Chapter 25

25

G reasy food is absolutely worse, but Gurlien gets a much better pep into his step, and Ambra’s not going to stop that.

Instead, afterwards, she lets him convince her to teleport back to the Pacific Northwest, on the advice about the passport.

“I can teleport in and out, I don’t see why I need to care about this,” Ambra says, surly, the moment her feet hit the forest floor.

It’s cold, but a different sort of cold than the ones on the street of Minneapolis. Here, clouds hang low in the sky, ominously grey, and the snow crunches sparsely along the gravel sidewalk.

It’s a small town, with nary more than a few boarded up shops and a meager coffee stand next to a lumber mill. There’s a church with an ancient graveyard, a dubious looking animal hospital, and a long road leading up to some motorhomes, more run down than not.

Ambra squints at them, at the memory of the sleeve of the sweater and the house that was no more .

It sits poorly with her still sour stomach.

“I don’t like this,” Ambra mutters. “This isn’t needed and we could be preparing.”

Gurlien just turns the collar up on his wool coat, nonplussed. “Same reason I have this bag,” he says, shifting the weight of the backpack. “In case we get separated.”

The thought sends a shiver down her spine, even worse than it used to.

Because if they get separated, she doesn’t think she’d ever see him again.

As they walk, there’s the same wight, staring at her.

And her arm is protectively around…

Stella. The little wight who cried.

Her hair is brushed now, less of a mess, though there’s a sunken depth to her eyes, a hollowness to her shoulders.

Ambra stills, her footsteps stopping in the low mist.

Stella gazes out at Ambra, half numb, and she’s still so thin, so fragile, like Ambra could reach out a single finger and break her.

Ambra thought that many times during stasis. That there was no way a little wight could be so important to be locked away next to her, that she was too small, too young, too breakable.

Ambra doesn’t quite have the life cycle of the Wights memorized, but this one is far from adulthood.

The woman’s arms tighten around Stella, and with a jolt, Ambra realizes their faces match. That there’s some familial relation, some genetic kinship.

Ambra opens her mouth to say something, and Stella’s face crumples, before the older Wight whisks her away, both of them vanishing.

Gurlien glances back at her, where she pauses on the sidewalk, and she just shakes her head and continues after him.

She shifts, her skin prickling, before Gurlien steps towards the single gas station. Still, Ambra glances around, at the tall trees and the mist vanishing up into the clouds.

“I miss this,” she murmurs, and Gurlien glances back at her. “The motorhome. I liked being there. Seeing this outside.”

Another small smile. “This area is pretty unparalleled in beauty.”

While it’s a true sentence, it still rings incomplete.

“Feels more like home.”

Home is still an odd sensation, sitting deep in her chest, and it must come from the human body. Demons want their comfortable places, want their hidey-holes, but beyond that…the location matters much less than most would think.

But the air is crisp, smells correct, and the cold humidity dances along Ambra’s scalp like it’s welcoming her.

Gurlien’s eyes dip to her lips, sending a shock down her back, before back up to her, as if it never happened.

“I’ll run it by Delina, but I know her mother held many properties in the area,” he starts, and the cool air puffs around his face. “If one doesn’t have a demon trap, she’ll probably let you set it up as a hiding spot.” He shrugs, almost embarrassed. “Delina now has more property than she could ever hope to manage and more money than entirely normal, it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

Ambra’s absolutely not gonna ask the necromancer for anything.

“I’ve lived in this area for the last year,” he says, almost wistful, as he tilts his head towards the cloud-laden sky. “Before, I had only lived in big cities. Toronto, Atlanta. It’s different in a small town. ”

She could believe that, especially with humanities crushing need to be around others.

“Nobody cared who I was, nobody cared that I had failed so spectacularly, nobody cared that I had lost all ability. I was just another person living out in the woods.”

The bar Ambra tracked them down to is about thirty miles away, deeper into the mountains than along the coast, and it must’ve been near there.

“Sorry about wrecking the bar,” she murmurs. “I was just very happy to be out of stasis. And to see a necromancer.”

He squints at her, but it’s good natured.

