“Do you even know what happened to me?” she asked, wondering if he hadn’t bothered checking up on anything at all.He probably stopped caring the minute he was paid. “Do you know what happened when I said no? What they did to me?”
On the other side of the table, Holt had gone very still. Behind her, Anzan remained silent, as always. The only sound in the kitchen was her own labored breath, and the thunderous pulse of blood in her ears. By contrast, Ladybug could scarcely tell if Holt was breathing, an infinitesimal nod of his head his only movement.
“I do.”
Anzan had repositioned himself at the end of her work counter, back legs still angled in a way that would push him forward in a blur. She knew she needed to let him know that there was no need for physicality, to stand down and stay behind her, but Holt’s quietly uttered words made her eyes fill with tears again.
Betrayal.
Thatwas the name of the fathomless emotion that had been festering within her since she had been cast from the circle of sisters. Hurt, humiliation, no small amount of relief. She had swallowed them all down, but that feeling of betrayal was stuck like a thorn, piercing her from within.
“Of course you do,” she laughed brokenly, not caring if this confrontation was beneath her. “Do you even care? Do you think she’d be happy to know you had a hand in that? ‘We’re practically family?’ Youwerea part of my family. And I hope you know you didn’t just betray me, Holt. You betrayed her. You betrayed my whole family and all the years you spent here. I hope you know that. And I hope you live with that knowledge forever.”
She didn’t know where the previously unmastered ability to say exactly what she was thinking in the moment she wanted to say it had come from, but the instant the words were out, her hurt and betrayal laid bare and set free, hanging in the air between them, Ladybug slumped in exhausted defeat. None of this mattered, not anymore. What was done was done.
Foul to fair will foul again, all shall blow away. What was taken must return, and night shall steal day.The wheel never stopped turning. She could almost hear Willow’s soft voice, reciting a curious poem about the changing of the seasons. It would be spring soon, the weather turning warm enough for her and Anzan to resume their nightly walks, to work in the garden, to put all of this behind her. She did not need to relive this hurt for Holt’s sake. Thiswasbeneath her.
For a long moment, Holt said nothing. Anzan slowly adjusted his stance yet again, once more moving to flank her. Ladybug realized he would not attack the familiar unless she gave him the order to do so. Subservient and deferential to her, always.Well, that’s not going to happen. This is beneath him as well.
“Heavy is the head that wears the laurel of knowing,” Holt said suddenly. His voice was neither contrite nor conciliatory, but neither did he have the same tone of indifference as just a few minutes earlier. “It is not for us to ask why. We do not question the Fates, why they act in the way they do, why they allow us to suffer or be alone. It is not for those of us who see to ask why things are as they are, only to know they are as such for a reason.”
He paused, trapping her in his bright citrine gaze for a weighted moment.
”Iamsorry, Elizabeth. Whether or not you believe that or accept it has no bearing on the things to come, but please know that I do feel remorse for what you have gone through these last few years. That does not change the path. We are all exactly where we are meant to be, and the things that have come to pass are as they were meant. What doesn’t kill us only —“
“That’s been debunked,” she interrupted rudely. “‘What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.’ That’s nothing but pseudoscience survivor’s bias. That’s a lie we’re told to tell ourselves. Trauma doesn’t make us stronger; it makes us fearful. For as long as you’ve been around people, you ought to know that.”
The smile that moved over his angular face spread like a slow ooze of honey, and his green eyes shone. “Winter falls to spring’s allure, summer morns are prey; what is dead shall live again, and night shall steal day.”
Ladybug stiffened as he continued the line, plucking the poem from her head as if she’d said it aloud, invading the memory of Winter reciting it to her before bed. Anzan gripped her hand with one of his own, lacing his long fingers with her smaller ones, giving them a squeeze as Holt continued.
“What doesn’t kill us only prepares us for how to better react the next time. It teaches us. Fear is a gift, little one. And yes,” he added, a bit of his characteristic feline snittiness returning to his voice, “Idothink she would be happy that you were freed, andthatis what happened. The coven is poisoned, down to its root, and you are well away from it. It is long past time that the rot was ripped out and fresh vines be allowed to flourish.”
Ladybug opened her mouth to speak, but Holt had already turned away, moving across the kitchen with the familiarity of someone who knew every nook and cranny, as he did.
“Besides, you’ve been busy. Look at all this . . .” He gazed up at her mishmash of product, jammed into its overstuffed shelf, whirling to face her a moment later with a smile.
“I’d almost forgotten the whole point of being here today.Thatis why I am back, dear little Ladybug. You need me. Your spidery friend there even said so. You ought to have a partner.”
She cried out in outrage as Anzan made a choked sound behind her. All three of them knew very well that Holt was responsible for all of it, and the grin on his face was that of a satisfied cat before a dish of cream.
“Say whatever you’d like about my sidelines, Ladybug, but what you can’t deny is the fact that youdoneed the help of someone who knows the business. Am I not someone who knows the business?”
Ladybug reminded herself that any violence in her home would undoubtedly become gossip fodder that would make its way around all of Oldetown, only adding to the unfavorable and completely inaccurate view of the Araneaen beneath her roof. She grit her teeth and resisted the urge to turn to Anzan.
“You know you could sell circles around those people,” Holt continued, unbothered by her expression. “Increase your business. Expand your offerings. They’ll be knocking on your door, pushing each other out of the way to get here first, and what will your former sisters think of that, hmm? When you begin siphoning customers from them with your superior skills?”
His voice had taken on a hypnotic quality, and that, too, was familiar. Holt was nothing if not a showman. He’d had centuries to perfect his schtick, after all.It’s more than that.Ladybug pursed her lips, knowing her inner voice was right again. Holt was fanatical in his devotion to the craft. No one could worship the dark mother as fervently as an imp, and there was no imp as devoted as he. He was able to hold a room of witches in his thrall, ignite their fervor and dedication to the craft . . . but she still recognized his manipulation for what it was.
Well, he’s not wrong. Shedidwant to see the look on their faces, knowing she was the one taking their business, to reclaim her seat, her standing, to restore her family’s good name. She was likely an easy mark for an ageless charlatan like him, and he was playing to all of her weaknesses.
“The Makers’ Mart is only the beginning, Elizabeth. We cannot stop the wheel from turning any more than we can prevent what is from what will be. The Moirai have placed us exactly where we are meant to stand. Are you going to be the witch who spits in their eye? Or are you going to be the witch who lives up to the Brackenbridge name?”
The room seemed to vibrate once more, and her hands balled into fists again. Shehatedhim . . . but he was right. She needed him.
She wanted to show her former sisters what she could do, wanted to mend her broken branch on their family tree of witches . . . And the thought of showing up those who had cast her out was simply too good to pass up. As long as this house stood, there would be a Brackenbridge witch beneath its newly restored roof. As long as there was a witch at work, this kitchen would smell the same.
“Fine,” she said with more conviction than she felt. One of Anzan’s hands pressed to her lower back, a silent communication that he was there, at her side. She wasn’t alone anymore, and she could do this. “But I hope you know Authricia wouldneverforgive you for letting them do what they did.”
