Chapter 19

19

S he wakes the next morning with him still fast asleep, his arm thrown over her midsection, tugging her until her back's pressed against his chest.

Where his lungs are much less painful, just a twinge on the crest of every deep inhale, and the skin no longer stretches annoyingly.

It's exactly how they would wake up on cold winter mornings in the condo in Prescott, on the rare occasions of snow.

For a few moments, she gives herself the luxury of cuddling, no matter how ill advised. Of closing her eyes to the warm comfort of being against him in a bed, as if nothing in the last few days had happened. As if she still didn't know, still thought of him as the perfect doting boyfriend, and she still worked the job doing spreadsheets for people who couldn't.

It's such a little thing, to be held like this in sleep, and she can't help but relax into it. To cherish it, as if it might not ever happen again.

She blinks out, the sunlight muffled through the floral curtains.

Because he's alive, he's well, but he's still…someone who dated her just because of a job.

No matter the familiarity, no matter how wonderful this feels, there's still the gaping maw of what he did. Of the confusion of which part of emotions from him are real and which emotions and habits are just from him sleeping next to her for so long.

"Ugh," she whispers to herself, too quiet to disturb his sleep. Because she knows that off hand.

She needs to figure this out, she decides. Figure out which parts of her are angry and which parts of his actions are habits.

Though stepping in front of her for a strike that was aimed to kill runs deeper than just habits.

It would be far easier if he resented her, but the twin chipped mugs of hot chocolate on the side table and the ache in his chest says otherwise.

She wiggles out from underneath his arm, and he mumbles something in his sleep at the movement, before squishing his face into the pillow.

His hair is even more messed up than it was the night before, but the circles under his eyes are lighter, and Delina stares down at him for probably too many moments to be excusable before she abruptly turns and heads into the kitchen.

Chance chirps a greeting at her, stretching his paws out on the couch, before jumping off it and meandering over and butting his head against her leg.

"Aww, good morning," Delina whispers, scratching under his chin, and he leans into the touch. "You are just a sweetheart."

The espresso machine brews just as good of a shot of espresso as the day before, and even though she can't find where the beans are reloaded into it, it's just as fresh and rivals most of the coffee shops she's ever been into.

She takes her time, crafting an elaborate breakfast and an exquisite drink, settling into her bones. The familiar actions bring something closer to peace, despite the busy-ness in her head.

Somewhere between chopping up veggies and grating a bit of cheese for a scramble, Gurlien steps into the great room, giving her a suspicious look.

"What?" Delina asks defensive, before he even says anything.

"Are you a morning person?" he replies, poking dejectedly at the coffee machine until she swipes it with her thumb. "I haven't been a morning person in a year."

Considering he lost his magic and his job all at once, that would disrupt anyone's sleep schedule.

"It's ten AM," Delina says, adding a few more veggies to the pan. "And not really, but it's been a few strange days."

His suspicious glance doesn't go away, though he curls up on the couch, tucking his legs underneath him. "Did you sleep with Frederick again?"

Delina considers throwing the spatula at him. "Only technically."

He squints.

"He brought me hot chocolate then we dozed off in the same bed," she clarifies, and he nods in understanding.

"I can't believe he defied them," Gurlien says, and it's too close to what she's been thinking that she doesn't bother to get him on a different track. "That's definitely not how I saw that going."

Delina can't think of anything to say to that, so she aggressively stirs the scramble instead.

"Good to know your Necromancy is strong enough to bring back a full person," he muses, and it's still disorienting to hear it spoken so blatantly. "Inconvenient in terms of security, nice in terms of, you know, still being alive."

"Thanks," she replies sarcastically.

"There aren't really any known and accepted methods of training Necromancers, but I would say that your gut instincts served you decently," he says, staring somewhat blankly down at the coffee. "And Frederick…"

Delina waits for him to continue, stirring the eggs.

"I don't know what to think." Finally, he glances up and there's a scowl on his face, as if the world hasn't prepared him well enough for this moment. "I just don't."

"You and me both," replies Delina, shoving her scramble on a plate. "And now we can't even leave without demon threats."

"It'll subside in a day or so without you using it, or it should, in theory."

"That's not comforting." Delina sits down at the table with her over indulgent scramble and her over indulgent coffee, as Gurlien grabs a power bar from the cabinet. "Are you and Chloe going to have to move?"

He hesitates. "Not yet," he replies, guarded. "They know we're in northern Washington, but Dr. Frisse has eighteen properties in the area, so it doesn't narrow it down. We'll have to avoid those three close stores, but there are options. I destroyed Frederick's phone, so they can't use that for tracking a confrontation anymore."

The phone with all the pictures of his mother.

