Above, distant signs of life echo through the manor. Doors closing and water running in pipes, faint voices, and even one set of passing footsteps that makes my breath catch as it goes by.
But no one else comes to the workshop. Whoever might take exception to Seren being here, they don’t materialize. They don’t come to kick her out, or worse.
Another eternity passes before Seren finally stirs on the table. She shifts, breathes deep, coughs, and I shoot up from my chair, leaning in close and whispering her name.
Her eyelids flutter open, then go wide with surprise.
Green, green eyes stare back at me, and I’ve never seen a sight more beautiful.
15
Seren
The first thing I see when I wake is crimson.
Bright crimson eyes, nearly glowing in the dim light of wherever the hell I am. Shining with worry and relief.
I suck in a surprised breath, and it’s a mistake.
My lungs seize, not as bad as they did back in Faerie, but painful and raw enough to set off a round of coughing that only makes it worse.
Callum springs into action, grabbing for a pitcher on the table beside me and filling a glass. He helps me roll gently to my side, presses the glass to my lips, and water flows down my throat in sweet relief.
“Thanks,” I croak, and he lays a hand on my shoulder, easing me back down to the… table?
Why am I lying on a table?
“You don’t need to thank me,” he murmurs. “Just rest.”
Though it’s never been in my nature to follow orders, I obey. The table, for all its faults, might just be the most comfortable place I’ve ever slept.
Or maybe anywhere at all would feel that comfortable after nearly being taken out by a lizard man and a putrid freaking mushroom in an entirely different realm.
Maybe it hardly matters that I’ve got no idea where I am in this cool, dim room, back pressed to hardwood, the scent of herbs and medicine thick in the air, the walls lined with bookshelves and racks of…
Fuck.
I know exactly where I am.
How many afternoons did I spend skipping out on classes to come down here and pester Soleil while she was working, distracting her from her potions and only occasionally making myself handy by using my own gifts to suss out an ingredient from the racks and racks of obscure plants and herbs?
This has been Soleil’s domain since we were just thirteen years old.
Unheard of, for a witch that young to be given her own workshop in coven headquarters, but here we are. In this place that practically hums with her familiar magick, a soothing power that used to comfort me instead of making me want to bolt.
I let out a small, distressed squeak, promptly followed by another round of wheezing coughs, and Callum gets me another glass of water.
Callum.
Callum is here.
Giving me water, helping me to lie back down, not just an apparition of my spore-scrambled brain.
“Why are you… how did… what are you doing here?”
Apparently my capacity for tact must not have entirely returned after my near-poisoning, because he recoils slightly at the question.
“No.” Another cough, another reach for the water, but I wave him back. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant… what happened?”
