Chapter Nineteen
Katherine steeled herself outside the door to Sylvia’s office, taking a deep breath before knocking. She held her breath as the wards glowed and the door popped open slightly. Her hopes that Sylvia might be out this morning were dashed when she heard her mentor say a faint “Come in.”
Katherine walked inside, taking her seat in front of the desk.
Sylvia looked tired, her normally shiny hair marred by tiny bits of frizz emerging from her scalp.
Her red lipstick was faded, feathering at the edges, and there was a chip in her always-perfect manicure.
It was better than she had looked the other night, when both of them had been covered in dust and blood and tears, but Lily’s death was clearly hitting her just as hard as it was hitting Katherine.
And Katherine was about to make her day even worse.
She pushed the question she was here to ask to the back of her mind, instead leaning forward and reaching for Sylvia’s hands. There was a brief flinch, but then Sylvia reached out and grasped hers back.
“Feeling better?” Katherine asked.
“It comes and goes.”
Katherine nodded. She knew the feeling—grief was not a consistent mistress.
One moment, she’d be so weighed down that she couldn’t move; the next, she’d be allowed to go on living her life as normal, lulling her into a false sense of security until it grabbed her by the ankles and sent her sprawling down again.
“I don’t know how to move on from this,” Katherine said quietly.
Sylvia had been her sole confidant as a teen, staying up all night while Katherine cried into her shoulder.
But as she’d gotten older, their relationship had grown more professional—drifting apart by gradual degrees.
It was slow, the distance between them still minuscule, but sometimes Katherine looked at the few inches of space and it felt like a chasm.
Like if she took one wrong step, she’d fall in, and no one would come and get her.
But then Sylvia squeezed Katherine’s hand, and that space was gone.
“This is…” Sylvia trailed off. “I’ve worked my whole life to prevent any other kids from having to go through this, and then something like this happens, and I feel like I haven’t gotten anywhere at all.”
“You have. You’ve done so much.”
“We both have. We can’t forget that.”
Katherine stared out the window, trying to let herself believe that that was true, even as her brain swirled with all of the things she could have done.
All of the steps she could have taken. She’d gotten distracted from her mission.
She wouldn’t let herself get distracted like that again. There was too much at stake.
“She looked like me.” Katherine’s voice was almost a whisper. “Like I used to.”
“I know.”
Katherine bit her lip. “Thank you. For finding me. For making sure I didn’t wind up … like that.”
Sylvia reached over, putting a finger under Katherine’s chin and lifting her face up so that their eyes met. “I will always find you, Katherine. Every time.”
The tear fell before Katherine could blink it away. Sylvia wiped it off with a smooth finger, then pulled back, giving her a thin smile. “God, you were so young when I met you. Where does the time go?”
Katherine laughed. “We’re both old birds now, Syl.”
“Oh, please. You don’t get to call yourself old until menopause.”
This time, Katherine’s laugh was full and real, and for a shining moment, she felt like her old self. Still partially broken—she always would be—but capable of joy. Hope. Happiness.
But then Sylvia pulled her hands away, her face shuttering again and those few inches of distance streaming back in. She’d been working so hard, and the emotional impact of what happened to Lily had to make her efforts at fixing the wards even tougher.
“Can I at least try to help with the wards?” Katherine asked.
“No, it’s fine. I can do it.”
“Fixing them in this short of time would be a lot for even the most powerful witch. I can—”
“I said no, Katherine,” Sylvia snapped. “If I thought you could help, I would have asked. The wards need to be fixed, not blown up by an emotional amateur.”
Katherine blinked away her hurt expression.
Sylvia had made comments on her magic skills before, but never so blunt.
She was on edge, Katherine reminded herself, nervous about Silas and upset about Lily.
Witches in their care had snapped before, but never so publicly or so extremely—and never with the risk of Noctis breathing down their necks.
“Right. Of course.”
Katherine had another thing she needed to ask, but after that, it was even harder to get herself to push the question out—especially when she had a good idea of what the answer would be. She just had to do it. It’s not that hard. Just open your mouth and say it.
