Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

W hile the potion is brewing, I decide to kill some time. I've been locked away for days, which isn't unusual, but with everything going on, I feel the need to check in on everyone and see what's happening. Agatha said the mask was stolen, and I was angry at first, but now I'm just curious.

How and why?

Entering the coven's blood circle would take more power than I've ever sensed, unless they are a god or dead or something. That's what keeps circling my brain as I head into town to listen in on rumours.

It's unusually quiet today, and the few members I do pass seem to give me a wide berth, their eyes downcast or accusingly staring at me. "They probably heard Hagatha came to ask you about the mask. You know how fast rumours travel and change. I bet they think it's you," the demon supplies helpfully as he skips by my side.

"Gee, thanks, now they all think I'm a thief as well as weird," I mutter, ducking my head as more pass, outright glaring at me.

Just fucking great.

I don't protest though, and I stop at Agatha's shop, peering through the window to see the case where the mask was sitting open and empty, just like she said. I don't know why, but seeing it makes it real, and I shiver. I remember the call of that mask. It didn't feel good. Why would someone steal it?

"She's a dark witch, after all," comes a whisper, and when I turn, a gaggle of young witches freezes, their eyes snapping to me and widening before they take off giggling.

"Want me to stalk them and scare them?" my demon offers helpfully.

"No, that's mean. Okay, maybe a little." I grin, and he vanishes as I laugh.

"Freya?" The voice is hesitant. I whirl around to see Agatha standing in the doorway, watching me carefully. We didn't end our conversation on such good terms the other day.

"Have you found anything?" I ask.

She shakes her head, her mouth opening before someone passes. She waits for them to go and opens the door wider. "Come in, child. Let us speak in private."

I hesitate before ducking past her. Despite everything, she is still the leader of this coven and a good woman. She was just doing her job, even if it stung. My gaze cuts to the empty shelf before I turn to her.

"Nothing at all. No connection or trace within the coven whatsoever," Agatha admits worriedly.

"You think someone broke the blood barrier from the outside and came in and stole it and none of the elders felt it?" I frown.

"Not even a slight change in the barrier," she says, and it's clear she's concerned. They don't feel my demon, and they clearly didn't feel Mors, but they are ancient beings. Do I mention it? If they can get through the barrier, whoever stole the mask obviously can too, meaning they have great power. "What is weirder . . ." She trails off, and I wait.

"Weirder?" I repeat when she just stares.

"There are no traces of any magic or power around the sector at all, and when we asked Lilly, she said she couldn't see anything." Shit, they asked Lilly? She's a recluse who's even worse than I am. Being born with powers of prophecy and foresight isn't easy, and she once told me she sees every world and every possibility all at the same time. That shit must be exhausting.

Lilly is never wrong, ever, and for her not to see it?

"You think somehow someone was able to block her?" I ask. I didn't even know that was possible.

"They must know about it, know she was searching. I don't know. That or they are simply that powerful, which is all the more cause for concern." She lays her hand on my shoulder. "Ignore the whispers, Freya. You are good at that. We know you did not do this. I am very sorry for our doubts causing you harm."

"I get it." I shrug and step back. Her hand feels almost patronising now after everything that happened. "I'm different, and differences are always questioned."

That makes her frown sadly. "Be careful, Freya," she cautions, not denying what I said since we both know it's true. "I worry about what this means for you."

"Why?" I ask.

Her lips purse as she stares at me, and it seems she is about to divulge something when the door opens. We both turn and frown at the empty doorway, then we share a glance. Was it the demon? If so, where is he?

"Anyway, I should let you get back to your day." Agatha shakes herself, smiling at me. "We will update the coven when we know more, so for now, do not worry."

I nod despite my confusion, but I see the fear in her eyes as she turns away. She's telling us not to worry, but Agatha is terrified, and if something is scaring the most powerful witch on this Earth, then you can damn well bet I'm shitting my pants.

I wander the coven for hours, but it seems everyone can sense our head witch's mood. The place feels subdued, as everyone is either working or hiding. Fear is thick in the air, like they are waiting for something else to happen, and the whispers as I show my face have only gotten worse. I can't stand them anymore and decide to head home. The demon is quiet at my side for once, which also worries me.

