“Yep, because I just stumbled right into your coven without anyone inviting me,” she shot back, stepping closer and narrowing her eyes. “So maybe instead of leaving me to wander around like a lost puppy, you could give me something—anything—to work with. A plan. Directions. Hell, even a map would be better than this.”
Her words struck a chord, and for a moment, guilt twisted in my chest. She had a point. I’d been so caught up in everything—my father’s death, the wolves, the politics of holding this coven together—I hadn’t considered what it must be like for her. Alone in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by people who saw her as an outsider at best and a liability at worst.
I exhaled heavily. “Fine. You’re right.”
She blinked, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily. “Wait. What?”
“I said you’re right,” I repeated, pushing off the wall. “You deserve better than this. I’ve been… distracted, but I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. Starting with your things.”
Her arms uncrossed slightly, but she didn’t look entirely convinced. “And after that?”
I frowned, thinking. “I’ll introduce you to the coven. But we have to do it carefully. Only a few people know about this arrangement, and if we don’t handle it the right way?—”
“I’ll be fed to the wolves?” she interrupted, her tone laced with dry humor.
My jaw tightened. “That’s not funny.”
Her smirk faltered and she nodded. “Sorry. I guess I’m not used to all this… political maneuvering.”
“Neither am I,” I admitted, surprising even myself. “But we’ll figure it out.”
Her brow arched. “We?”
“Yes,we,” I said, my tone firm. “This isn’t just my problem anymore. You’re part of this now, whether either of us likes it or not.”
Her lips twitched like she wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words. Instead, she sighed, muttering, “Fine. But for the record, I don’t appreciate being a pawn in some grand scheme.”
“You’re not a pawn,” I said, meeting her gaze. “You’re… part of the strategy.”
She gave me a look that clearly said,Oh, that’s so much better.
Before I could explain further, her stomach growled loudly, breaking the tension. Her eyes widened, and I couldn’t hold back the laugh that escaped.
“Sounds like you’re ready for some of Maggie’s rice and gravy,” I said, smirking.
She groaned, her cheeks flushing. “Don’t remind me. I’m still not over the rolling pin threat.”
“Then don’t keep her waiting,” I said, starting to walk back toward the hallway. “Trust me, Maggie’s food is worth the risk.”
She hesitated for a moment, then followed me, her steps lighter than before. As ridiculous as she looked, there was a spark in her that I couldn’t ignore—one that, against all odds, made me think she might just survive here. Flour explosions and all.
Cookingrice and gravy wasn’t as bad—or as terrifying—as I’d expected. Maggie, it turned out, was far more agreeable when I was in her kitchen by invitation rather than trespass. Under her watchful eye and occasional gruff instructions, I managed to help stir, season, and simmer without any explosions. It wasn’t exactly baking, but it was oddly satisfying to see the dish come together.
Eating it, though—that was the real revelation. The rice and gravy were rich and savory, unlike anything I’d ever tasted. It wasn’t quite a stew, but it wasn’t just a gravy either. It was itsown magical creation, and I couldn’t stop myself from asking Maggie for the recipe.
She raised one eyebrow, her lips twitching like she was amused, and simply shook her head. “Recipes aren’t a thing in these parts,” she said.
I wasn’t sure if she was joking or if she meant it literally, but I had a feeling I’d be waiting a long time for Maggie to share her culinary secrets.
I ate in the kitchen, away from the rest of the coven. It wasn’t like Maggie had kicked me out; she’d even muttered something that might have been an invitation to join the others. But the thought of sitting in the dining hall, surrounded by people who barely knew me—or worse, who might not want me there—felt like too much.
At home, we ate with our families in small groups, tucked into our own homes or little community spaces. Here, they ate as one huge family, the kind of unity that should’ve been comforting but only reminded me how out of place I was. Everything was so different, and hiding out in the kitchen while the others laughed and talked in the dining hall didn’t help.
After finishing the masterpiece of a meal, I washed my bowl in the sink, careful to leave everything spotless—Maggie would probably appear out of nowhere if I didn’t—and tiptoed back to my room.
The quiet halls were both eerie and peaceful, a stark contrast to the bustling kitchen. I considered sneaking into the library again, the pull of its shelves full of forbidden knowledge almost irresistible. But I knew that somehow, I’d manage to get myself into trouble, and I didn’t want to give Rune any more reasons to hate me, especially after thealmostgood conversation we had earlier in the day.
Back in my room, I shut the door and leaned against it, letting out a slow breath. My chest still hadn’t arrived, and thebare space felt less like home and more like a temporary holding cell.
