Kalix shrugs, still unfazed.
“You simply let her saunter off for a midnight stroll in the woods?”
Kalix begins the tedious task of cleaning his tools, wiping each blade before tucking it into his bag. “She’s no prisoner, Cage. Her coven is here to help. And yeah, I question why as much as you do.” He throws me a knowing look. “She’s cooperating. She has not done anything wild.”
He straightens, sliding the satchel onto his shoulder.
I roll my eyes, crossing my arms. “She bit me.” I retort. The words come out sharper than I intended, but I don’t care.
Kalix smirks, and that damn smirk sees right through me. “I bet you deserved it.” His voice is light. “You can be bossy. And an arrogant prick.” He pauses, grinning wider. “Who I love, of course!” He raises his hands innocently, but I narrow my eyes, unamused.
“I know the Le Strange coven, and I know your history with them. Hell, I know how mages and witches have always been at odds. I’m just looking at her the same way I did with Iris.” Hesighs, his voice lowering. “She is not some bloodthirsty creature. Her coven is insane, sure, and Ed—”
The words die in his throat. I catch the flicker in his expression—the way his jaw tenses, his gaze slipping.
Iris.
That name, the one he won’t speak for Iris’s sake, weighs on him like an iron chain.
The name that keeps her up at night. That makes her sleepwalk, wandering halls in search of someone who isn’t there.
Magic always takes its toll. It’s never free.
And we always pay the price.
“Iris is nothing like Millicent,” I argue, my arms crossing tighter in defense.
Kalix shakes his head. “No, she’s not,” he admits. “But her coven? It’s just as dark and twisted as the one you have endured. Think, for once, about what Millicent may have gone through there.”
His voice lowers. “Iris was favored, too. And you know what that means. What do you think it meant to be favored in her coven?” He pauses. “You were favored once, Cage. By the elders.”
The words settle like lead in my chest. The pain resurfaces like a ghostly echo, mirroring the sound of my own screams. My hands clench, nails biting deep into my palms—anything to replace the violent rage clawing its way up my throat.
I force my jaw tight, steadying my voice, “She could just be Nora number two,” I snap. “Someone will have to replace her. And she is already on that path.”
Kalix sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Well, if Millicent is the next Nora and this goes to hell, I’ll help you kill her myself.” His voice is blunt, but there’s no humor in it.
He straightens, rolling his shoulders back. “In the meantime, we all have to work together. I’m not babysitting, and I’m notbreaking up fights. Let the damn witch wander. Let her do whatever to find answers.” He huffs. “Because we sure as hell haven’t found any on our own. And whether you like it or not, Iris has been a huge help.” He hesitates. “Millicent might be, too.”
The word “help” does not belong in the same sentence as a Le Strange witch. Nora used to call it that—help. She proposed everything to me under the guise of guidance. I am extremely familiar with what their help looks like. It comes in chains, in pain disguised as purpose.
Millicent is no different. Kalix doesn’t understand. His weak spot for Iris has blinded him, made him think Millicent deserves the same chance to prove herself. I open my mouth to argue further, but before I can let my emotions get the better of me, Kalix yelps.
“What the hell!”
He stumbles back. His wide-eyed shock is locked on a small blue imp standing patiently, impossibly on top of one of the cattle. Oliver balances perfectly atop the carcass’s exposed ribs, swaying slightly with the movement of his tail.
Kalix looks from me to the imp, half expecting an explanation.
Oliver ignores him. Instead, he straightens to his full, unimpressive height and amplifies his voice—a grating, high-pitched screech that scrapes over my eardrums like nails against slate. I resist the urge to cover my ears.
Barely.
“Me Misses requires you now. Follow me.” It isn’t a request. It isn’t an informative gesture. No, it’s a command.
Then, without a word, his small bat-like wings begin to extend. They flap furiously, carrying him into the air. Oliver hovers just long enough to glare at us before darting toward the woods with surprising speed.
Kalix stares after him.
