Chapter 16
LILY
Golden morning light spilled through the window, pooling across the streets below.
The bruise on my shoulder throbbed with each breath—a reminder of last night's assault, of August's careful hands tending wounds he hadn't caused.
For believing I'm worth saving. The words I'd said to him echoed in my mind.
Still, my thoughts snapped back to the girl. I didn't know how much time I had before Adeline woke and I doubted she'd be thrilled if she found me gone. But if the girl had magic, she might know why Gran's necklace had brought me here and how to get back home.
I just had to make sure no one saw me leave.
I eased the door open and listened. Silence. Either Adeline was still asleep or she was keeping to herself.
My fingers traced the edge of August's coat, still draped over the chair where I'd left it last night.
He'd given it to me after the assault, wrapped it around my torn dress with shaking hands.
I should return it. Should thank him properly for.
. . For what? For not making things worse when you were already breaking?
That's what he'd done. Offered care when I was too shattered to defend myself. It didn't make him less of a hunter. Didn't change what he'd do if he found out I was meeting a Weaver.
I slipped down the stairs, cool morning air seeped through the glass panes. The house was eerily still, the kind of quiet that made it seem like I was already being watched.
I pushed the thought away.
Just as my fingers brushed the handle, a voice rang out behind me.
“Going somewhere?”
My stomach dropped. I froze, breath caught in my throat, then turned—slowly, like movement alone might betray me.
Adeline stood in the doorway at the end of the hall, arms crossed, one brow arched in clear disapproval. She wore a more fitted dress, her blonde hair swept back, making her sharp brown eyes all the more cutting. Even her beauty had an edge.
I gave her my most harmless smile. “Just getting some air.”
She hummed, unconvinced. “Interesting. Because it looks more like you’re sneaking out.”
“Semantics.”
Adeline released a heavy breath, settling against the doorway, clearly not planning to let this go. “August left explicit instructions for you to stay put.”
Of course he had. After last night—saving me, tending my wounds—he'd want me locked safely away. Protected.
Trapped.
“I'm sure he did,” I said carefully.
“He was quite insistent, actually.” Something shifted in Adeline's expression—not quite concern, but close. “Said you'd been through an ordeal last night. That you needed rest.”
So he'd told her. Not the details, probably—August didn't seem the type to share—but enough for Adeline to know I'd been hurt. Enough that she was looking at me now like she was trying to assess the damage.
“I'm fine,” I lied.
“Are you?” Her gaze flicked to where the bandage peaked above my collar. “Because you look like someone who should be in bed, not sneaking out to do. . . whatever it is you're planning.”
“I just need air. The house feels. . .” I searched for the right word. “Confining.”
“Mm.” Adeline studied me, clearly weighing something. “Not one for following orders, are you?”
I shrugged. “Nope.”
For a moment, we just stared at each other, a silent battle of wills.
Then, to my surprise, the corner of her mouth lifted—just a little. “Well, at least you’re honest about it.”
“So. . . are you going to stop me?”
Adeline studied me for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether I was worth the trouble. Then, to my shock, she turned around back into the room she came out of. “Just don’t be stupid.”
I blinked. “That’s it?”
“August thinks he can protect everyone by keeping them tucked away. But sometimes safety means allowing people to make their own choices. Even the foolish ones.”
“This isn't foolish.” I lied, because this was so damn foolish.
“We'll see.” She turned back toward the room she'd emerged from. “Just don't do anything that'll get him killed trying to save you. He's insufferable enough without adding martyrdom to his repertoire.”
A beat of silence. I waited for the catch—the condition, the “but first you need to tell me where you're going.”
It didn't come. Adeline disappeared back into the room, and I heard the rustle of fabric, the scrape of a chair. Like she was actually letting me go.
Too easy. This was too easy.
I pulled the door open and stepped out into the crisp morning air, every nerve screaming that this was a trap. That Adeline would follow me the moment I was out of sight, report back to August, even lead him straight to wherever I was going.
But what choice did I have? Stay locked in August's house like a good prisoner, or take the risk?
I chose risk.
I pulled my cloak tighter and headed toward the old bell tower, which I conveniently asked Mrs. Hartley about this morning. I kept my pace measured despite the urge to run. Normal. I needed to look normal. Just a woman taking a morning walk, nothing suspicious about it.
