The chaos after Nestor’s death seems to bring her a lot of satisfaction, but something down right sadistic crosses her features when she learns about how the Blackthorn witches have succumbed to madness, and that I’m with Renata at the inn.
“That’s everything,” I say slowly, watching every emotion that crosses her features.
I tried to use my magic to get a reading on her, but there wasnothing. It was a void where a person’s soul usually resides. There’s a strong essence of life that radiates around her, so it must be something about demons and their disconnect from the Earth. She’s the first I’ve ever met.
“Mmm,” she hums and licks her lips, like she can taste the chaos. “Very interesting.”
“What do you m—”
She cuts me up with a flick of her eyebrows, and I instantly shut my mouth.
“I didn’t have a lot of history with the coven. Only Nestor,” she offers freely. “I met a couple of the members once.”
“How long was Nestor here?” I ask.
“Just over three years,” she answers.
Biting my tongue to stop myself from thinking out loud, I do the math in my head. That means he would have had approximately six months of travel to make the trip here and back. That’s a few weeks more than necessary, but the delay could have been caused by a multitude of reasons.
Sitting straighter, I ask in a voice more brave than what I feel, “Did you compel him to stay with you and not return to his coven with the everoot?”
Her smile grows again, but she doesn’t look happy. It’s more feline than ever before.
I’ve offended her.
“No, Archer Vexley, I did not compel him to stay on this island—in my bed.” My mouth opens, ready to call her a liar, but she leans forward. Whispering like it’s a secret between old friends, she adds, “I have never compelledanyof my lovers.”
I blink a few times, trying to fit together the pieces of the small amount of information I know about Calista and her history on Earth with what she’s telling me.
“Oh, I do love a man who knows when to keep his mouth shut,” she muses and takes a sip of her tea. “Much smarter than many of my visitors. You don’t believe me, do you?”
Shrugging, I don’t answer. Not wanting to piss her off further or accidentally use up one of my questions.
“Dear boy, someone as loyal and in love as you would be surprised how easily a male’s affections can be swayed. Must run in the family,” she says with a tsk of her tongue. “It’s always thembeggingme to keep them, to save them from their ‘dreadful, nagging wives.’” She dramatically uses air quotes, speaking of these men like pests rather than lovers.
“Males in every world are the same. How do you think I ended up here?” she asks in a cold voice. “Nestor was no different.”
“Why did he leave when he did?” I ask.
“He was not only a jealous man, but one cursed by his own insatiable desire,” Calista says. “The reason he stayed was because he couldn’t bear the idea of his wife falling in love with his best friend, knowing he was part of the problem. He never admitted that—male ego and all—but he hinted at it more than once.”
She shrugs. “I guess the Foxglove witch was not enough of a consolation prize to him.” Her lip sneers, either at Nestor’s actions, or the mention of theotherdesire of his wandering eyes. “He also hated the thought of Barrett taking what was ‘his.’ So I was not surprised when a younger, attractive man came in search of saving his sister. Nestor became paranoid, positive I would banish him from the island at the first sight of someone just as handsome, and younger. Nestor was only twenty-seven when he left, so we had many years to be together if he didn’t want to take me up on any of my offers. Nestor always hated that though, that I was the one with the power in our relationship. Exactly like in his marriage to his coven’s matron.”
She’s reveling in her defamation of Nestor. None of it makes sense, there’s never been a bad word spoken about Nestor—before and afterhis death.
Except in Petra’s journals. She loved Nestor nearly as much as she began to despise him.
Calista drank the truth serum too. None of this is a lie, at least not from her perspective.
“I was surprised to wake up one morning and find him gone.” She begins to visibly seethe. “His presence could easily be replaced. Except he didn’t only abandon me. That bastard thought he could steal from me and get away with it.”
“There isn’t a lot of information about you,” I say, navigating this conversation without unintentionally stepping into another bargain. “I assume that you use your magic to keep your secrets on this island. One common belief is that you become infatuated until they reach a certain age.”
Her eyes bore into mine, empty of any emotion. The black of her pupil looks darker than any I’ve seen. They’re black holes ready to obliterate anyone who comes too close.
“It is true,” she continues. “I do not like to see my lovers age. It’s demoralizing—the mortality of people in this world.” She waves her hand in the air like she’s flicking away a fly. “I offered Nestor many, many things. Including taking him back to that awful inn to save his coven member. Then we could return, guilt free. He refused, too great of a coward to have to face his kind. I offered immortality, or as close to it as you can get in my world. He simply had to bind his soul to me, and my life force would’ve been enough to keep us together for millenia. He said he couldn’t, having already bound it somewhere else.”
“Somewhere,” I murmur to myself, looking absently out the window. “Not to someone…”