“I’m not going to go after her,” Ambra reassures. “Your Half Demon would kill me, and he’d be able to.”

“Good to know,” he replies sarcastically.

Ambra follows him, until…

Turning the corner to the gas station, in front of a cheery convenience store, is the remnants of a demon bubble.

A demon bubble gone horribly, horribly wrong.

She stops dead in her tracks, and Gurlien turns towards her at the scrape of her shoes.

“What?” he asks, suspicious, and he seems perfectly fine, now, after the greasy food. Like the malaise of physical awfulness has completely left him. “It’s just a Buggees.”

“Why…” she lifts her chin, staring hard at the remnants of magic, before she bares her teeth at him. “Why are you taking me here?”

“Chloe said she’ll meet us here,” he replies, and whatever had happened between the two of them completely erased any fear he had at her expressions, and she’s not exactly sure when that occurred. “It’s close enough to where she is that she can, you know, get here in a reasonable time, but far enough away that it’s anonymous. ”

“It’s not anonymous,” Ambra blurts out, and there are threads of necromancy, twisted in the decay of magic. “Did a battle happen here? In the last few years?”

He opens his mouth to answer, before shutting it, a peculiar expression on his face, but he strides back to where she’s stuck in place. “It may be,” he says, picking his words carefully enough that her curiosity briefly raises its head. “I know that Alette was hospitalized after something that happened here, but when I checked it out later, I could see nothing.” Gently, his fingertips graze the elbow of her sweater, and she’s not sure he knows he’s doing so. “What do you see?”

“A demon tried to explode something,” she says, staring out at the twisted magic. “A necromancer was here? I think? Whatever it is, it’s wrong.”

“Hmm,” he says, his eyes narrowed, like he’s slotting together a puzzle that’s bothered him for quite some time. “So something that would possibly affect someone who’s been raised from the dead, but not a normal spell weaver or random human.”

“Maybe?” Ambra says, and the hair on the side of her scalp prickles, before something he said a few moments ago trickles in. “Do I need to worry about the alchemist trying to kill me?”

“No,” he replies, and his lips tilt upwards, drawing her attention. “Let’s pretend to be normal people—” she scoffs at that, but he pushes onwards, “—and buy some Gatorade or something, then wait for Chloe.”

“Did Chloe pick this specifically because of this?” She gestures towards the sparking decay, where glints of light still dance across the pavement, sick. “Is this a test or something?”

He shrugs, which isn’t a good enough answer, before dropping his hand from her elbow, severing the bit of contact, striding confidently through the rat’s nest of sickly magic and through the automatic doors, obviously expecting her to follow.

She scowls at his back, before stepping carefully around it.

A few sparks swirl against her boots, digging into her skin, stinging ever so slightly.

Still, she watches, and they’re sluggish, not what they should be. Flinging themselves across the concrete, as if something, anything, could help them.

Whoever did this, whatever demon caused this destruction, was sick. Ill. Wracked with pain.

She can understand that a little.

With a glance to make sure that Gurlien is within 45 meters, she squats down, letting her fingertips graze the concrete, next to the tattered magic.

It sparks up to her, arcing up from the gray pavement, nestling into her palm.

As gentle as she can, Ambra rolls the magic in her hand, stretching it, teasing it out, and it flickers, weak. It can’t hurt her, not beyond a few nerves firing where it hits her skin, but beyond that…it’s not a threat.

It’s just sad.

A completely normal car pulls into the parking lot, and Ambra straightens to standing, dropping the magic in her hand, her neck prickling, before the Alchemist—Chloe—steps out, a cheerful smile across her face. Her shiny black hair’s pulled into a tight ponytail and she’s wearing steel toed boots, but other than that she’s pretty much exactly the same as she was in the base.

Chloe waves at her. There’s nobody else in the car, there’s no strange scan like last time, everything’s safe .

“You found it!” Chloe says, way more energetic than Ambra’s feeling, bounding across the decayed magic like she can’t see it. “We weren’t sure if the coordinates were good enough.”