"I created a local backup," Gurlien says, and it must've been written on her face. "Too many good contacts to just erase forever. And besides, he gave it to me to do so."

That helps a little bit, and they descend into silence for a few minutes.

"I guess the possibility that he actually likes you is higher than eight percent," Gurlien all but mumbles, after a good solid five minutes of ignoring each other.

"Thanks," Delina responds.

"I'm not good at that sort of thing, but I doubt he'd take a kill shot for most people. He's a selfish asshole."

Delina briefly considers attempting to defend Maison, because selfish asshole has never been in the descriptors for him, but Gurlien knew him through whatever equivalent of high school and nobody is their best during that.

"So today we wait?" Delina asks, instead of any emotional statement, as possibly crying in front of Gurlien sounds like a nightmare. "Wait until whatever Necromancy power burns off?"

He's already nodding. "The circle is a five-minute walk in any direction, you can't miss it and you won't cross it without knowing."

After breakfast and taking care of her dishes, she escapes outside the moment Maison emerges from the bedroom, still sleep rumpled and handsome.

She's not running away per se, but things are definitely still too confusing to contemplate this early in the morning.

So she clutches her mug in her hand and paces outside the cabin.

There's a well-worn trail around it, filled in with gravel, though moss grows thick over some of it, and anything off that path is thick with blackberry bramble, dying in the chill of fall, and she's not sure her tennis shoes would survive a fight with the thorns.

The dead bird is still bright to her awareness, but she skirts to the opposite side of the house, as if that could lessen it, finding a more or less beaten trail leading deeper into the woods.

It's not nearly as quiet as she would think, with the wind in the branches and the live birds singing in the trees, but as she steps through the trail, the cabin disappears from view, almost as an optical illusion.

"Ah," she whispers, to the air around her. Of course her mother took pains to hide this place, and even in death it still works.

She tromps until she hits a burned strip, about as wide as a foot, curving around the property, and the hair on the back of her neck rises.

The demon trap, it must be.

Besides the visual signal, there's nothing else that would set it apart. The birds still chirp on the other side and the wind still blows through.

"It's clever," a voice says, and Delina jumps.

The woman with gray hair—the Wight? Spirit? —appears a few steps away, on the other side of the trap.

"I guess?" Delina says, her voice lilting up, and the woman bares her teeth in a smile. "I don't know enough about it yet to tell you."

"The magicless talked the alchemist through it, they're both very talented." The woman glances down at it, almost idle. "We can't cross it, and I'm not sure anything can."

"Good to know," Delina says, clutching her coffee mug as if it could give her strength. "Sorry if it hurt anyone or anything."

The woman shakes her head at that. "Merely an inconvenience. Have to walk around instead of going through. Worth it to keep the demons at bay."

A lump in her throat, Delina nods.

"Though I think one or two of them checked out your flare down south," she continued, conversationally. "So they definitely know there's another one active."

And the woman fixes her eyes on Delina, sharp, like she can see through her and find her wanting.

"The weak ones will be scared off by the Half Demon. The strong ones won't."

"Creepy," Delina says, and she gets an honest smile in return.

"I don't want a full demon in my forest again anytime soon," she continues, pacing in front of the burned line. "So do all your raising away from here."

Delina swallows. All her raising. As if there would be much more.

"The bodies can last a little while longer, the other one doesn't need it to be immediately after death."

"I panicked," Delina says, and the woman's mouth thins. "Sorry about…all the drama."

"It's good he's already bonded with you," she continues, and it's so close to an actual answer that Delina perks up.

"What does that mean?" Delina asks, raising an eyebrow. Her gut instinct is to lift her chin and demand an answer, but something inside of her tells her that wouldn't work in this case.

"You should ask him directly," the woman says, and Delina wants to tear her hair out at that. "See what he says…it's more demon magic than it is human." She watches as Delina obviously tries to keep her temper. "It's the one fallacy of demons. They form bonds with those they deign to care about. It's their weakness and often the only thing preventing them from full chaos and insanity."

"Okay," Delina responds, unnerved, then, "do you know how I can hide from demons? Besides this circle?"

This time, the woman's smile is full of teeth. "You will always send up blinding flares whenever you draw someone back from death. Every demon close can see it. Learn to spread it out, diffuse it, and they won't be able to find you."

Delina nods, though her heart pounds.

"We liked the Grand Magician," she says, and it takes Delina a few seconds to realize that she's probably talking about her bio-mother. "We were sad to hear of her passing."

"I think you're the first person to say that," Delina replies. "Thank you."

The woman nods, and the lines around her face make her look, ever so briefly, ancient. "Stay alive, it'll be good to have someone strong in our forest again."

Before she, of course, vanishes.

Delina exhales, staring out at the now empty woods.