27. Vervain

twenty-seven

Milla jolted awake, cracking her skull against the base of her bedside table.

“Ow, what the fuck.” She pressed a palm to her head, craning her neck to search the room.

Empty.

No Ezra, no creepy humanoid monster crawling through the dark. No lake.

Sunlight tiptoed through the seam in the curtains, and little by little, the heavy weight that sat on her chest as she slept pulled away, settling on her wrists.

“Holy Horned God,” Milla sighed, flexing still-tingling fingers. She glanced at the triskelion and then her palm. No blood . A relief, honestly. She might be Soulbound, but at least she didn’t have to add a head wound to her troubles.

Goddess knew she had enough to worry about between her tea and apparent sleepwalking. She had no memory of coming into her room and didn’t even remember falling asleep. One minute, she’d been sipping her tea and straining to hear Diego’s phone call. It was well after midnight; who in the nine rings did he know in Key West well enough to call them so late?

And then she’d been on the shore of Lake Pontchartrain, screaming for Ezra before she abandoned him at the gates.

She swallowed, her tongue thick and throat dry, and thunked her head against the floor, intending to wait for the fog of sleep to retreat.

The thunk echoed down the hall, and this time her weary mind translated it as a fist knocking at the door.

Cracking one eye open, she again noted the morning light behind her curtains and groaned. “Of fucking course.”

They were heading to the casting range first thing, and first thing was apparently right now.

Another thunk echoed in the hall, and the floorboard in her hall creaked, followed by three light raps on her door.

“Milla?” Darkly’s voice, muffled through the wood, had her rolling onto her head to the side. The floorboard creaked again as he shifted his weight and muttered a low curse before knocking again. Harder this time. “Ludmilla?”

Milla sucked in a quick breath at the unmistakable worry in his voice. Guilt rushed in as she remembered the last time he’d found her on the floor after her tea. How mad he’d been when she admitted what it was for. How frightened. And here she was, back in that same place with a Dark Witch at the door, and no matter how hard she tried, that stupid, thick lump in her throat wouldn’t go away.

“Milla?” he called again, the worry heightening to outright panic. “Please, Goddess. Leannan ”

“Coming,” she croaked, rolling onto her side. The muscles in her legs screamed as she rose, and she gripped the bedside table, legs shaking. “Ow, fuck.”

“You alright?” The knob jogged, the door rattling in its frame. “Milla? Please, unlock the door.”

“Why is it locked?” She started across the room, stopping to pound her foot against the floor to return blood flow. From the double runs the day before, her thighs felt like someone had gone to work on them with a meat tenderizer, and her calves were matching cramps. She needed coffee, an egg and cheese biscuit, and a bath.

“Or a nap,” she muttered. Darkly tried the knob again, and Milla smacked the back of her door. “Stop that.” She fumbled at the twist lock with still-numb fingers. “Give me a second.”

It took more than a second, and the moment the tumblers clicked, Darkly shouldered in. She jumped back, barely avoiding getting hit by the door.

“I—Milla.” His large body filled the frame, and he swept a frantic gaze over her face, eyes beyond wide and pupils blown out. “When you didnae answer …” His throat bobbed, and he let loose a shudder of a breath.

“Hey.” Milla set her fingertips over his heart, biting her lips as she felt the racing muscle, which meant her fingers were at least back to normal, because Goddess knew his reaction to this was anything but. “I slept in, no big deal.”

“Right.” Darkly nodded, swallowing and licking his lips, eyes drifting over her head. He stilled, then dropped his gaze to the floor and frowned. Milla knew what he saw. Darkly was a clever witch, and it wasn’t hard to miss the still-made bed she’d obviously not slept in, and the pile of blankets and her pillow on the floor. His breathing slowed, and when he looked back at her, the fright was gone, replaced with a somber pain. “Milla …”

2. Talk to Darkly .

“It’s not a big deal.” She dipped around him, darting down the hall and slamming the bathroom door before he could stop her.

“Holy shit, dude.” Milla gripped the oh-shit handle, pressing her heels against the floorboard as Tobias zipped between a semi-truck and a minivan with bicycles hitched to the back. “Death wish much?”

Darkly glanced into the backseat, and though he gripped the handle on the door, a wild grin lit up his face. “Dinnae fancy speed?”

“Dinnae fancy dying ,” she replied, squeaking when Tobias slammed on the brakes, shifted gears, and cut off a pale blue Sebring convertible. “Seriously, what’s the rush?”

“We are late,” Tobias replied, dry as a desert morning. At her huff, the car lurched forward, zooming even faster down Dixie Highway towards Matanzas State Forest.

