“Refusing the High Coven risks a potential shutdown,” Ollie said. “We’re lucky both you and Riley haven’t been locked into a cell. Or worse.”
I kept my glare on Ollie, so many words stinging the tip of my tongue. I wanted to rant harder, to throw the biggest of all strops. But what would that achieve? Deep down, I knew we had no choice. The High Coven were the world’s superpower, our magical masters. And they could cut us down, snuff us out like a candle.
We were lucky to have this protection, this freedom to be who we were born to be. Especiallyafter my mother, aunt, and uncle failed so miserably.
“Sit down,” Riley requested softly. “Please.”
I wanted to, I really did. The mature thing would be to swallow my pride, apologize, and stop being a hotheaded prick.
But my flaws were there for a reason. Instead, I gently prised my hand from his, and excused myself.
“Don’t go,” my little brother called after me.
“I just need five minutes,” I returned, hurrying from the room, jogging toward the back of the house.
Fresh air and a few minutes of self-reflection would be a great idea.
I stepped out into the immaculate gardens, walking toward the fence along the southern edge of the grounds. I grabbed the cold metal bars and looked out to sea, taking in deep lungfuls of briny air.
What a lovely, fresh winter’s day. The sun shining, the sky blue with a few puffs of clouds, the sea below rolling gently to shore. Calm for the moment.
Movement sounded behind me.
As I turned, I expected to see Riley.
Ollie stood there instead, hands in his pockets.
I licked my lips nervously, annoyed that he’d followed me. “What is it?”
“You were out of order,” he answered, his expression cloudy.
“Hence me taking some alone time to cool off.” Ooo, my tone came off super snarky.
Good!
“My mum’s not in the wrong here,” he said, as cold as frozen peas.
“Did I say she was?” I snapped back.
He shrugged. “Sounded like it to me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Go away.”
“Brat.”
Why did he insist on poking the monster? Correction: the glamorous monster. “Leave me alone. I’ll say sorry when I’m ready.”
No answer, just more hard staring.
My temples throbbed. “Can you blame me for being angry? Stefan’s?—”
“He made me watch witches fake-burn to death,” he cut me off.
My stomach dropped. “You…what did you say?”’
He removed his hand from his left pocket, running it over his face. “He burned those shimmer witches from the funfair because they put two and two together about you. They’re trapped in a loop of torture until they start talking.”
My stomach roiled, nausea creeping through me. “I don’t?—”
