“She didn’t leave him or Authricia any choice but to get over it,” is what she told Anzan. “And then, not long after, their bond was severed.”
She paused as Anzan leaned in, palming another handful of popcorn.
“Finally, the climax,“ he crowed, as she swatted him with the end of her shawl.
“You are ridiculous. I’m going to remind you of these lofty expectations the next time you put on some dreary period piece with five parts.”
“I shall let you choose the film for the rest of the month as long as you get on with it.”
She laughed again, taking a handful of popcorn when he held the bowl out.
“Well. I’ll warn you now, this is not a happy story. Most fairy tales aren’t. Have you noticed that? They’re meant to teach and to warn. Mothers die and children are eaten. A happy ending is not required, only that you’re warned away from some danger.”
She paused, chewing, feeling as if she was looking back at her family’s sad history as if it were a dollhouse before them. She remembered exactly where everyone had been that day, what she’d been wearing, the way the afternoon sun cut through the leaded glass windows. She could pose them in the room; let Anzan see exactly how it was.
“The cancer came back. Willow was getting treatment here in town this time, at Healer’s. No sense in going to an out-of-town facility when it didn’t work, she’d said. She was so thin . . .”
The small smile he’d worn had dropped, dark eyebrows coming together as she continued. “Little bug, you do not need to revisit this if it is not pleasant for y—“
“She was nauseated all the time,” Ladybug went on, ignoring him. “She was just a wisp, even before she was sick. Holt was here that day, feeding her. Trying to get her to keep something down.”
She closed her eyes on the tears, her throat too thick to continue for a long moment. In her mind, she could picture it, posing them like dolls. They had been in this room, on this very sofa.
“I know you don’t want it, but you need to keep your strength up. You’re so weak that you can hardly keep your head up, love.”
Ladybug had been across the room sitting at the table, working on her botany flashcards as Holt cajoled her aunt to sip at the broth. Willow had looked impossibly small and frail in the corner of the sofa, with Holt sitting before her on the edge of the ottoman. Willow had been insisting she didn’t want the spoonful of broth the familiar held to her lips when Holt had gasped, back arching. Ladybug had looked up from her flashcards at the noise. The bowl of soup dropped. Willow’s voice rose weakly in panic as Holt contorted before her.
Ladybug winced at the memory, her eyes still closed, watching the scene replay in her head like one of Anzan’s movies. She had been an awkward child who distressed easily, and that had not improved with gangly adolescence. The inhuman wail coming from the man she’d known her whole life as her aunt’s companion had terrified her, and she’d gone running for Authricia.
By the time they’d returned, Holt was on his knees before her aunt, both sobbing, and it was Willow who was comforting him, a jarring reversal of their positions only minutes earlier.
“You’re a guide, beloved,” Ladybug remembered her aunt telling him through her tears, their foreheads pressed together. “Not a nurse. It’s time to let me go.”
He had been reassigned by the coalition that governed his kind, their magical bond torn asunder, as grim a prognosis for Willow’s recovery as there could possibly be. Even at that age, Ladybug had understood what his reassignment meant. Holt would leave and her aunt would die, the wheels of magical bureaucracy never sparing her broken little family a thought as it moved on.
“I willnot. We have work to do together. Preparations that must still be made. I won’t leave you, not now. Not like this. I won’t accept any other witch as long—“
“There is work to do,” Willow had cut him off, weak, but full of conviction. “And you will still be here to see it through. To be at her side when the night is darkest.”
Authricia had teared up when she’d realized what was happening, what it meant for Willow and their household, but a high crone must remain steadfast.
“Holt, it’s time to go.”
Ladybug had cowered behind her great-aunt when the familiar refused, but Authricia had remained uncowed.
“They will come for you if you do not leave on your own accord. You will put her in danger. All of us, this entire coven. Do not undo all the good work you’ve done together.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
She had been reminded of why Authricia had warned her against him years earlier when Holt had risen, staring Authricia down. The room had seemed to vibrate, the strange power he wielded almost visible in the air.It is intent, Ladybug, that directs magic. Remember the rule of three.Authricia had been named crone for a reason, however, and she’d not backed down as Holt slinked around the room.
“I will not work with some stranger so long as she draws breath. I don’t care what the coalition tries. You will have to banish me.”
“Do you think I won’t?”
Authricia’s voice had been a thunderclap and Willow was sobbing, one of the most terrifying days she could remember.
“But he finally left?”