The coordinates had dumped them down the street and in the woods of someone’s yard, but Ambra’s not going to quibble.

Chloe’s eyes flicker past her, into the store, obviously finding Gurlien, before she smiles even larger at Ambra.

“You’re not going to hurt him?” she asks sweetly, and all the hair on the back of Ambra’s neck raises at the tone.

“He already got hurt,” Ambra replies, and if Gurlien hadn’t still been in the store, she would’ve teleported away immediately. “It’s healing, though.”

Gurlien hadn’t even bandaged it that morning, saying that it was ‘fine.’

“That’s not what I meant,” Chloe says, and she’s still smiling, but Ambra remembers the sheer amount of power that Chloe had flexed, even after making her way through the locking pits.

“I’m not going to intentionally do anything to harm him?” Ambra ventures, her voice lilting up beyond her control.

“That’s closer,” Chloe says, before scuffing her boot on a bit of crusted ice, completely ignoring the tainted magic, before her face sharpens.

There. There’s the alchemist warrior Ambra had seen.

“He’s a hell of a lot more sensitive than he thinks he is and I don’t care that you’re some superpowered demon person, he’s like my brother and I will cut you,” Chloe continues. “I want him safe and I want him happy. Kay?”

“Okay,” Ambra repeats, unnerved, but Chloe plasters the cheerful smile back on her face, and it’s somehow not fake .

“I’ve spent too much time teaching him to rebuild himself, I don’t want that to be thrown away just because a pretty girl kidnapped him and turned out to be an interesting mystery,” Chloe says, but there’s no ire in the sentence.

Ambra reaches a hand up to the shaved side of her head, before she slides the tinted glasses off her face, staring hard at Chloe, twisting herself into the sick magic of the cracked pavement of the gas station.

The alchemist recoils back.

“I don’t want to upset him,” Ambra says, voice deathly quiet, the sort of tone that makes far stronger magicians blanch in fear, and Chloe’s eyes are wider than Ambra thought possible. “But don’t threaten me.”

To her credit, Chloe stands her ground, face pale, and Ambra fits the glasses back on her face.

“I’m apparently hungover for the first time in my life and existence is miserable,” Ambra continues, and Chloe blinks, like that’s not what she thought she would say. “And Gurlien is the only person who’s been consistently kind to me. I’ll kill anyone who does him harm.”

“Good,” Chloe replies, a bit unsteady, before she smiles, almost bloodthirsty. “Give them hell.”

This, Ambra can respect.

“The only reason they got a shot in was because Johnsin was controlling me,” Ambra says. “And Johnsin’s dead.”

Chloe nods, and she’s probably heard that information before, but Gurlien bustles out of the convenience store before she can say anything else.

Immediately, Chloe all but tackles him into a hug, staggering him, before shaking him by both his shoulders.

“Hi, Chloe,” he says, disgruntled. “I’m fine.”

“You got kidnapped,” Chloe shoots back, and Ambra takes a step back. She doesn’t need to intrude on this. “You’re not allowed to do that, I was so fucking worried it’s not okay.”

Gurlien’s brown eyes flicker over to Ambra before he gently extricates himself from Chloe’s grip, digging into the plastic bag he bought and handing a bottle of toxic blue liquid to Ambra.

“Drink this,” he orders, but there’s no compulsion behind it. “I guarantee you’ll feel better.”

It looks like it’d poison her, so she stares at him instead.

“You do look hungover,” Chloe says, almost thoughtfully, which isn’t better. “Have you given her coffee?”

Chloe insists on dragging them to the small library in town, and Ambra trails behind them within the 45 feet, but giving them that little bit of privacy as they walk across the otherwise abandoned sidewalks.

Gurlien and Chloe whisper as they walk, their heads bent close, and Ambra kicks a pebble at the disquiet sensation that builds inside her chest.

It’s obvious they’ve known each other for years, in the fast conversation and shorthand of words, but they visibly squabble, a scowl tugging on Gurlien’s lips.

But it’s not true distress, obvious from the slope of his shoulders and the ease around his eyes. It’s just evidence of knowledge of another person, of his history and past before he met her.

