“I’m in,” Rowan says, grinning.
I look to Sebastian and Wylder, and when they both nod, I laugh. “Then I guess it’s settled. Looks like we’re doing this.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The smell of cinnamon and butter pulls me from sleep. I blink at the ceiling of my childhood bedroom, stretching languidly before realizing the sun is already high. It’s late morning, at least.
Rolling over, I’m surprised to see it’s almost eleven. Yeah, wow, no wonder my stomach is threatening a mutiny.
Voices drift upstairs through the elaborate iron grates on the floor. Asher’s laugh is bright and unguarded, followed by Rowan’s lower, teasing response.
I swing my legs out of bed, and head down the hall.
The magic of the house hums beneath my feet, content and alive. It’s been in a good mood for days now, peaceful and settled. And as strange as it might sound, feeling its welcome has gone a long way in rooting me in all things.
In my ancestral magic.
In the town I grew up with.
In the legacy of being an Emberwood Elite.
It’s mine and always been mine. My blood sings with the same power that built these walls, that carved those standing stones, that wove protection and love andintentioninto every corner of this place.
They may have sent me away, but no one can ever take that away from me.
I run my hand down the silky banister and feel nothing but the steady thrum of magic the house offers me.
Since we sealed the veil at the festival, the ley lines have stopped thrashing. The tears Sebastian spent months and even years patching have knitted themselves closed without incident. The rifts between worlds hold firm and are knitting together stronger everyday.
It should feel like a victory.
Instead, it feels like the calm before a storm.
Because the reason nothing is trying to break through anymore is simple: whatever was trying to get out already succeeded.
Tharuzel is free. He hasn’t made his presence known yet, but we all know he’s here, gathering strength, readying for whatever he has planned.
I push the thought away and head downstairs.
The kitchen is chaotic in the best possible way. Nobuddy and Somebuddy spot me the second I round the corner and launch themselves at my ankles, yipping and spinning in frantic circles. I crouch, laughing as they lick my hands and bounce on their tiny paws.
“Morning, trouble twins,” I murmur, scratching behind their ears.
When I straighten, I find Asher and Rowan both frozen mid-motion, staring at me.
Asher’s got a whisk in one hand, a bowl of what looks like pancake batter in the other. Rowan’s leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee halfway to her lips. Neither of them blinks.
“What?” I glance down at myself, then reach up to touch my hair. “Do I have bedhead? Drool on my face?”
I try to smooth it down, fingers catching on tangles, but they’restillstaring.
Asher sets the bowl down carefully. “Poppy.”
“What?”
He crosses the kitchen and takes my hand, tugging me toward the living room. “You need to see this.”
My stomach flips. “See what?”