Katherine hadn’t gone to Sylvia to update her after she left Silas.
Instead, she’d spent the previous evening doing exactly what Sylvia had told her not to do: trailing Byron Chambers across the city, trying to find proof that he was responsible for making the altum she had found in the police station.
As soon as she saw that bag on the evidence table, she pieced it together.
Byron must have given Lily the altum when they spoke at the coven meeting, told her it was something that would take the edge off.
Stressed, she ran into Hollywood and Highland and took the thing she’d been promised would help. And then she snapped.
Byron Chambers was the reason Lily was dead, and Katherine was going to spend every waking moment making sure he paid for it.
To do that, though, she needed evidence—evidence he was determined not to give her.
She had followed him until the sun went down, until the headache from the overuse of her magic forced her back to her apartment for some sleep.
She’d gotten exactly nothing out of it—he was infuriatingly normal, going from work to dinner to drinks to home, all with the same shit-eating, Fuck you, Katherine, you’ll never catch me grin on his face.
He was too good. Too good at seeming too privileged and perfect to bother taking the risk of making altum. Too good at gaslighting her into thinking that she could’ve been wrong about him all along.
She needed to find proof that she wasn’t.
“I had something else I wanted to ask you—” she started, but then she was cut off by the shrill sound of Sylvia’s phone ringing.
“I have to take this.” Sylvia sighed. “Henry’s been on the verge of a conniption all morning.”
Sylvia answered the phone and stood, pacing as she snapped at Henry about readying the coven’s financial records for Noctis’ perusal.
Katherine could feel Sylvia’s anger building, the mood in the room turning so sour it almost felt hot.
Katherine would be better off waiting to ask until another day, but she couldn’t wait.
She could just do it without asking.
She shifted in her seat. She had permission to take any spell she wanted from the spell library, but she’d never used it to go behind Sylvia’s back before. Sylvia had told her not to look into Byron, and doing this spell definitely went against that.
But Katherine needed to know if he was involved, and the altum tracking spell was her best bet.
It was the same spell she’d used to track the drug’s residue to Joe, except then she’d had Sylvia’s full support.
All she’d had to do was have Fiona flirt with him for approximately thirty seconds at a coven meeting while Katherine “accidentally” bumped into him and did the spell.
(Fiona had said she’d felt like she needed to take a dozen showers afterward.) Somehow, she didn’t think she’d get away with something that obvious with Byron.
Maybe if she were better at the intricate spells. As Sylvia clearly knew, Katherine’s magic was too big, too bold—her runes always lit up like fireworks, easy to spot for anyone looking. If she did this spell around Byron, there was no chance he wouldn’t see it.
But if he was guilty—and she was sure he was—it wouldn’t matter.
She just had to get Sylvia on board with her suspicions.
She had to tell her that she and Silas had broken into police Evidence.
That she’d found altum there, and that it may have played a role in Lily’s death.
With the stakes that high, Sylvia couldn’t say no.
“Just—please,” she heard Sylvia say into the phone. “You’re a big boy. You can figure this out. I promise.”
Sylvia hung up, then slumped back in her chair, resting her head in her hands and rubbing her fingers on her temples.
She looked … fragile. Like one strong breath would blow her over.
Katherine had never seen her so close to the edge, and the possibility of this woman falling apart—this pillar, who had always seemed so solid—was unthinkable.
And Sylvia would never admit that, not even to Katherine.
They’d both had to learn early in life that weakness was unacceptable.
That weakness was shame. That weakness was death.
And so Sylvia would force hers down, and Katherine would too, and they would both go on until their grief was buried so deep that it became a part of the foundation of who they were.
She couldn’t push Sylvia further toward her breaking point.
And so she stood, and said her goodbyes, and headed toward the door. When she’d named Katherine Executrix, Sylvia had placed trust in her that she would only do what needed to be done.
Byron needed to be caught. Katherine could fill Sylvia in on what she’d done to accomplish that after the fact.