Chapter 38 #3
Cassia tried to remember her mother’s exact words when she’d cried bitterly after they sold her father’s things to pay some of the hospital bills.
‘The best memories are not in things,’ Celestia had whispered as she ran her fingers through Cassia’s curls. ‘They live in our hearts.’
But the heat behind her eyes betrayed her. One tear slipped loose before she could catch it.
The agent was at her side in an instant, while the elf couple cleared their throats amid awkward silence.
“Miss Aura,” he said quietly, his tight-lipped smile barely masking his panic, “perhaps you’d like to step outside for some fresh air?”
Then, almost in a hiss, “You are making them uncomfortable. And ruining the sale.”
She muttered an apology and went to the door like a wind-up doll at the end of her tune. Moving not because she wanted to, but because she’d been set in motion long ago.
Outside, she exhaled—shallow, quick, her chest hitching against the cat curled in her arms. She pressed her cheek to the top of his head and held on.
Anuck pressed his face into her shoulder.
She stood in the fading gold of the afternoon, in her mother’s garden, where the rosemary had gone a little wild and the lavender still bloomed without permission.
She hadn’t told anyone of her plans to sell.
She knew her friends would be furious. Heartbroken.
But they would’ve tried to stop her. She couldn’t let them.
“I’m sorry I have to sell our home,” she whispered thickly into Anuck’s fur. “I can’t sell the bakery. It’s what pays the bills.” She brushed a thumb along his ear. “I thought I was ready. But I feel like I’m letting go of another piece of them. It’s like losing them all over again.”
Anuck placed a paw on her arm, stretched his neck, and licked a tear on her cheek. She scratched behind his ear, taking comfort in his instantaneous purr, the warm vibrations within her arms.
The garden gate creaked open. Cassia stiffened and whirled around, instinct tightening her grip around Anuck. Her pulse lurched before she could stop it—that stupid, treacherous half-second where her heart decided who it wanted to see before her eyes caught up.
But it wasn’t Ark standing there. It was—
Delphyne.
She looked immaculate in a silver suit and coat, a plush fur shawl draped over one shoulder—so real-looking Cassia wondered what sort of charm had matched its colour to the thick braid falling over her other shoulder. A single, heavy rope of silver-white hair.
“Did . . . Did Ark send you?” Cassia stammered.
The Daemaris’s voice was calm. “No.”
“Oh.”
Her shoulders dropped before she could catch them, hope crumbling somewhere she couldn’t reach. She recovered—or tried to. Spine straight. Grip tighter. She quickly loosened it when Anuck let out a small, indignant squeak.
“Kassenor did,” Delphyne told her. “He said you looked like you were going to do something foolish.” She tilted her head toward the ‘For Sale’ sign and arched a brow. “He was right.”
Cassia tensed. “I don’t have time for a lecture.”
“Then don’t waste my effort by making me give you one out here,” Delphyne replied, already walking the garden path toward the house. “Let’s go inside.”
Cassia hesitated. A stubborn part of her wanted to plant her feet just for the satisfaction of it, but her curiosity won the battle. She followed.
Inside, the couple had brought out wallpaper samples, pressing them against a wall to see how it’d look in the light.
“. . . practically transforms the whole space!” the wife happily chirped.
The three froze when Delphyne strode in, the click of her heels striking the floorboards like a judge’s gavel. Surrounded by the quaint interior, the Daemaris looked even more terrifying in her otherworldly beauty.
The demon looked around, a small, admiring smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Cassia had never thought she’d see the Daemaris in a place like this—let alone approve of it.
“Ah, yes,” she murmured. “Wonderful.”
The agent blinked at her. “Excuse me. We have a scheduled showing, and my clients aren’t finished—”
“This house is no longer for sale,” Delphyne interjected. “Take your clients and get out.”
The couple exchanged a look. The agent’s jaw tightened.
“What—”
“It can’t be!”
The agent glared at Cassia. “Wait a moment. Are you trying to avoid paying commission by bringing your own buyer?”
Cassia opened her mouth, but the elf husband interjected, “We are interested!”
“Very interested,” his wife chimed in. “This is the nicest house we’ve seen within walking distance to Ms. Saphira’s Prestigious Academy for Gifted Young Elves. We can write a cheque for the deposit now.” She elbowed her husband hard. “Give her the cheque. Hurry.”
“Wait, wait.” The agent raised his hand. “Maybe we can discuss the price and start a bidding war.” He looked at Delphyne expectantly. “How much are you willing to pay?”
The Daemaris’s brow furrowed—slow, severe, thunderous.
She said nothing at first, but the room answered for her.
The air turned sharp—cold as steel drawn from a sheath.
The light dimmed at the edges. Cassia’s nape prickled with warning.
Her breath hitched. Even Anuck stirred in her arms, fur lifting along his spine, though he didn’t move.
Then Delphyne spoke. “You want to buy this house?”
She took a step forward. The couple recoiled, but she went on, calm and cold, “Let me tell you what you’re really purchasing.” She paused, letting her gaze drift across the room. “Decades of Memory Magic, woven into every surface by the people who lived here. All of it—still here. Still humming.”
Her eyes flicked toward the wife’s trembling hands, still clutching a floral wallpaper sample. “And you want to gut it. Tear it out. Scrub away every trace of the lives that made this place what it is. What’s the point of buying a house with a soul if you’re just going to destroy it?”
She turned to face the agent. “You will remove this house from the listings. Today.”
A sheen of sweat glistened on his brow. He stammered, “I—Madam, I’d need the owner’s permission, and—”
“You have it,” Delphyne said coolly, nodding at Cassia. “Miss Aura was under duress when she decided to list her home. Consider this a revocation of her consent.”
The wife set the wallpaper sample down on the counter without a word. Her husband took her arm. They rushed out, the front door clicking shut behind them. The agent lingered a moment longer, mouth working around protests that never quite formed, before following.