Page 71 of The Witch They Fear

"You can tell whose blood it is?"

"Not exactly. But I can tell you this—whoever's blood is in that rune, they've been in contact with the anchor multiple times. The signature is layered. Built up. This isn't someone who carved it and walked away." She looks at me steadily. "They've been going back. Refreshing it. Strengthening the connection."

My stomach drops.

"How recently?"

"Within the last twenty-four hours. They strengthened it and entered."

Twenty-four hours. One day. I’ve been at Thibodaux for less than twenty-four at this point. Which means while I've been here—eating gumbo and sitting on docks and killing rosemary at a farmer's market—someone has been at my cottage. At my door. Feeding the anchor with their blood. Keeping the passage open. Walking into my personal space while I wasn’t even there.

My skin crawls. The wrongness of it sits in my stomach like something swallowed whole—heavy, sharp-edged, impossible to digest. Every moment I'm sitting at this table is a moment that door is unprotected. Every minute is another minute someone could be in there right now, touching the surfaces I sleep on, going through the drawers, standing in the dark of a room I thought was mine—

"I need to go back." The chair scrapes as I stand. "Now. Tonight."

Nellie's face falls. "Cal—"

"I can't sit here knowing—" My voice is too tight. I grab the chalk, the candle, the folded diagram from the table. "I need to draw the ward. I need to do something. I can't just—I need to go home."

The word slips out before I can stop it. Home. The cottage I've been living in for two weeks is not my home. It's an assignment. A cage with better lighting. But apparently some part of me has claimed it anyway, and the thought of someone violating that claim has my hands shaking and my magic pressing against my ribs.

Nellie opens her mouth. Closes it. She wants to argue—I can see it building behind her eyes—but she's smart enough to know I'm right.

"I'm sorry," I say. And I mean it in every direction—sorry for cutting the weekend short, sorry for bringing this to her mother's door, sorry for being the kind of person whose life comes with threats carved into wood.

I go upstairs. Grab my bag. The guest room still smells like cedar and clean sheets and the particular magic of a house where someone loves you. I take one breath of it. Memorize it.

I hope to come back here. This place is special. Odette is special. And I owe her big for what she’s just helped me with.

Downstairs, Odette is waiting. She pulls me into a hug—fierce, tight, her arms strong around my shoulders.

"You draw that rune and light that candle every night," she murmurs against my hair. "Every single night, Calypso. Promise me."

"I promise."

"And you tell that vampire—" She nods toward the front door. "You tell him about the anchor. He should know."

"I–I will."

She lets go. Cups my face in her hands. Looks at me with those sharp brown eyes.

"You come back," she says. "Whenever you need to. This door is always open. No anchor required." She winks.

I pull back. Look at her. This woman I met less than twenty-four hours ago who has already demonstrated she would give me the shirt off her back. Just because it was the right thing to do.

Because some people are just built that way and Odette Marchand is one of them.

"Thank you," I say. And the words aren't big enough for what I mean so I try again. "Seriously, for everything. This has been–" My voice threatens to crack. I hold it together by sheer force. "Nobody's made me feel more at home than you and Nellie. I truly appreciate it."

Odette's eyes go bright. She cups my face one more time, presses her thumb against my cheekbone, and nods once. Hard. Like she's making a decision about me that she's not going to share.

Nellie is already grabbing her keys from the counter. "Let me get the car—"

"No." I catch her arm. "Stay."

"What?"

"Stay here. With your mom. Enjoy the rest of the weekend." I squeeze her arm once. "You drove me here. You introduced me to your mother. You gave me a place that feels like—" I stop. Swallow. "Just stay, Nell. I'll go back with Aamon. I'll be fine."