Humans and their bonds and how massively different they are than demons. This isn’t a threat to her—not at all, not even in the short term—but it still chafes against her.

And if she’s going to fit into this world, if she’s going to at all exist around Gurlien after this is all done, she has to accept it and she has to be the one to deal.

Her eyes trail onto the leash, shifting slightly as he gestures emphatically with that arm. It’s not uncomfortable, not exactly, but after the kiss from before she could swear that she’s more aware of it.

Like it’s ever something she could ignore.

The library is a puff of warm air and a familiar scent of old books, stronger in a living body but nonetheless welcome. There’s a rich carpet under her feet, well-trod along the paths of the bookcases, and it’s empty but for one librarian and one homeless man nodding off in the corner.

Chloe tugs Gurlien into one of the small study rooms, then waves Ambra inside when she hesitates.

“This is about as private as we can get,” Chloe says, digging into her backpack and tugging out a small smooth stone. Casually, she taps it against the table, and it transforms into some sort of speaker with a small twist of magic, and Ambra’s ears pop.

And all sound from outside the room fades away, small susurrations of pages turning and air conditioner creaking and the cars on the street outside.

It’s immediate relief, and Ambra’s shoulders fall away from her ears.

“Neat trick,” Ambra says despite herself.

“It’s nothing,” Chloe replies, far more casually than is entirely natural, before she sits forward, propping her elbows up on the table. “I need some information from you for the passports.”

“I don’t need one,” Ambra replies, but sits on the cold metal chair next to Gurlien, and her knee grazes his, grabbing all her attention.

“It’ll make things easier,” Chloe says, “and if you have identification after all of this, it’ll make life go more smoothly than not.”

It’s another thing Ambra never considered, and it must show on her face.

“Even if your plan is to disappear from society, it’ll be useful,” Gurlien continues for her, and that’s…not nearly as appealing of a plan as before. “And if we go to Europe and get stopped, it’ll get us out of some trouble without needing to teleport out and potentially trip alarms.”

“That’s the most compelling thing you’ve said,” Ambra points out, and he gives her a self-satisfied smile that sits well on his face. “If you had said that first, I would’ve complained less.”

He puts the same blue drink in front of her, as if a punctuation.

Chloe watches Gurlien with a raised eyebrow like he did something startling. “Do you have any preferences on names, ages, or country of origin?” At Ambra’s headshake, Chloe pulls out a blue passport, recognizable from the paperwork Nalissa would flash around at customs, before they learned to control Ambra’s teleportation. She slides one to Gurlien, who flips it open before shoving it in the front pocket of the backpack. “The goal is to avoid officials, these are good but not perfect,” Chloe recites, like it’s something she’s had to say many times. “They hold up to a glance and a cheap scanner, not a fancy one. So don’t try to fly with it if you can avoid it.”

“I can teleport,” Ambra says dryly. “I’ve flown on a plane before, it was hellish.”

“Too loud?” Gurlien murmurs, and Ambra nods instead of glancing at him.

Chloe’s eyebrows do the funny thing again, before she prods the extra passport, twisting the ink to resettle on the page. The picture isn’t of Ambra, not exactly, but it’s of someone with similar hair and a similar enough nose to Misia that she could probably get away with it.

“Are you going to take the gun?” Chloe asks, her head still bent over the passport, and the fact that she can talk at the same time as she works is impressive.

“As far as I can,” Gurlien says grimly, and Chloe makes grabby hands for it without even looking up. “Don’t break it.”

“I’m not gonna break it, I'm gonna make it hidden from metal detectors,” she replies.

Ambra sits back, and there’s something charming about the back and forth. A different side of Gurlien from the one he shows her, not a false one, but different.

“I spoke to Axel—he’s brilliant, by the way—and he told me how to make it more effective against shields.”

“More effective against shields?” Gurlien answers, skeptical.

“Against all sorts of magical things,” Chloe says, and despite her almost insane amount of power she just put out, she’s almost bouncing in her seat. “Against shields, wights, it won’t kill a demon but it will hurt them, through some wards, it’s fantastic.”

