By the time I reached her, Caitlyn was sprawled on her back in the grass, potion bottles and bundled herbs laying scattered around her like fallen constellations.
Over her shoulder, the house—which I could have sworn had edged closer to the campsite—loomed with every window thrown open, net curtains billowing in a wind that didn’t exist, as if it were straining to listen in.
“No luck, then?” I asked.
“Nope.” She pushed her bottom lip out in a small pout. “I guess I could order some rue from Witchmart, but it’ll take days—”
An almost ear-splittingcrackcut through the air, and a mason jar thudded onto Caitlyn’s stomach, filled with what looked like dried thyme, only more yellow.
Caitlyn swore under her breath, clearly remembering a second too late that she’d been trying to keep the secret ingredient secret from Creep.
Jaw tight, she grabbed the jar and flung it over her shoulder, then sat up, folded her arms across her chest, and glared at the house. “I don’t need help from atraitor.”
The house let out a mournful groan, and with a much softercrack, the jar of rue materialized once more in Caitlyn’s lap.
Her lips tightened, but the tension in her brow eased, the anger faltering just enough to show how hard she was fighting it. With a small shake of her head, her features set again, resolve hardening back into place. She closed her fingers around the jar and, steadying herself with her free hand, pushed up to her feet.
Caitlyn cast me a look that might have meantTrust meorBrace yourself for war—I wasn’t entirely sure. Then she turned and marched toward the house, the porch steps groaning beneath the force of her thudding footsteps.
The front door cracked open, spilling an oddly bright wash of candlelight into the evening and haloing a decidedly sullen-looking Creep. She slipped through the gap, porcelain head bowed, coils of red hair tumbling forward to curtain her painted face. With her hands clasped behind her back and one small foot twisting shyly in its polished black shoe, she looked like the very picture of remorse—an adorable, doll-sized embodiment ofI’m sowwy.
And apparently, being cute was all Creep needed to tug at Caitlyn’s heartstrings.
Caitlyn rolled her eyes, the jar of rue cradled awkwardly against her chest as she crossed her arms.
After a long sigh, Caitlyn said, “You don’t deserve it after everything you’ve done—but I’m prepared to give you one last chance, Creep. Under conditions.”
Creep slowly lifted her head, glassy eyes fluttering. Even her fixed, painted smile looked faintly hopeful.
Caitlyn let out a sharp breath. Finally, she spoke through gritted teeth. “I don’t understand why you’re so infatuated with Priscilla. She bullied me and my friends relentlessly when we were kids—and she’s still the meanest witch I know.”
Creep’s gaze seemed to narrow, her small body going rigid, as though she were fighting the urge to search for the nearest razor.
“That said,” Caitlyn continued, “I’m not going to tell you who you can and can’t be friends with. You’re not mine to control.”
Creep tilted her head, suspicion flickering across her painted features.
“But Idoexpect you to acknowledge that Priscilla and I have a history—one that caused me real pain,” Caitlyn said. “I don’t want her in the house. This is meant to be a safe space for all three of us.” She paused, then added coolly, “If you insist on spending time with her, do it elsewhere. Build yourself a little horror treehouse.” Under her breath, she muttered, “Preferably high up in a rotten tree where gravity can do us all a favor.”
Creep evidently heard her. Her back snapped straight as she shot Caitlyn a death glare that Caitlyn met without flinching. After a long, taut moment, it was Creep who looked away, her chin dipping as her gaze fell to her polished shoes.
“Speaking of Priscilla—” Caitlyn said.
Creep’s eyes rolled up beneath her fringe, fixing Caitlyn with another sullen glare.
“You are not to tell her any of my business,” Caitlyn continued calmly. “And I mean that, Creep. No conveniently placed sticky notes with coordinates on them. No laptops left open with booking details, or however the hells you managed it last time. Noaccidentalslips about where I am or what I’m doing,comprende?”
Creep remained still.
“Be friends with Priscilla if you want,” Caitlyn said. “That choice is yours. But be loyal to me.” Her voice hardened. “And if Priscilla comes sniffing around for information again, you find a way to communicate one simple message:Sorry. No can do.” Then, through gritted teeth, she added, “And in return... I’ll try to keep the badmouthing of Priscilla to a minimum.”
Creep stood eerily still for a long moment before giving the smallest nod of her head in agreement.
“Okay. We have a deal,” Caitlyn said. “But if you don’t stick to your side of the bargain, Creep, I mean it—Blaise and I will move into one of the abandoned houses in the coven and live there, even if it means doing all the housework by hand.” In a half whisper, she added, “Not that I don’t already have to do that with you.”
Creep’s little glass eyes fluttered sardonically, as if she deeply resented being compared to one of the other Briar Coven houses—the kind whose strengths lay in domestic bliss rather than demonic doll possession.
With a final glare, Creep stepped aside and let the front door swing slowly open...