Lodgepole pine whipped by the windows in a brown blur, and, swear to the Goddess, if he changed lanes one more time, Milla was going to empty her stomach all over the pristine white leather interior of his BMW. And all she’d had for breakfast was a rushed cup of coffee, so her protest vomit would be a delightful revenge.

“Never understood why American witches build the ranges so far out,” Darkly commented breezily. “Bonaly’s just off the city.”

“The choices in Scotland are either ‘just off the city’ or ‘hidden in the Highlands and only accessible by coo or foot,’” Tobias replied. “At least Americans respect a good road.”

“Someone has to,” she muttered. Tobias’s eyes flicked to meet hers in the rearview mirror, and, to her horror, he smiled. The witch was already unrecognizable in denim jeans, work boots, and a band t-shirt, but seeing him grin? That was a bridge too far.

Another quick gesture at the gear shift had Milla clutching the seatbelt to check that it was properly buckled. He jerked on the wheel, and Milla swore the sporty SUV lifted onto two wheels as it skidded into the parking lot of Frizzen, Flint Lou is in a bit of a mood.”

“When isnae Lou in a mood?” Darkly asked with a chuckle. He took one look at Tobias in the driver’s seat, rolled his eyes, and shooed him away. “Move yer arse.”

Tobias grumbled under his breath but did as he asked.

“Wanker.” Darkly dropped into the seat and set the skeleton key, a shrunken skull with an M5 magnet on the base, on the dash.

“Wichser,” Tobias replied with a smile. He pressed his thumb against the starter button, and the tiny engine puttered to life. Darkly stretched a long arm across the front seat, twisting around as he reversed the cart. “Alright?” he asked Milla.

She crossed her arms, relieved that Tobias was not driving and annoyed that Darkly had correctly assumed she would prefer any other witch behind the wheel. Goddess, she’d suffer a drive home in Lou’s car if it meant never getting into Tobias’s nightmare SUV again. “M’good.”

He lingered on her for a second, fingers drumming the leather seat, then faced forward and drove them onto the narrow trail.

“Did Diego learn anything?” Tobias asked after a moment.

“I haven’t spoken to him,” Milla said. And how weird was that? Before her arrest, Diego had been the last person she spoke to before bed and the first person she saw when she awoke. But since being home, she’d barely seen the witch. “He was up late on a call with Key West.”

“I am sure he will have news for us this afternoon.” He nodded at Darkly. “Stopping these rituals would go a long way with your sister.”

Darkly tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Am nae sure how much good it will do me.”

“How did you sleep?” Rai asked, distracting Milla from Tobias’s response. She shrugged, preferring to watch the trees pass by at a sane speed rather than engage in a conversation. Rai, unfortunately, had other ideas. “I hope the tea wasn’t too strong. With the weight you dropped in the cells, I was concerned.”

“It was fine.” The golf cart hit a dip in the trail, and Milla slammed her hand against the back of Darkly’s chair, bracing herself to keep from jostling into Rai. “Knocked me right out.”

“Did it?” Rai cocked her head, eyes narrowing slightly. She studied Milla as if she could read the brew’s effects on her. Milla did not know enough about vinefica to assume otherwise, and the idea was unsettling.

“Yeah,” she said, needing to fill the silence. “Diego must have tucked me in on the couch, and then I sleepwalked to my room, which is new.”

“The couch?” She adjusted the box on her lap, running her nails down the front in an agitated gesture like she could not wait to open it up and get to work.

“The sleepwalking. My tea normally has me out cold.”

“Dead to the world,” Darkly rumbled. Milla glanced over, frowning when she saw his knuckles blanching white against the steering wheel.

“And what makes you think you slept on the couch?” Rai asked.

The golf cart swerved, and Rai slammed her hand against the ceiling to stay seated. She glared at the witches in front.

“Squirrel in the road,” Darkly said, slowing their speed. Tobias covered his mouth, blue eyes twinkling with muffled laughter.

“My blanket,” Milla answered, looking from witch to witch. “And a pillow. Why?”

Again, Rai scaled her nails across the wood grain on her box, glancing at the front seat. “I might need to adjust the measurements if you’re sleepwalking. The tea is intended to induce a restorative sleep, and knowing how hard Tobias is about to push you today, I’ll need to be certain the tea reflects my intent.”

“I thought we were casting simple hexes.” She leaned forward, placing her face between Darkly and Tobias. “Right?”

“To get a sufficient reading for the E.R.I.E., we will need more than simple hexes.”

