And when the bread finally comes out of the oven: golden and perfect and absolutely delicious, I cut him a slice and watch him taste it.
He closes his eyes. Takes a careful bite. Chews slowly.
"Well?" I ask.
He opens his eyes, and there's something in them I haven't seen before. Not quite warmth. But not emptiness either.
"It tastes like home," he says quietly. "I'd forgotten what that felt like."
I smile. "Good. That's the magic."
"No." He looks at the bread, then at me. "That's you."
And for the first time since I arrived at this cottage, since I inherited this impossible situation, I think maybe, just maybe, I can do this after all.
Iris
The snow starts before dawn.
I wake to the peculiar silence that means the world has been buried overnight. A muffled quiet that only comes with heavy snowfall. When I pull back the curtains, I can barely see the forest through the white curtain falling from the sky.
It's beautiful. And also potentially problematic.
Downstairs, the kitchen is cold. The fire in the stove has gone out overnight, and my breath mists in the air as I work to get it going again. Once I have flames crackling cheerfully, I make myself tea and stand at the window, watching the snow pile up.
We're going to be snowed in. Probably for days, given how fast it's falling.
Just me and an ancient vampire in a house full of weapons and unresolved trauma.
What could possibly go wrong?
The thought makes me laugh, a slightly hysterical sound echoeing in the empty kitchen. But there's also something oddly comforting about it. No village. No judging mages. No expectations. Just... this. The cottage, the snow, and the work I need to do.
I wrap my hands around my tea mug and make a decision.
Time to figure out exactly what I've gotten myself into.
Grandmother's library is significantly less intimidating in the snowy morning light.
The snow outside makes everything feel muffled and still, and with a good fire burning in the hearth, the room almost feels cozy. Almost. The weapons mounted on the walls and the grimoires on every surface prevent it from being truly comfortable.
But the desk by the window is perfectly large enough to spread out books, with a view of the snow-covered garden that's actually rather peaceful.
I start with the most basic text I can find on familiar bonds. "The Fundamentals of Binding Magic," which sounds exactly as dry as it is. But I need to understand the foundations before I can understand what's happening now.
Two hours in, I wish I hadn't.
The bond, as it turns out, is not the benign magical partnership I'd hoped for. It's... complicated. And deeply uncomfortable.
“A familiar bond is established through the master's will to dominate,* one text explains in clinical detail. *The magic requires constant reinforcement, a steady pressure of intent that reminds the familiar of their place within the hierarchy. Without this pressure, bonds naturally degrade.”
I flip to another book, hoping for a different perspective. I don't get one.
“Familiars experience compulsion as a physical sensation. Resistance to direct commands manifests as pain, increasing in intensity until compliance is achieved. This is not cruelty but necessity. The bond cannot function without clear hierarchy.”
My stomach turns.
I keep reading, because I have to. Because I need to understand what was done to Cadeon. What I'm supposed to be doing to him.
