Ana met Millie’s eyes as she went through the list of people she’d been told she should eradicate from this world. She went through the list of beings her father had once put on her. The list the witches had put on her.
“I don’t mean who you have been told to seek it for,” Millie said, apparently knowing where Ana’s mind had wandered. “I mean you. Deianira Bronfell. The girl who once told me she’d known the people being dragged away to the camps. Been friends with those persecuted in the other realms. Who will that girl seek revenge upon?”
Ana considered it, going all the way back to the day that stoked all these flames. The day that triggered her father’s desperation for her to become who she would be. She could still feel the heat on her cheeks. Hear the cracking of her home all around her.
“Firemoor,” Ana answered.
Millie’s smile spread, and she rose to her feet. “You’ll need a crown. And an army.” Her talon grazed the iron bar, creating sparks, and Ana’s head tilted.
“Lucky for me, your king has both of those,” she taunted.
Millie paused. “Decide how you want to acquire those things, now that it’s all at your fingertips for the taking,” she said. “Will you try by force again? Or will you accept the hand that’s offered?”
Ana didn’t get a chance to question what the demon meant before Millie disappeared up the winding steps. She sank her head back onto the wall and thought about it as the music lulled her aching mind.
Sam stared at the live broadcast of his demons strung up in Firemoor’s capital, his chair swerving back and forth, fingers steepled together. Every time he saw them, his anger heightened. Between this and the disaster happening down in his dungeon, his patience was starting to wear thin.
His phone rang, and Sam sighed at the name that popped up.
“Jay,” he answered, knowing what was about to happen.
“Sam,” Jay’s voice seemed timid, like he was anxious about whatever was on his mind. “I was wondering if you’d seen Ana today,” he continued. “She didn’t show this morning. I’ve called her a few times. Thought maybe the two of you had run off together.”
He was trying to sound light-hearted, and Sam caught the worry.
“Ah… we actually broke up last night,” Sam said.
He wasn’t totally lying.
“Oh,” Jay replied. “Oh… I’m worried now. What if she ran away? What if something happened? Was she okay—“
“Jay, I really don’t know,” Sam interjected, trying not to let his tone get the best of him. “We were both upset. Things were said… if I hear from her, I’ll let you know. Call me when she turns up. I’m sure she’s okay.”
Sam hung up the phone before he had to lie or listen to Jay’s worry about Ana any longer.
His door creaked, and Millie walked in with a couple of drinks in her hands. She said nothing as she crossed to the chair by his desk and sat the glasses on the top.
“You’re still watching this?” she muttered.
“How did the chat go?” he asked, unwilling to talk about why he continued to put himself through the torture.
Millie sighed into the supple armchair. “You two have a lot to talk about,” she said, meeting his blank eyes.
“Like what.”
“Like how she knows nothing about your past, and you know nothing about hers,” she said. “And yet… you love her.”
“Would you like me to argue with you and tell you all the reasons why I fell in love with her?”
“I’d like that, actually,” she said, smile on her lips. “I’d love to know what Death looks for in a wife.”
Sam almost smiled, his attention going back to the television. The green substance in their wounds seemed to be dwindling from its bright hue. Millie followed his gaze.
“What do you think it is?” Millie asked.
“What does your witch say it is?” he asked, glancing at her sideways.
“Ancient magik,” Millie shrugged. “I didn’t want to interrogate her.”