“Didn’t she toss a blood-blade at your head?” Rai asked. Tobias’s mouth pressed into a line, and she let out a tinkling laugh. “Would have loved to see that.”

The golf cart stopped abruptly, jerking every witch forward in their seats. “Sorry,” Darkly mumbled. He swept the skeleton key from the dash and was gone down a small trail before anyone had fully recovered.

Rai watched him go, then slowly faced Tobias. “Was it something I said?”

“You drank your tea?” Lou lightly circled Milla’s wrists with her fingers. She nodded in reply, too nervous to speak. Any minute now, Lou was going to undo the binding, and her Way would roar to life. Milla had no idea if Rai’s tea had done anything. All she had was the deadened weight on her wrists and a faint pressure in her arms.

Outside of that weird moment when Rai’s aura had pulsed green, an echo of vesticism, or some latent magickal impulse, Milla hadn’t felt anything resembling her Way. The idea that it was about to be unleashed after so long was terrifying. She had nearly rotted Lou’s hands when the Light Witch set the binding, and Horned God knew Darkly had suffered enough during that wretched week in the swamp. Now, there was a team of Enforcers watching her every move. All of this—her freedom from the cells, her demesne, her life —hinged on Milla controlling her magick. And since honesty was apparently her new thing, Milla had to admit that she did not think she could.

Not to the degree they needed or expected, at least.

Unable to look Lou in the eye, she stared across the football field-sized ritual space beside them. Fenced by lodgepole pine for cleansing and disruptive shrubs and weeds, she picked out purple ague blossoms for hex-breaking and protective vervain planted at the feet of oak trees, their branches heavy with out-of-season acorns. Rai knelt beneath one, harvesting the vervain while chatting with Donmar and Cyrus.

“Ludmilla?” Lou squeezed her wrists, drawing Milla’s attention back to her. “The tea, you drank it?”

“Every drop.” Milla flexed her fingers, wishing Lou would get on with it or let her wrists go. The weight of the Soul Binding was heavier under her cool grasp, like the damn witch was pumping more of her Way into Milla with every second they stood there.

Lou hummed in approval and settled her gaze over Milla’s head. “You have her?”

“Aye.” Gentle and soft hands clasped over her shoulders. She glanced down, jolting at the sight of black leather gloves against her bare skin. Darkly slid his hands to her upper arms, and warmth blanketed her back as he stepped closer.

“Just a precaution,” he said, low and quiet in her ear. “It can be a wee bit jarring when she removes the binding. Wouldnae want you to fall.”

“And the gloves?” she asked. When he didn’t immediately answer, it clicked. He stood too closely for it not to, all but pressed against her back and warming Milla down to her tea-drunk bones. She shivered at the sudden awareness, and a sensation stirred low in her belly, so long gone it might as well be forgotten—some deep, dark response to the witch and his Way. The fluttering of moths his nearness provoked. She slid her eyes to the side, catching the edge of his profile in view. “Another precaution?”

His answering nod brought the scrape of stubble against her cheek, and his lips brushed her ear as he whispered. “Aye.”

The moths erupted into an outright flurry. It was barely a brush, barely anything, but at his nearness and touch, every synapse in her body caught fire.

“Too much?” Darkly’s breath tickled her lobe, and it was all Milla could do not to press against him.

“No,” she gritted out.

“This space is warded.” Lou’s no-nonsense voice brought her back to earth. Darkly straightened, tightening his grip on her shoulders just-so, but his warmth lingered on Milla’s ear and neck as a blush. “If you need to burn anything off once I open this, you can do so without worry.” The stern mask warmed, and she winked conspiratorially. “Just let us get to a safe distance first.”

Milla let out a bewildered huff. “Never imagined an Enforcer telling me I could use my Way without worry.”

“You’re one of us now.” Lou smiled at her. She ran her thumbs over the triskelions on Milla’s wrists. They shimmered beneath her touch, the binding magick responding to its casting witch. Then Lou tightened her grip and muttered, “ Oscailte. ”

Intense heat flashed on the inside of her wrists, and Milla’s Way sprang to life. A tingle in her palms whirled into a sizzling burn, speeding up her veins and knocking her off balance. Her back hit Darkly’s chest, and he grunted, holding tight to her arms as Milla’s head rocketed above the clouds. It was better than any weed, better than any high from ritual smoke or a race well run. She was fucking soaring under the explosion of magick in her body.

“Oh,” she gasped. Despite the heat of her Way, goosebumps flashed the length of her arms, and a not-at-all unpleasant shiver raced down her spine.

“Aye,” he rasped, tightening his grip. She dropped her head back, gazing drunkenly up at Darkly—and he winced.

