Ciprian tears a corner off the blanket and dips it in the basin of water—someone’s been in to restock since I left—and drags it over my face. I reach out to take it from him, and he grunts. “Can you—shit, Celine, can I take care of you? Just this once?”
Tears burn the backs of my eyes. “I’m sorry I got you into this mess. Your brother, Sheena, they’re going to hate me for this.”
He kisses my palm. “Don’t be absurd. I chose to come with you, and it’s not your fault someone fucked with the gateway. I left Sheena a voicemail before we left. As far as she’s concerned, we’re taking care of some things in the celestial realm. If she doesn’t hear from me, she’ll sound the alarm eventually, but we’ll be home long before that happens.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Yeah, I do.” He grins. “What can I say? I’m cocky, you’re vain—we’re the perfect match!”
The lock clicks, and the door swings open. Riven fills the frame entirely until he steps to the side and reveals... a teenager?
Her blonde hair hangs to her hips in loose waves. There are charms, a few feathers, and—is that a bone?—woven into the scattered braids. The kid’s eyes are locked on the ground, and she’s holding a bowl of greenish paste in one hand and a bouquet in the other.
“You’re a witch,” Ciprian gasps. “Who brought you here? Where are your parents?”
“If you want Celine healed, you’ll shut up,” Riven hisses. “Don’t speak to her again, or the deal is off.”
I smile gently at the girl. She’s clearly rattled by Ciprian’s questions, which are completely valid. Witches and humans are the only species native to Earth. The rest of us came from somewhere else. How did this witch, barely more than a child, end up this far from home?
She walks to the cot slowly and offers me the flowers.
Internally, I groan because fuck Riven for this. I can’t be bitchy to a teenager. I take the flowers, even though I don’t have a clue what to do with them. “Thanks,” I say. “I’m Celine.”
“What did I say?” Riven snaps, taking a menacing step forward.
“You told Ciprian not to talk to her.” I wave the bouquet athim. “I’m not going to interrogate the kid. Gods, you need to relax.”
“My name is Hyacinth Belladonna,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you, Celine. With your permission, I’ll heal your wounds.”
I lean back on the heels of my hands, completely taken aback. Healing magic is rare. That’s why witch potions are expensive. And this girl can’t be more than seventeen. Is she strong enough to help? I decide there’s no harm in finding out. If she manages to take away even a fraction of the pain, it’s worth a shot.
I go to spread my legs, then freeze, glancing at Riven.
He turns to face the wall, the line of his jaw visibly tight.
When the first glob of green goop hits my burns, I cry out in pain.
“I’m sorry,” Hyacinth says. “It won’t hurt for long. I promise.”
“It’s okay. Keep going.” I grit my teeth to stay quiet, enduring the agony as silently as I can.
Once all the burns are coated in slime, the witch rocks back on her heels and wipes two streaks of the same paste across her own cheeks. Then she begins to chant. Low, sonorous, the spell tingles against my skin as it grows back, the agony of the burn fading as if it was never there.
When the young witch sways on her feet, I drop the flowers and steady her. “Hey, that’s enough. I’m good to go. Don’t wear yourself out.”
Her eyes flutter open, and she nods, pointing at the bouquet. “Sleep with that under your pillow. The chamomile provides energy, and the hyssop will chase away any infection lingering beneath the skin.”
“Thank you.” I’m developing a new appreciation for the flowers. I don’t know everything about witches, but Brandy is constantly talking about how hard it is to maintain simple spells without the rest of her coven. Yet somehow this teen healed my second and third-degree burns by herself.
She turns to leave, glancing at Riven and rolling her shoulders back.
I can’t help myself. I’m in no position to help her, but I have to try. I grab her hand. “Are you okay, sweetie?”
“That’s enough.” Riven jerks his thumb at the door, and Hyacinth pulls her hand free from mine.
I shuffle to my feet, not giving a shit about my bare thighs. “She’s a child, asshole, and this is a prison. You can’t keep her here against her will.”
“I’m not... it’s not like that,” Hyacinth says. “I can’t explain more. I’m sorry.” She’s trembling. I grimace and sit my ass back down. The last thing I want to do is scare her.
