I pull her close, feeling the tension of her stiff form before she melts into the hug. "You'll always be welcome here. Always. This isn't goodbye. It's just temporary."
"You don't know that."
"I do. Because you're part of this team. Part of this house. And Hallowind House doesn't let go of its people easily."
Asher appears beside us, wrapping his long arms around both of us. "The Life and Death Brigade doesn't abandon its own, Ro."
Rowan lets out a shaky laugh against my shoulder. "You guys are such saps."
"Sloth and Scooby-Doo onesie-wearing saps," I correct.
She pulls back, swiping at her eyes. "Fine. But when I get back—and Iwillget back—I expect a full update on the progress you've made finding that forge."
"Deal."
When we break apart, Sebastian gestures to the hallway. "I'll wait at the back of the house while you pack. Poppy, do you mind if we use the Hallowind stones?"
"Have at it," I say.
"I'm not packing." Rowan grabs her leather jacket from where she'd draped it over the end of the couch. "I'm leaving my stuff in my room for when I get back."
"Done deal," Asher agrees. "And get back here as soon as you can, chickie. Having a guru with cursecraft and shadow magic is a coup for the Brigade."
"Flatterer."
Asher and I follow Sebastian and Rowan to the living room and watch through the glass doors as they disappear into the forest at the back of my property. "She'll be back, right?"
Asher wraps an arm around my hip and hugs me to his side. “Yeah, P. She'll be back. She’s one of us. Besides, we’re too awesome to quit.”
I chuckle. “Addictive, some might say.”
“You know it. We’re the snickerdoodle crack of our age.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Two days crawl by without a word from Rowan. I've texted her three times, each message met with radio silence that churns in my gut like bad takeout.
The Hallowind library has become the Brigade’s war room. Books stack across the mahogany table in precarious towers—half a dozen Mica liberated from the Emberwood coven archives, a few from her family's personal collection, and several Hallowind tomes that Asher and I pulled in hopes that they might hold some kind of clue about the Cinderheart Crucible.
"When are you expecting Asher back?" Wylder's question is nonchalant, but there's definitely some underlying tension.
"He and Orion took the pups to the dog park and then they're headed over to the mercantile to spend more of Lizzy McAllison's money. I'm not expecting them back anytime soon."
Wylder sits across from me, his dark hair falling forward as he hunches over a leather-bound tome so old the pages crackle when he turns them. He's been careful around me since my outburst at Ashcroft Manor.
At least he's stopped avoiding me.
That's progress, right?
I flip another page of the grimoire I'm studying, and the ancient text in front of me blurs. It's been three hours of deciphering archaic symbols and cryptic passages about metallurgy, and the closest thing I've found to a divine forge is a recipe for blessed horseshoes.
I sigh and catch Wylder's gaze lifting to look over.
I pretend not to notice, rubbing my eyes and refocusing on a passage about ancient metalwork. I shift in my seat, my joints protesting from sitting too still for too long.
When I feel the warmth of Wylder's gaze on me again, I set the book down and meet his concern head-on. "Okay, spill it. What's wrong?"
He blinks, those green eyes widening slightly. "Nothing."