"Do you know who stole it?" I ask once we are out of earshot.

He startles when I speak, which means he was lost in his own thoughts. "No, little witch, I do not."

"You didn't feel or sense anything?" I ask, frowning at him as I quicken my steps, feeling eyes on my back—not a threat but just watching.

"Nothing, though I could have been distracted," he admits, winking at me. "You are worried about this."

"Aren't you? If someone can just waltz into the coven?—"

"Like me, Phrixius, and the god of death?" he jokes.

"Then they can do anything. They might be suspicious of me and mean sometimes, but this is my home, demon. These people are my family. I cannot let them suffer or be bound by fear. They blame me already, which makes me worry they are not really looking for who did this," I explain out loud.

"You want to track whoever it is down, don't you?" he grumbles. "That's stupid, even for a demon."

"I do, and you're going to help me." I turn to him. "Find out what you can. Check the barrier or ask your demon friends. Whoever it was has power and lots of it. Please."

"And why would I help with this without a deal?"

I roll my eyes and step closer. Grabbing him by the horns, I yank him down and kiss him hard. "Please," I murmur against his lips.

His eyes are wide and unfocused as he nods rapidly in my hands. "Sure, yep, totally. I will be right back." He disappears.

Shaking my head, I turn to head home when he suddenly appears before me again, winding his arms around me as I yelp when he drags me closer. Dipping me deeply, he kisses me. "Fair is fair," he whispers before he's gone again, and I nearly fall on my ass, his laughter chasing after me.

"Asshole," I mutter, even as a smile curves my lips.

When I get back home, Phrixius is studiously sitting in the circle, facing the door .

"Everything okay?" I ask as I take off my cape and drape it over the chair before heading over to check on the spell. My nose twitches at a burning smell. Shit, did I burn it?

I hurry over, breathing a sigh of relief when I see it bubbling away. Turning with a frown, I sniff deeper and head around my home until I stop at the smoking TV. "Fucking demon!" I roar. "This is the third one this year! It's coming out of your pocket money."

"You give the demon pocket money?" Phrixius asks.

"Is that important right now, Rodger?" I ask, my hands on my hips before I point at the TV. "This was the latest model. I'm going to tan that demon's ass."

His cheeks heat, and I wince. "Sorry, language. You're a god."

He huffs, rubbing his neck. "It's fine. Demons are known for mischief. Why don't I help you?"

"Huh?" I ask, and he rises gracefully to his feet and closes his eyes.

Within seconds, the TV is gone, replaced by a huge, brand-new one. "Oh, Willy, you didn't have to do that. It wasn't your fault. Trust me, the demon has broken enough things."

"Erm, still," he says with a small smile. "Is that okay?"

"Thank you. At least one of you is kind." The smile on his face tightens. I bet gods are used to flattery, but Phrixius doesn't seem to be. How odd. That reminds me, I know hardly anything about him. With nothing to do but kill time, I brew some tea and make a plate of snacks, which I push to the circle and then sit before him as he sits with a confused frown.

He lifts the cup and sniffs it. "This isn't poison, is it? Will it turn me into a flagpole?"

"What? Why? I only do that when the demon pisses me off," I mutter as I sip the tea. "It's chamomile."

He nods but eyes the tea worriedly. "Yes, well, I have done nothing, nothing at all."

"Right." I watch him in confusion as he sips the tea and seems to relax. "So, tell me about you, Sammy."

His eyebrows rise. "You wish to . . . know me?"

"Well, we are stuck together for now, and despite you being a great house guest and seemingly able to piss my demon off by just breathing, we don't know much about each other. So tell me."

"You could simply look me up," he points out.

"Where's the fun in that?" I sigh. "Besides, I don't believe everything people say or write. They have a tendency to portray their own feelings and not the truth. I've found it's best to go straight to the source."

"That is quite profound of you," he comments, settling back. "What would you like to know?"

"How old are you?" I grin, and he laughs.

"I began existing not long after this world." My eyes widen, and he chuckles, his expression shining with mirth. "Yes, I am that old."

"So you're not like a daddy, you're like a great-great-great-great-granddaddy," I muse, and he spits out tea he just sipped.

