Which is concerning. Very concerning.
I thunk my head against the door. Once. The wood is solid and cool. Twice. The impact helps clear my thoughts slightly. Three times.
I really do need therapy.
Chapter 5
We Need to Talk
I’mlyinginbed,staring at the ceiling. The crystals on my nightstand are glinting in the lamplight. I placed extras under the bed too, just in case. The salt line at my bedroom door is perfect and unbroken.
I should feel safe. Protected. The witches said this would help.
Instead, I feel ridiculous. Like a child hiding under the covers, convinced a blanket will protect them from monsters.
Except the monster is real. And I’m hoping he’s going to be stopped by some rocks and table salt.
The lamp flickers.
My heart jumps into my throat. I sit up straighter, pulling the duvet closer around me like armour. The temperature is dropping. I can see my breath misting in the air.
Oh no.
The edges of the room start to darken. Not natural darkness. This is something else. Something alive. Black shadows creep along the walls like ink spreading through water. They pool in the corners. Gather along the ceiling. Wisps of smoke curl and twist through the air.
The lamp flickers again. The light dims to almost nothing.
Then I hear it.
Laughter.
Low and rich and deeply amused. It echoes around the room, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. The sound makes my skin prickle. Makes my stomach clench with a confusing mix of fear and something else I’m absolutely not ready to examine.
“No, no, no,” I whisper, scrambling backwards on the bed until my back hits the headboard.
The laughter grows louder. More solid. The shadows thicken and swirl, gathering at the foot of my bed. They twist and coalesce, forming a vaguely humanoid shape.
Hex materialises slowly. Like he’s pulling himself together from scraps of darkness. But something is different. He’s not as solid as before. Not as defined. His edges blur and shift constantly. I can see through parts of him to the wall behind. He flickers like a faulty hologram.
The wards are working. Sort of.
His red eyes blaze through the shadows, fixed on me with unmistakable amusement.
“Well, well,” he says. His voice is slightly distorted. Layered. Like he’s speaking from underwater. “This is a surprise.”
I clutch the duvet tighter. My knuckles are white. “Stay back!”
“You cannot command a prince of the Shadow Realm,” he says haughtily.
Oh god. I’ve pissed him off. I called him a duckling and I’ve strewn crystals around, and all it has done is insult him.
Hex takes a step forward. Then another. He prowls around the side of the bed with that predatory grace. But when he reaches the salt line and the crystals, he stops. His form flickers violently. He reaches out one shadowy hand, and it hits an invisible barrier. Ripples spread through the air like he’s touching the surface of a pond.
He pulls his hand back and tilts his head, studying the protection with genuineinterest.
“Clever,” he murmurs. Then his gaze snaps back to me, and that amused smirk is back. “Did you do this all by yourself, or did you get help?”
“I had help,” I admit. There’s no point lying. He clearly knows.
