. And while it doesn't happen often, I think that makes a moment like even more special.
His thumb traces the edge of my jaw as he eases back, staring at my lips. "We never got around to that talk, did we?"
"No."
"We should. We definitely should."
I smile against his mouth as he leans in for another kiss, my heart picking up its pace. His lips brush mine, teasing… and then the doorbell rings.
We both groan.
Wylder sits straighter. "To be continued?"
"Definitely."
Thaddeus Vale waits on my porch, impeccably dressed as always. Today's tie shimmers with tiny constellations that shift as he moves, and I catch a flash of rainbow argyle when he adjusts his stance.
"Good, you're home." He inclines his head, his mauve-gray eyes glinting in the golden light of the ancient wall sconces of the foyer. "I apologize for the unannounced visit."
"No worries." I step back, gesturing him inside. "What brings you by?"
"I need to speak with both you and your mother, if she's available."
"Of course. Follow me."
I lead him through the house to Mom's workroom and push the door open.
Mom stands looking out the window, translucent enough that I can see the trees in the yard through her torso. Panic spears me right in the heart. "Mom?"
When she turns, she solidifies so quickly I almost convince myself I imagined it.
Almost.
Her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Vale! What a lovely surprise."
Vale steps forward, executing a small bow that somehow doesn't look ridiculous. "Zoe, darling. You're looking as lovely as ever."
"Liar." She laughs, but there's affection in it. "I'm dead, Thaddeus. No need for pleasantries."
"I don't lie, Zoe, you know that. I speak the truth and nothing but the truth." He straightens, expression softening. "It's good to see you, dead or otherwise."
I file away my worry about Mom's translucence for later, focusing on Vale instead. "What did you need to talk to us about?"
"Two matters, actually." He produces a leather portfolio from seemingly nowhere—probably some kind of pocket dimension spell. "First, I have findings to report regarding the investigation into Lily and Violet's disappearance. I told you I would look into their placement, and I have."
My heart lurches. "You found something?"
"Yes and no." He unzips the portfolio, pulls out a thin file folder, and flips it open to reveal neat rows of handwriting interspersed with official-looking documents.
"We've confirmed that Laurel Cromwell orchestrated their removal five years ago.
She enlisted the help of a portal witch—a mercenary from the Silverwood coven named Marcus Thorne. "
Mom joins us, her form as vibrant and steady as ever. "Where did they take the girls?"
"Thorne portaled them to a safe house in Quebec." Vale's finger traces a line across one document. "From there, the trail fragments. However, we have confirmed they were not placed into a new life, as Laurel claimed."
"That's it?" The words come out sharper than I intend. "Sorry, but we guessed that much. That doesn't get us any closer to finding them."
"Maybe not yet, but the safehouse was a waypoint. We're looking into ownership and possible connections to other supernaturals." Vale's expression darkens. "Whoever took over from Thorne knew how to cover their tracks exceptionally well, but that doesn't mean we've given up."
Mom's hands clench into fists, though the motion looks strange when her fingers barely cast shadows. "Do you know anything about Thorne? Can we get him to talk? Maybe he wasn't fully aware and will give us a name?"
"Thorne is dead, I'm afraid. Car accident three years ago." Vale's tone suggests he doesn't believe it was an accident. "I have contacts continuing the investigation, but I wanted to update you on our progress—or lack thereof."
I wrap my arms around myself, processing. Laurel didn't just make a mistake or act in what she thought were the girls' best interests. She actively conspired to take them, lied about it, and handed them off to someone we can't identify.
"Thank you for looking into this," I manage.
"Of course." He sets the file folder onto Mom’s worktable and tucks his leather portfolio away. "Which brings me to my second reason for visiting. Your attendance has been requested at the meeting of the Order of the Arcane tomorrow night."
I blink. "What? You’re screwing with me, right?"
“Why would you assume that?”
“Because the Order of the Arcane isn’t real. It’s one of those boogeyman organizations witches whisper about when they’re trying to spook you out of doing something.”
Vale arches an ebony brow. “I assure you, the Order of the Arcane is very real. And the fact that they’ve taken notice of you is extremely worrisome.”
I don’t like the sound of that.
“Do you know why they want to see her?” Mom asks.
"I wasn't told the specifics, only to notify you of your need to attend." Vale studies me, and something in his expression puts me on edge. "However, I would advise treating this with the utmost seriousness. The Order doesn't issue a summons like this lightly."
My mind races through possibilities. The demon mark? My confrontation with Laurel? The demon targeting activity around town? Wait, have I breached exposure somehow?
"Can you at least tell me what to expect?"
"Assuming this is a formal proceeding, you will be permitted to bring one advisor—I would be honored to serve in that capacity, given my familiarity with your family's legal matters. Though I should warn you, Order meetings can be unpredictable and tend toward the theatrical."
I let out a long breath. "All right. Consider me warned."