The walls pulse with a low, anxious vibration—Hallowind House's version of pacing.
Ever since the demon consciousness incident, my family home has been in full mother-hen mode. Which apparently translates to making Asher cook as if he's preparing for the apocalypse.
"We need to figure out how to remove the sigils on people without you getting yanked into demonlandia again." He measures flour for what I assume will be batch number five. "We can't just leave people walking around as demon batteries, but there’s no way you’re risking yourself like that again. If Plant Man hadn’t been there…."
I steal another cookie, fully aware that feeding my anxiety is only a temporary fix. “We’re working on it.”
Mom and I have been through the grimoire twice. There's got to be a personal shield strong enough to block my connection to Tharuzel, but so far, we haven’t found it.
“It’s not just the souls powering Tharuzel’s recovery. I need to find a way to free S’Nark, too.”
Thinking about my familiar sends an icy spike through my chest. Two days, and my heart still aches from the phantom weight of those chains, the pain of his torment, and the defeat and exhaustion clouding his eyes.
“We’ll get him back. Or rather, you will. You’ll come up with something incredibly clever and outrageously risky, and you’ll bring him home.”
There’s not an ounce of doubt in his words, and I love him for that. Neither of us has a clue what will happen, but he has enough faith in me for five lifetimes.
“I love you big, Asher Hendrix.”
“I deserve it. I’m a catch.”
I snort and shove another cookie into my mouth.
Footsteps on the stairs bring Rowan into our conversation. She takes in the discard pile of eggshells on the counter, Asher’s state of floured disarray, and the sheets of wax paper covering every horizontal surface heaping with cookies. “Dude, you really gotta relax. Have you tried gummies or something?”
I laugh. “It’s funny. When you grow up not knowing if you’re going to have enough money for food or to pay your rent, spending on recreational drugs kinda takes a back seat.”
Asher grunts and holds out a tray of cookies for Rowan to take one. “Chocolate has always been our fix of choice.”
Rowan chuckles, but her expression is tight, troubled.
“Hey, is something wrong?” I ask.
When she spins the silver serpent thumb ring she never takes off, I have my answer. "My parents want me to come home."
Asher and I exchange glances. “What doyouwant?”
She rolls her eyes. “When has that mattered?”
“It matters to us,” Asher says.
She nods, taking another bite of her cookie. “It’s not so much about wanting me home, as not wanting me here. The Thornhill elders have been monitoring the magical unrest in Emberwood. They don’t love having me in the middle of whatever shitstorm is brewing here. Apparently, it’s bad optics for the coven.”
I set down my half-eaten cookie. “Bad optics? What does that mean? As far as the world knows, there was a demon event, the tears in the veil have been repaired, and the demon contained. What are they worried about?”
Rowan pulls out her phone, taps a few times, then hands it to me. "This went up on ArcanaGram an hour ago."
The screen shows Laurel's perfectly curated profile—all tasteful photos of ritual altars and carefully arranged herbs. But her newest post stops my breath:
Community Alert: Emberwood Coven acknowledges a dangerous destabilization occurring in our town's magical ecosystem. Recent events involving Poppy Hallowind have created rifts in our protective wards and attracted malevolent entities.
For your safety and the safety of your families, please exercise caution and reinforce your personal shields. The Emberwood Coven is working feverishly to contain the situation.
Heat floods through me—not the clean blue flames of my spirit magic, but something darker. Oilier. My vision tunnels, red creeping in at the edges.
“She’s blamingme?” The words come out twisted, venomous. “I'm the one trying to fixhermistakes, and she's telling everyone I'm the problem?”
"P—" Asher starts.