"Daddy?" He blinks. "As if I'm a father? No, I do not have children."

I roll my lips in to bite back my smile. "Good to know." I giggle. "So you're super old and don't have children. What kind of god are you?"

"Of moon and magic," he answers with a soft smile. "Though mostly magic. It's a broad category, I know. Basically, I sense any magic in the world, but mainly witches." He winks at me as I grin.

"So you can sense my magic?" I ask, sitting up taller. For a moment, I stare at him, wanting to ask.

"I can," he says carefully, eyeing me.

Swallowing hard, I try to force the words out so I can learn the truth about what I am and the darkness that seems to plague only me, but in the end, I chicken out. "That's cool," I say lamely. "So you know a lot of covens?"

"I used to. We have withdrawn from this world in the last century. It's just easier to maintain balance that way. In all honesty, I haven't checked in with my people in a very long time. Covens run themselves, and witches are very good at keeping order . . . sprinkled with a little chaos. It leaves me with lots of free time. I feel more like an idea now rather than something important. "

Sadness tinges his words, making me scoot closer. "So why don't you find something that makes you feel important again?" He blinks at me, so I continue. "I use my ability to help others with spells and potions. I like feeling successful and needed. The demon has, well . . . the demon. Agatha has the coven and her shop. Everyone needs something to give them purpose and inspire them, but moreover, it should make you happy. Without joy, are you really living?"

His head tilts as he eyes me for a moment. "Not for a long time." He glances away. "It is something all immortal beings feel after a while—the stagnant nature of our never-ending lives. We are doomed to watch those we love or care for grow and die. We are made to watch cities rise and fall, everything around us changing, but we never truly do."

"It sounds lonely," I murmur. "I don't think I'd like to be immortal. Yes, death comes for us, and the idea of dying scares me a little, but I think that fear is what keeps us moving, keeps us mortal, you know? We try new things, experiencing everything we can so that when death does come for us, we can say we truly lived. Our life spans are short in comparison, but I think it's possible to live many lifetimes within one if you try hard enough."

"Is that what you want? To live many lifetimes?"

"I want to be happy. It's a small dream, I know, compared to most, but it's true, I just want to be happy, loved, and cherished so that when the day comes and I return to the Earth, I know I can go without regrets. That's my biggest fear—that at the end, all I'll have will be bitter thoughts and what-ifs. I don't want that. I know how easily life can be taken away." I shrug. "Maybe that's silly."

"Never reduce your ideas and wants in fear of what others will say," he responds automatically. "That lessens your own worth and reduces your soul. Your dreams are not small, Freya, they are beautiful, and so are you." There's a knowing gleam in his eyes I can't look away from.

"It doesn't feel that way. All I have now are what-ifs and a million different roads taking me places, and I'm standing in the middle of them all, too scared to make a choice in case it's the wrong one. Someday, I want to take a step, but I want to know I'll be going down the right path," I say, my gaze on my twiddling fingers. When he's quiet, I lift my eyes. He's pressed to the edge of the barrier, watching me with a fond, soft expression.

"You will. I have never met someone as brave as you in my entire immortal life." My heart skips at that. I want to protest, but he doesn't let me. "Nor as singularly kind. I think, Freya, that when you make up your mind and accept all of you, you will have everything you want if you are strong enough to fight for it, and I know you are. I know you're strong enough to withstand whatever comes when you walk the path you choose."

"But what if I choose the wrong one?" I whisper.

"Then turn around and create another. Life is not so straightforward. If there's anything I've learned from my long years here, it is the ability to adapt and keep moving. Just because you make a choice doesn't mean you're stuck with it forever. You can always change, you can always go back or choose a different way. You are never trapped, Freya, not even with what fate gives you."

There's something lacing his words, something deeper, as if he's talking about something else. Shaking it off, I force a smile.

"I guess you're right. Anyway, what hobbies do gods have?" I ask, and he chuckles as he leans back, letting me change the subject, but something about what he said sticks with me.

Accept myself . . . Haven't I?

Is that why I'm stuck, never quite moving forward?

What happens if I do?

It feels as if something has always been holding me here in this spot, and part of me thinks that if I break free and move forward, something terrible will happen.

Why?