I turned the first corner and immediately glanced back.
No Adeline.
The street behind me was empty except for a baker's boy hauling a cart of bread.
I walked another block. Checked again.
Still nothing.
The alleys I passed seemed closer than they should have, every shadow a reminder of where hands had found me last night.
My ribs ached with each step, the bruises beneath August's careful bandaging blooming hotter with movement.
But I forced myself to keep checking over my shoulder—not just for attackers, but for a blonde woman in a green dress following at a careful distance.
I told myself the streets were safe in daylight. That what happened last night was an anomaly, that I'd been unlucky, that Oxford in 1892 was civilized and orderly and—
My body didn't believe it. The echo of boots on stone, the sudden drag into darkness, the tearing of fabric—it all clung to my skin like a stain I couldn't wash away.
But I kept walking. Kept checking behind me. Kept waiting for Adeline to appear or August to materialize from an alley, furious that I'd left. Neither happened.
The buildings thinned and the air grew quieter. At the edge of town, the old bell tower came into view—its dark silhouette cutting starkly against the brightening sky. Nine bells rang out across Oxford as I approached the tower, and somewhere behind me, I knew August would find me gone.
I hoped Adeline was right about him not adding martyrdom to his repertoire. Because I had a feeling I was about to make his life a lot more complicated.
It took a moment for me to see her. A small figure stepped out from behind a crumbling section of the bell tower wall, her cloak too large for her slight frame, blonde curls wild in the morning breeze. The child from the woods. The one who'd saved me.
She watched me with cautious eyes, her hands hidden in the folds of her cloak, poised to run.
“You came,” she said quietly.
I took a careful step closer, keeping my movements slow and unthreatening. “I said I would.”
She didn't relax. Just studied me with those too-old eyes, the kind that had seen more than any child should.
“I'm Lily,” I offered, since we'd never actually done introductions while fleeing witch hunters. “Lily Whitmore. You saved me in the woods. I never got to thank you properly.”
“Marigold.” She didn't move closer. “You shouldn't thank me. You should've run faster.”
A startled laugh escaped me. “Fair point.”
Marigold tilted her head, studying me like she was trying to solve a puzzle. “There are others you need to meet.”
I stiffened. “Others?”
“Not here.” Her eyes darted to the open street behind me. “Too exposed.”
She turned off towards the woods behind her.
“Wait. I don't even know who you are, really. Why should I trust you? How do I know this isn't a trap?”
Marigold looked back, something sad flickering in her young eyes. “You don't. But you followed me in the woods. And you kept quiet about me. So perhaps you already decided to trust me.”
She had a point. And what choice did I have? Go back to August's house and wait for him to trust me or turn me in? Or follow this child into the unknown and maybe get some answers?
“My gran,” I said quickly, before she could disappear. “She left me a necklace. An hourglass pendant. It brought me here, to 1892, and now it's shattered. Can you help me get back? Can these 'others' help me go home?”
Marigold's expression shifted—something almost like pity crossing her features. “I don't know. But they'll know more than I do. They can help you understand what you are. What you can do.”
“What I am?” The words came out sharper than intended. “What does that mean?”
“Come with me and find out.” She held out a small hand, dirt-stained and callused. “But we need to go now. Before someone sees us.”
I looked at her outstretched hand. At the ruins around us. At the city behind me where August would find me gone, where Adeline might already be regretting letting me leave.
Then I took Marigold's hand—small, warm, and gripping tight—and she yanked me into the trees before doubt could catch up.
Within minutes, the city had disappeared behind us, Oxford's familiar sounds replaced by rustling leaves and the occasional chirp of unseen birds. Morning light filtered through the canopy in spectral shafts, painting the mossy ground with shifting patches of gold and shadow.
“How far are we going?” I asked, stepping over a gnarled root that seemed to reach for my ankles.
“Not far.” Marigold moved between the trees with an ease that made me feel clumsy in comparison, her too-large cloak billowing behind her. “We're almost there.”
But “almost there” stretched on. Five minutes became ten, then fifteen. The path—if it could be called that—twisted deeper into woods that grew denser with each step. And the deeper we went, the stranger things became.