“Won’t kill me?” Ambra says, bemused.

“Te…Axel said it is significantly annoying and delays the healing process,” Chloe says, almost fumbling the name, and Ambra smirks at her. “They knocked out a full demon for a good twenty minutes.”

It’ll be useful if any other demon decides Ambra’s easy pickings.

“I like that,” Ambra says, and they both glance at her in surprise. “I would’ve liked that in Minneapolis.”

“That one just threatened you, he didn’t actually hurt you,” Gurlien points out, then sighs, put upon. “Of course Axel would have a magic gun.” Throwing a look out the small window on the door, he adjusts himself so he blocks it, pulling out the gun.

Chloe grabs it, fluently checking the chamber and ejecting the magazine, before tracing on it with her fingertips.

“It would’ve been nice to have a weapon,” Ambra says, before Gurlien can even give her a look. “I was useless.”

“Need I remind you that you cracked the foundation of a house yesterday?” Gurlien grumbles, but Chloe doesn’t even react to that. “Useless is an exaggeration.”

“Maison thinks it’ll go through most of Nalissa’s wards,” Chloe says, her head bent over the gun as she prods it. “So if you can get a clean shot off, that’ll work.” Her eyes flicker up to Ambra. “Unless you need to make the kill, I don’t know how these things work.”

“I don’t,” Ambra replies, somewhat charmed. “He killed Rastian and the Necroman…Delina killed Korhonen.”

He catches her eye, and his face is serious, but there’s a lack of stress in him at this interaction. That he could be so used to someone that it doesn’t cause any issues. “It’ll be more effective at killing then throwing a punch, probably,” he says, miming a punching motion.

“That’s not how you throw a punch,” Ambra says, moderately amused. “Did they really never teach you how to throw a basic punch in a human body?”

Ambra didn’t know how to at first, but the body did and laughed endlessly at her.

“I wasn’t exactly a combat mage in my heyday,” Gurlien snips back, but he shakes out his hand. “Not a lot of punches in magical contracts. ”

“Here,” Ambra says, grabbing his hand and he leans back, startled. “More like this.”

She curls the fingers into a fist, straightening the wrist, tucking her thumb around the knuckles instead of inside. “Don’t twist your hand like that, you’ll break something and you take forever to heal, apparently.”

Gurlien rolls his eyes. “I know how to throw a punch,” he assures her, despite all evidence to the contrary and Chloe snorts, still bent over the gun. “It’s just not usually my normal course of action in situations like that.”

Ambra grins at him, his strange bravado tickling her. “And you know how to actually fight?”

He rolls his eyes once more, as if for emphasis, but there’s the beginning of a smile tugging at his lips, and she wants more.

“I’m more of a talk my way out of things kind of person,” he says, which is hilarious given how much everyone seems dead bent on hating him. “Wound them with words, not punches.”

“And a gun,” Ambra points out. “You wound them with the gun.”

He rolls his eyes, then prods her knee with his. “How’s the hangover?”

“Everything is awful,” she informs him, but without any real heat to it. “How do humans exist when things like this happen?”

This close, she can read his amusement, even though his expression doesn’t really change. “It’s temporary and we forget it happens just enough to be willing to drink that much again.”

“Impractical,” Ambra says, and he reaches over and opens the bottle for her, like the simple seal was enough to keep her from consuming it .

“I’ve been talking with Mel,” Chloe starts, now prodding the gun with one hand and the paperwork with the other, “and he says it took him eight months of just existing in a human body before he got used to it.”

Ambra sits up straight and Gurlien groans. “He was trapped like me?”

“Thanks, Chloe, we’re not giving her specifics because it can literally be compelled out of her,” Gurlien snips, then grimaces at Ambra in a sort of apology. “No, not like you, it’s an entirely different scenario.”

“But demon in human body,” Ambra clarifies, then grins at him when he rolls his eyes. “You have to remember that I’m still smart.”

“He never remembers anyone is smart,” Chloe murmurs. “Mel has no access to any of his demon powers.”

