Chapter 23 #2
She squares herself off with her brother, who stands more than a foot taller and carries an extra hundred pounds over her.
It's almost comical how she takes him on, but hey, I've never had a brother, so I can't say I know much about this kind of dynamic.
"This is what being a Descendant of the Nine is all about, Xavier.
I was drafted to this purpose centuries ago.
Yes, it's dangerous, but if a building was burning, you'd be the first one to rush inside to rescue anyone trapped. Do you expect me to do any different?"
His jaw tightens. "I don't like it. Look what happened to that guy from Denmark. And he only touched the chamber runes. He wasn't even trying to power them up."
Khylie touches her brother's arm. "Xavi."
"No, don't Xavi me. Spirit witches died performing that original binding. The journals tell us that." He looks at me. "You know that, right? You're asking her to do something that kills people."
"I'm not going to pretend it's safe. It isn't. The ritual is dangerous, and I won't dress it up as anything else.
But think about what happens if we don't do it.
" I hold his gaze. "If Tharuzel breaks the remaining lockstones and his master comes out of its prison after being locked away for centuries, furious and starving, who do you think is first on its list to eliminate? "
I let that sit for a moment. "Not the Order. Not the Brigade. The spirit witch Descendants of the Nine. The ones with the bloodline, the power, and the knowledge to lock it away again."
Xavier says nothing, but something shifts in his expression.
Around us, the beach grows very quiet.
I turn to see the weight of my words on the faces of my friends. "What? You didn't think of that?"
Wylder frowns. "I've thought of little else."
"Well, I didn't," Asher grumbles, "but I'm also not going to let that happen. Super mega major demon or not, he's not taking you down, P."
Khylie rests a hand on her brother’s crossed arms. "Yes, it's dangerous to do the ritual and to oppose Tharuzel. But Poppy's right… it's more dangerous not to."
Xavier stares at the horizon for a long moment. Then he walks past us toward the waterline and stands with his back to the group, looking out at the sea.
The Hallowind standing stones welcome us home with a shimmer of residual portal energy from Asher, and for a moment I just stand there and breathe.
The salt air and tropical heat of the Bahamas gives way to the December chill of New England and the smell of pine, and the tight band around my chest noticeably loosens.
"And there you have it, people," Asher announces as we walk down the slope of the plateau toward the forest. "Four hours of flight condensed into four seconds of Asher Air. Where your pleasure is my pleasure."
His words land and I scrunch my nose. "Ash, sweetie. I think that came out a little creepier than you meant."
Orion snorts. "Yeah, work on your slogan."
Rowan stretches her arms above her head as we step beneath the canopy of trees.
It may be winter, but there are enough evergreens in my family forest to feed the shadow tendrils curling lazily from her fingertips.
"And pleasure probably isn't the best way to describe it.
What with a battle with a demon, a possession, and us having sand in places I'm not going to mention in polite company. "
"As if we're polite company," Izzy says.
Rowan smiles. "Well, you're company, at least."
When we get to the back of the house, Clara pulls me into a brief but fierce hug. "Regroup and let us know if you need us. Thanks for including us."
Izzy waves with a tired smile and heads toward where the driveway comes down the side of the house. "Good luck rounding up a ritual team."
"Thanks."
Orion gives Asher a kiss and whispers—likely something highly inappropriate—into his ear before saying goodbye and jogging off to catch the girls. That leaves me, Wylder, Asher, and Rowan to climb the stairs of the back porch to go inside.
Stomping our boots off outside the back doors announces our arrival, and by the time the glass door is sliding in its track, there is a frantic scramble of tiny nails on hardwood, a blur of tan and white and caramel fur, and two small dogs launching themselves at us the moment we clear the threshold.
"There they are." Asher drops his duffel and crouches, scooping Nobuddy under one arm and catching Somebuddy before she can ricochet off his shin.
He lets them lick his face with the enthusiasm of a man who's been gone three weeks instead of three days.
"Did you miss me? Did someone tell you Daddy was doing heroic and important things? "
"No one told them that," Lily says, chuckling as she greets us.
He presses his cheek against Somebuddy's tiny caramel head. "It's fine. They know."
The thump of hurried steps on the stairs brings Violet down to join us, and I stop dead. Her hair is purple.
Not a subtle, muted tone of purple, but a deep, vivid, commanding shade of lavender that catches the hallway light like something that belongs in a painting.
"Oh wow," Rowan says.
Wylder blinks. "That's striking."
"Right?" Lily beams like she had something to do with it.
Violet does a slow spin on the bottom step, laughing. "I know. I'm obsessed."
I close the gap and hug her first, then Lily. "It's stunning, Vi. Genuinely. You look incredible. Is it your affinity? Did your storm magic do that?"
Violet laughs, and her entire body radiates a level of happiness I haven't seen in her since before all this happened. "No. It took four hours at the hairdresser to look this fabulous, thank you very much. Absolutely zero magic involved."
"Four hours." Asher whistles, standing up with Nobuddy still tucked under his arm. "That's a commitment, beautiful, but it was worth every minute."
Agreed. "After everything you've been through, you absolutely deserve a fresh new you. And I love that you decided to make a statement."
Lily points at her and grins. "That's exactly what I said."
We settle into the open area living room and kitchen, shedding bags and jackets, while the house absorbs the noise of us like it always does, with something that feels close to quiet relief.
Asher steps behind the island and fills the kettle, then starts taking down mugs. "Who wants what? I'm going with Irish coffee."