Prospero looked briefly traumatized. “I suppose. Perhaps?”
“So I could make their heart or lungs—”
“I would not ask that of you, Ellie.” Prospero reached out again and stroked Ellie’s cheek. “This is not your responsibility. Sondre and I will manage it. I would never ask you to take a life.”
“But it’s okay for you?”
“I don’t relish it. I do what I must to protect our world. Agnes and Allan tried to kill Scylla and expose our world. They are an exception.” Prospero’s voice was colder now.
“Am I to think you’ve never killed anyone?” Ellie asked.
Prospero dodged the question. “Would you think less of me if I had?”
Ellie pondered. The rules were not entirely different here. Murder was still murder. Self-defense and war were still nebulous territory.Would I forgive her all of those?She knew the answer before she considered long.
“Self-defense is different.” Ellie pulled her closer, grateful when Prospero didn’t resist. “All I want is you to be safe and uninjured. I want you to be here in my arms and life and bed. I want everything to be okay, and us to be happy and Crenshaw to be safe and peaceful.”
“Is that all?” Prospero’s words were a half laugh against Ellie’s hair.
So Ellie did the only reasonable thing. She pinched Prospero’s side.
Prospero yelped and jerked away.
“Yes, that’s all,” Ellie said in the most serious voice she could muster. “Happy life, happy wife. I think those are reasonable goals. Seems like someone else has been working toward the same things lately.…” Ellie gestured to the tiny stash of gifts on her bedside table. A candle; lavender, of course. A pretty notebook. A bouquet of flowers that was beautiful, albeit slightly eggy-smelling. “Am I wrong?”
“No.”
“Well, then.” Ellie shoved Prospero onto the bed she’d just magically widened at the same time.
Prospero laughed. “Someone’s grown confident in her magic.”
“Shut up and hold me for a minute before you need to abandon me to hunt,” Ellie grumbled.
“Yes, dear.” Prospero pulled Ellie closer, and Ellie nestled her cheek against Prospero’s shoulder.
After a blissful few moments, panic rumbled like something angry under Ellie’s skin.What if she gets injured?Ellie couldn’t imagine losing her. “I could go with you. I’m strong enough. You know I can help.”
“No.” Prospero stroked her hand through Ellie’s hair. “We know these witches are capable of extreme violence. TheyshotScylla. She was simply in their way, so they resorted to using a gun… on a witch with centuries of life ahead of her. She’s still not healed. She should have been,and Mae has no idea why. The barrier won’t stay up. Scylla isn’t healing, and Mae is constantly drained. I’m not going to riskyou.”
“I can transform things. Gun or bullet—”
“No,” Prospero said. “A blast or burst of accidental magic is one thing, but sustained magic use has consequences.”
“What sort?”
Prospero was silent for several moments. She continued running her fingers through Ellie’s hair, but that was the only clue that she was still awake. Finally, she offered, “It ripples things. Reality is not well suited for a lack of scientific laws. I don’t know the right terms because they change… but physics, I guess, is the right word. There are laws of physics. Magic ignores them. And the laws of medicine. And chemics.”
“Chemistry,” Ellie corrected quietly.
“Yes. That. Magic has its own laws, but it doesn’tblendwith nonmagical worlds. We talk about witches accused of whole fields of animals sickening… and while most so-called ‘witches’ were women who died for no crime other than failing to fall in line or speaking their minds or being bright enough to see the efficacy of herbs,somewere actually real witches. When they woke, before there was Crenshaw, there was a ripple.”
“Whole herds died,” Ellie said. “That was a witch-trial accusation.”
“Plagues. Fevers. Other… odd acts. It depends on the sort of magic.” Prospero sighed. “My presence over there too long would make people forgetful.”
“Agnes was head of House Grendel. Grendel was a monster, right?” Ellie wasn’t sure what sort of side effect that would have.
“Yes, who was violent and wandered.” Prospero’s voice sounded thicker with worry. “And Allan is head of Dionysus and Jörd, a house of debauchery. And there are at least three others who went, but they are not house heads.”