“Thanks, Chloe,” Gurlien repeats, throwing up his hands. “I’m sure Boltiex will just love that little bit of information when he gets it.”

“That would be beyond Boltiex’s interest,” Ambra says, though her mind is racing, bit by bit, and she sips the blue drink before sputtering.

“It’s fine,” Gurlien says, before she can complain.

“This is…just sugar and salt,” Ambra shoots back, before setting the lid back on it. “But he is only interested in the power, so someone with none will be…literally useless to him.”

Gurlien takes the cap off the drink again. “And hungover human bodies need sugar and salt. Trust me.”

There’s something heavy in the words, and she hesitates, before he raises an eyebrow at her.

Of course she trusts him, of course she…

She takes another sip, and it still tastes vile.

“Thank you,” Gurlien snips, but it’s without any sort of heat behind it. “I’d rather you be able to fight if you have to instead of complaining about a headache.”

“I can absolutely still fight right now,” Ambra replies, and his lips twitch up before he controls his face. “How does Mel deal with humans, then?” She leans on the table, but twists the body towards Gurlien. “He has to have specific tips, your psychology is the worst.”

“He’s dating one,” Chloe murmurs, as if only half paying attention to her. “Dotes on her and threatens to fight anyone who looks at her wrong. Doesn’t like Maison at all.”

“I can’t imagine Maison appreciating a demon around Delina, powers or not,” Gurlien says. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Ambra replies. “I wouldn’t want a demon around a necromancer I cared about either.”

Or a demon around anyone she cares about, to be honest.

But she’ll have to text him with that in mind, dig through his brain about how to actually communicate with humanity.

The words on the passport twist again, bright against Ambra’s awareness, before Chloe sits back, pushing the passport over to Ambra. “Here,” she says, and there’s a tiny bead of sweat on her brow. “It should work, ish.”

It’s still hot to Ambra’s touch, but she peers at it.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re very good at that?” Ambra asks, turning it over in her hands. “That took you what, ten minutes?”

“I did the prep work at…the base,” Chloe says, after a warning glance from Gurlien.

“I have research I can give you,” Ambra murmurs, letting her mind wander over to the library, over to the catalogs of books she’s kept and lost over the years. “It’ll be antiquated, but some of it should have ancient lock making. ”

Chloe blinks at her.

“Thank you,” Ambra says instead, since her message seems to have been completely missed. “I don’t think this’ll be important, but I appreciate the effort and the artistry.”

Another half-smile from Gurlien, like she did something correct.

“So that’s what you meant when you said she communicates like you,” Chloe says, almost an aside to Gurlien. “I get it.”

“That’s absolutely not what I meant,” Gurlien says.

It takes Chloe an additional hour to make whatever changes she needs to make with the gun, and Ambra sips more at the Gatorade and mulls over feeling better despite it. Gurlien adds to his notes on the catacombs (and Ambra tries really hard not to look at the section with the medical wing) and the small contact of his knee against hers keeps her…grounded.

Somehow.

But there’s the itch for action, the itch to do something, and every small shift of Gurlien’s wrist pulls slightly on the leash.

Chloe notices, too.

“Is that…is that painful for you?” Chloe asks, after Ambra fails to keep her expression neutral as they stand to pack up, return the small room to its normal state.

“What?” Gurlien asks, twisting to turn to look at her.

Ambra scowls at Chloe, who blanches at the expression.

Gurlien lifts his chin, raising an eyebrow. “Is what painful? ”

“She’s asking about the leash,” Ambra informs him, the words bitter in her mouth.

“Right, because you can see it,” Gurlien grumbles. “Because I’m the only person who can’t.”

“It is a bit odd,” Chloe starts, which is an understatement, “from the—very limited—history of demons that I’ve been able to glean from Mel and Maison.”

“It’s not painful right now,” Ambra interrupts, staring hard at Chloe. “The remaining two haven’t done anything in two days.”

Chloe’s eyes flicker between them, and Ambra would do anything to fall through the floor at the moment, before Chloe just plasters on a bright smile that raises Ambra’s hackles. “If it’s not hurting, that’s good,” she says cheerfully.

