Page 68 of The Witch They Fear

"Did you choose to take their blood, Calypso?"

The way he says my name sends a shiver down my spine. And the way he's looking at me—steady, unblinking, something burning behind the professional surface that I've never seen aimed at me before. It's not anger. It's hotter than anger and colder than anger at the same time, and if I had to put a name on it I'd call it—

"Hey!" Nellie jogs up, slightly breathless, grinning. "Sorry, that took way longer than—" She stops. Looks at me. Looks at Aamon. Reads the four feet of charged air between us and her brows lift. "Everything okay?"

"Fine," I say. Too fast.

Aamon steps back. The burning thing behind his eyes banks—sealed, controlled, filed away behind five centuries of practiced composure. But his hands are still curled at his sides and I notice, as he turns to resume his distance, that his thumb is pressing hard into the center of his opposite palm.

Just like the first time I met him.

"Mom says she's ready," Nellie says, still watching Aamon's retreating back with narrowed eyes. Her phone buzzes in her hand. She looks at me. "Hey, are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah." I watch him walk away. The measured stride. The rigid shoulders. What the hell was that?

Was he… jealous?

I didn't answer him. But I also didn't say yes.

And from the look on his face, he heard that loud and clear.

Nellie and I walk back to the shop. The neon sign is dark—Odette closed up for the day, SORRY WE'RE CLOSED hand-written on a card taped to the glass. Nellie pushes through the door. The bell chimes its ward-check. Aamon takes his post on the porch without being told.

The grimoire is still open on the table. Odette is sitting behind it with a fresh cup of coffee and an expression that makes me slow. The lines around her mouth are a little deeper, her shoulders are just a little too tight.

"Sit down," she says.

We sit. Odette puts both hands flat on the table. Looks at me.

"So, I’ve nailed down what your special little rune is. It's called a summoning anchor," she says. "Old magic. From an era when vampire noble houses kept grimoires full of techniques designed specifically to circumvent witch protections."

She pauses. Lets that land.

“A summoning anchor?” I ask.

"You know the threshold rule? A vampire cannot enter a witch's home uninvited, or a human’s for that matter. It's one of the oldest protections we have—woven into the magic itself, not just law. A vampire can be stronger, faster, more powerful in every way, and they still can't cross that threshold without permission."

I nod. The threshold. One of the only safe havens non-vamps have against the bloodthirsty among us.

"A summoning anchor bypasses it." Her voice is steady but her hands are pressing hard enough against the table that her knuckles have gone white. "It's carved into the entry point of a witch's dwelling, keyed to a specific vampire's blood. It creates a loophole—the ward tells the threshold that the vampire isn't entering uninvited. It tricks the magic into believing the witch issued an invitation. A technicality."

My heart skips a beat. Odette’s cat perks up.

"Whoever carved that anchor into your door can walk into your home whenever they choose. Past the academy's wards. Past your locks. Past your enforcers sleeping on the other side of the wall."

My hands are cold. My chest is tight. The threshold. The one protection I thought I had—the ancient, baked-into-the-magic rule that said no vampire could cross my doorstep without an invitation. The thing that let me close my door at night and think at least in here, I'm alone. At least in here, nobody gets in unless I say so.

That was never true.

"I checked the residual signature three times," Odette continues. Her voice drops. "Calypso, the anchor has been used. Recently. Someone has already gone through."

The words hit me like ice water.

Someone has already been inside.

While I slept. While I practiced with the stone. While I sat on the floor after Kage's visit with my hands in my hair and my sparks dying one by one—someone could have been there. Standing in my kitchen. Watching me. Breathing the same air.

My magic erupts.