The door to Soleil’s workshop swings open again.
“Well. Who do we have here?”
There, in the doorway, framed by the flickering torchlight, is the very last person I want to see.
Someone I thought I’d go the rest of my life without facing. Someone who hates me a whole lot more than my sister does.
“Esme,” I rasp. “Good to see you again.”
16
Callum
The witch who steps into the room radiates power.
Deeper than Seren’s or Soleil’s, her magick has a metallic edge as sharp as a finely honed blade. It fans out into the air around her, prickling against my skin.
The witch—Esme—is older than my mate and her sister. Straight-backed and keen-eyed, her silver-threaded mahogany hair is pinned up tight enough to further sharpen her already severe features.
She eyes Seren disdainfully, and I swallow back a growl. The thread of that terrible magick pulsing from her is enough to override even my instincts—still far too on edge after everything that’s happened today.
“I’d ask you what you’re doing here,” Esme begins, then sniffs the air delicately. “But if I had to guess, I’d say poison?”
“Fungus,” Seren quips in a voice that’s still concerningly raspy, smirking even though she’s barely keeping her feet underneath her. “A real nasty one. Nearly—”
“You thought it would be appropriate to come here for help?”
Seren swallows hard. “Look, I was a little out of it when I came through the Veil, so I don’t—”
Esme turns her attention to Soleil. “And you thought it would be appropriate to use coven resources to help a witch who’s turned her back on us?”
Soleil, who’s tended to her sister and put me in my place with absolute confidence these last few hours, immediately wilts under Esme’s harsh words. Her shoulders sag and she drops her gaze to the floor.
“My apologies, High Priestess.”
Ah. So this witch must hold some sort of command here.
Esme certainly looks it as she stares Soleil down, as her magick flares again, filling my mouth with the taste of metal.
“Don’t blame her,” Seren says, more steady this time.
I reach for her, but she brushes me off.
She steps forward, not intimidated for a moment. “You expected her to let her sister die?”
A flash in Esme’s eyes, a spark of steel to match the power still spreading through the room. “I expected her to remember how this coven handles apostate witches.”
“And how’s that?” A new spark of magick, a lightning strike on scorched ground. “You make life here so goddessdamned miserable that they’ve got no choice but to sacrifice their dignity to keep their place? You make it clear the coven owns them, that their only worth is in what they can provide for you and your—”
“Enough.”
It’s Soleil, this time, who steps forward, right in between Seren and Esme as she finds her voice. Her thread of magic is like buried copper. Metal and earth, sharp and rich.
Goddess, it’s like being in the middle of a powder keg.
This much magick, raw and threatening to erupt, sets my teeth on edge. An instinct screamswrong, go, run, but Seren’s still here and barely standing, so I hold my ground.
If she can face it, so can I.