“Let go, you idiot.” Lou smacked his arm, and Donmar appeared before Milla, prying her off of Darkly and guiding her to a nearby bench. “Horned God, Keir, have you no sense of self-preservation?”

“She was gonnae fall,” he said, his voice strained and tight.

The sound of it, so familiar from those days in the swamp, cleared her head. The front of his shirt was in ruins, ashen where before it had been black, and two swathes of rot ran down the front, right where her bare arms had been. Darkly ripped his shirt off and the cotton disintegrated in his hand. Early-stage rot ran down his body, and reddened skin and rising blisters ran from his chest down to the waist of his pants.

“Oh, Goddess.” The rush of her Way, of the power of life and death in her veins, cooled and froze, allowing the fear to slide in. “I can’t do this.”

Darkly whipped his head up, taking a half step to where she huddled on the bench. “Milla—”

He cut himself off with a wince, pressing a gloved hand to his torso, and all of that fear crashed down like an avalanche.

Heat burned a searing path down her arms. Wood sagged and crumbled beneath her hand, and she scrambled off the bench, backing away. The ground dipped, giving away to sand. She staggered, twisting her ankle, but kept moving as far away from the witches as possible. “Seriously, Lou, I can’t—”

“You can and you will.” Lou marched forward with her finger in a point. “You owe this to me. And to C.R.O.W.”

“You can’t make me, please.” She stopped as another gloved hand gripped her arm, knowing without looking that it was Agent Sterne. How could she not, after all of those weeks being taunted by the witch she couldn’t see and guided by the one she could? The soft, supple gloves on her shoulder, her elbow. The only witch willing to touch her, leading Milla down those endless halls and hauling her off the salt and marble floor.

Bile rose, lodging in her throat beneath that Horned God-damned lump she couldn’t swallow, choking off both her vomit and a sob.

“Luminescence,” Darkly warned. “Knock it off.”

Lou raised her casting hand, showing Milla a palm coated in rising blisters. Goddess, next would come the heat and swelling, then her skin would darken as necrosis set in, and then—

“Pull it together, Ludmilla,” Lou stated as breezily as if she were hexed by a Death Witch daily. She flitted her gaze to Tobia’s hands, then back to Milla’s face, unimpressed. “Sparring court, now. Go burn this off with that little flower trick of yours.” She turned her back on Milla, hollering, “Rai!”

“Breathe.” Tobias squeezed her shoulders, and only then did Milla realize she’d been panting, unable to fill her lungs. The heat in her arms, the jittering energy of her Way—it was all-consuming, and she had to hold it back—hold it down. She had to get away and rot a tree, a trunk, a mound, anything but these witches. “Breathe, Ludmilla,” he said again, only this time it was not Tobias speaking.

It was Agent Sterne.

She sipped a thin stream of air through her teeth. And again.

Near the field, Cyrus waved his phone over Darkly’s wounds. “Would you look at that?” he asked, showing Lou the screen. “Goddess be damned, it reads as hippocromantic.”

“Fascinating,” Lou stated. She frowned at her brother and rolled her eyes. “If you are so determined to be an idiot about all of this, then come along. We’ve got the big field.”

“Open me up first.” A nasty sneer curled his lip, but he dropped a hand to his side, flashing five fingers at Milla.

Five things you can see .

“Again,” Agent Sterne ordered. So she did, hissing in another breath and counting.

Lou, caging her hand over the triskelion on Darkly’s chest. Darkly, closing his eyes and widening his stance. Donmar covering his mouth with a hand, unable to hide his disapproval. Darkly flashing three fingers as Lou said, “ Oscailte. ”

“What do you hear?” Tobias whispered in her ear.

Intent . As clear as a bell. Intent and desire and sacrifice wrapped up in one little word.

Darkly blinked, his eyes dripping black, flashing green, then stained with smoke. The muscles in his arms twitched as if he’d just received a slew of electric shocks, and a broad grin stretched across his face. His exhale was one of relief, and as the tension in his shoulders bled away, a ribbon of smoke blossomed across his shoulders, winding a long, wispy tail around the bicep of his left arm.

“Goddess,” he sighed.

“You ready?” Lou shook out her right hand, side-eyeing her brother.

“To kick your arse?” His grin widened, and he lobbed a handful of shadows at his sister. She yelped, brushing it off and hitting her brother with a short-lived glare. Her lips quivered, her eyes narrowed, and a bright, bubbling laugh filled the air. Darkly hooked an arm around her shoulders and walked Lou to the field. “Triple Goddesses tits, am I.”