Her caster. The one Sylvia had given her, all those years ago. It had been taken from her before she was thrown in the cell. She’d figured she’d never see it again—and yet, here it was.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d want this back,” Fiona said. “But I wanted you to have the choice.”
Katherine stared at it. She wasn’t sure who Sylvia was to her now. Fiona was right—she couldn’t change who Sylvia had been to her in the past. The Sylvia who had found her, who had trained her, who hadraisedher—that Sylvia would be a part of her forever.
But the Sylvia who had killed Lily. The Sylvia who had snapped all those poor witches. The Sylvia who had attacked her, who had forced her to take the thing of her nightmares into her body once again. That Sylvia was nothing to her. And Katherine was past ready to let her go.
The caster would be a constant reminder of her. Every time she did magic, she’d think of Sylvia. Of all the signs she’d missed. All the ways she could have prevented what happened.
All the love she’d received. All the moments when Sylvia was the only one who truly saw her.
All that Sylvia had given her, and all that she’d taken.
Katherine reached for the knife and took it. Fiona placed a hand on top of Katherine’s.
“Rest,” she said, then handed Katherine a piece of paper with a downtown address written on it. “And when you’re feeling better, Silas will be here.”
Katherine nodded, and then her head fell back onto the bed, and she was gone again.
Silas smoothed his tie, taking a moment to center himself before answering the knock at the door. He’d had a few minutes to prepare, seconds on seconds of anxiety after the security guard had alerted him that Katherine had finally arrived.
Two days earlier, he’d seen her almost die, and his heart had felt like it had been ripped out of his chest.
One day earlier, he’d learned there was much, much more to the story than he’d realized, and his complicated feelings for her had grown even thornier.
One hour earlier, he’d paced this office, debating what he would do when she walked through that door.
And now? He still had no fucking clue.
But he’d kept her waiting long enough, so he forced himself up. Forced himself not to wrap his arms around Katherine as he opened the door and was flooded with the pure relief of seeing her alive. Forced himself not to grind his teeth at the bruises and burns that covered her body, worse mirrors of the ones on his own. More than a few of which had come as a result of her saving his life—something he feared she might come to regret.
He didn’t know how to greet her, so he simply grunted as she entered, then moved back to the other side of the desk. He’d commandeered an office in one of Khatri International’s buildings for a few days as he dealt with the mess that was Los Angeles. It was airy and well-lit, and it made him want to claw his eyes out. He didn’t belong in places like this. He belonged in jail.
And Katherine, he supposed, belonged there with him.
She hovered by the door, staring at him with wide eyes. She looked terrified. Terrified of him.
And maybe she should be.
He was the new head of the most powerful coven in the country, and she had crossed him.
“Silas, I—”
He cut her off with a look. “I’m not here to discuss personal matters, Ms. Barnes.”
She looked so fucking hurt by that that he almost cracked, but he wouldn’t. She deserved this, he reminded himself. She’d lied, and she’d cheated, and she’d contributed to the series of events that put his father in the ground. That forced him into a position he could never deserve.
“Sit, please.”
She did, and he couldn’t help but notice how gingerly she moved—like her whole body was a mass of pain. He squashed the sympathy that came up at the thought.
“I’ve asked you here as the head of one coven to the head of another.”
“Head of—? Oh god,” she said, realizing. “Silas, I’m so sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” Silas replied. “The board determined that my mother was not currently mentally equipped to handle the delicate business of managing a coven through such a tough time, so they voted for me to be in charge.”
The irony of that was not lost on him. In fact, it pounded him at every moment of every day, every time someone asked him a question he had no fucking clue how to answer. He didn’t belong here. There were so many other people who were so much more qualified than him, who could figure out how to steer their ship out of the storm, rather than sinking them further.
