Esmerelda eyes her, unreadable.“You’re not what I expected.”
Megan doesn’t flinch.“You and me both, sister.”
My heart pounds.
She’s mine.And the whole fucking world better get used to it.
“Alright,” Esmerelda says, business-mode engaged.“For an infestation of this size, we’ll need a strong plan.And we can’t strike until the full moon.”
“The full moon?”Megan arches an eyebrow.
“Tomorrow night,” I answer before Esmerelda can.
She turns to me, eyebrow still up.“You and the moon have a thing?”
“Yeah.Love-hate relationship.”I rub the back of my neck.“Wolf used to depend on it to shift.”
“But that stopped with the Curse of Natalis,” she says without missing a beat.
My jaw ticks.She knows that?
“Yes,” I nod slowly, heat rising in my chest.“That curse ended, thanks to the blood rites, but there are others.Especially legacy curses.Family-specific.”
Her gaze sharpens.“Are you telling me you have some sort of legacy curse on you, Owen?”
My throat tightens.
“We’ll talk about it later,” I say, then glance at Preacher and Esmerelda who are watching our exchange like it’s Season 6 of some slow-burn romance they’re finally getting payoff for.
Preacher clears his throat and unrolls a massive, weathered blueprint across the desk.It stretches end to end—Crypt Mansion and all fifty acres of cursed soil it sits on.
“Here’s the lay of the land,” he rumbles.“Mansion’s here, obviously.”He jabs a finger at the ornate structure dead center of the map.“But the real trouble is underground.Catacombs snake out like veins in every direction.”
“How far out?”Megan asks, stepping closer.
“Hard to say.The archives you dug up had only the town approved additions on it.Our survey showed many more,” Esmerelda says.“Some parts collapse, reform, stretch.Warlock magic.Unstable.But we do know the four anchor points.”She taps four corners on the map.“Northmost.Southmost.East.West.We’ll need to set wards here, here, here, and here.”
“Type of wards?”Megan asks.
“Blood-sealed,” Preacher says.“Mixed with Demon-bane ash, salt-iron, and lunar-etched obsidian.I’ll do the binding.Esmerelda will prep the spell matrix.”
“And us?”Megan gestures between the two of us.
“We’ll secure the perimeter,” I say.“You and I sweep the house tomorrow morning.Make sure nothing moves before it’s time.That includes warding the nursery.”
Her eyes flick up.“There’s a nursery?”
I nod grimly.“Ghost child.Name was Ruby.Been seen in the windows since before the last owners burned.”
“Fuck me,” she mutters.
Then glances at Delilah, who’s now licking cookie crumbs off her fingers like she was raised by animals—no pun intended.
“Language,” I murmur.
“I was trained by a Witch who would bring a murder-dagger in her purse to work every day.”
“Touché.”