“Do you want to come as well?” Ambra offers, and both the humans stare at her as if caught. “I saw your alchemy in the base, you’re more than capable.”

“I’m banned in Europe,” Chloe blurts out.

“We’ll avoid the College officials, I can get you in and out easily,” Ambra continues, before Gurlien taps her on the arm, drawing her attention.

“She’s banned from about eight countries, not just in the magical community,” he informs her, which is delightful, and despite the hangover a smile tugs at her lips. “She can’t do any of that.”

“Why?” Ambra asks, leaning forward, and Chloe responds by rolling her eyes at Gurlien.

“I ruffled feathers with my research,” Chloe says simply. “The College got my passport pulled and put me in some do not fly lists.”

Ambra squints, even more curious. “Research?”

Chloe just waves her hand, as if that could dismiss it. “It’s no big deal. ”

“I like research,” Ambra offers.

Chloe smiles, a dimple appearing, then packs the stone back into her bag as an obvious change of subject, and all the sounds of the library comes roaring back, popping Ambra’s ears. “And, here. Courtesy of Maison.”

She hands Gurlien a ticket, then to Ambra. It’s laminated, plasticky, and Nalissa’s familiar script covers the entire thing.

“Turns out he’s useful at copying tacky art tickets from the internet,” Chloe says glibly. “Took him very little time to paint this.”

Ambra turns it over in her hands, her skin crawling at the handwriting.

The amount of help that’s been given to them all of the sudden piles up, overwhelming, and Ambra sits back down, heavy on the metal chair.

“He doesn’t even like me,” Ambra says, beyond her control. “I almost killed his necromancer.”

“Turns out he’s very willing to throw the College under the bus,” Chloe says, zipping up the backpack. “Combine that with a weird art project and he was all in.”

“And he was the first one to defend you,” Gurlien murmurs, and his hand grazes her shoulder, something between a touch and a reassurance, and she glances up at him.

He nods, as if he understands the emotions.

Before she can convince herself otherwise, she reaches up, curling her fingers around his, and he gives her hand a brief squeeze.

“This also gives you an entry into the catacombs,” Chloe says, though her brows are also raised. “So you don’t have to sneak in or teleport.”

Gurlien examines the ticket. “Is she really doing punk metal?” he asks, derisive. “She’s doing punk metal in the fucking catacombs?”

“Three bands, too,” Chloe replies. “That was the difficult part for Maison, fitting all the band names so tiny.”

Ambra nods, the lump in her throat. “I’ll text him thank you,” she says, and her voice barely trembles at that. “That was help he didn’t need to give.”

She stands up again, trying to ignore all the chemicals flooding through her body, and with another nod to Chloe, teleports herself and Gurlien away.

They’re silent as they pack up the corner apartment, a heavy silence, the only sounds their soft footsteps and the paper crinkling as Gurlien rolls up the maps.

“Will our base be the library?” Gurlien asks, after the long quiet.

“It’s not set up for human habitation,” Ambra replies, and her voice is scratchy with the combined emotions and hangovers. “No running water. I have…I know of a small house near Paris, it’ll be far easier.”

If they get separated, Gurlien could go there by himself, make it back to somewhere safe.

He’s watching her, but she doesn’t look over as she folds up another sweater into the duffle bag.

The tickets make it all the more real. That in just a short amount of time, she’ll see Nalissa again. Have the potential to end her, to sever one remaining part of the leash.

To see the smile Nalissa always had when music was playing—regardless of the type of music—and to see her fingers twitch whenever she controls something. To see her face, always so animated .

And see her reaction when she spots Ambra.

“If you need to, we can stop by the library first,” Ambra rambles, a cold shiver down her back. “We can get you whatever material you need, anything.”

He shoots her a look, one she has not a prayer of interpreting.

“Paris is nice, there are wine bars and any restaurant you could ever need,” she continues, her stomach turning over again. “I can steal more money—they use euros, right?—and you could buy whatever you need, anything.”

“I’ve been to Paris before,” Gurlien replies neutrally. “The College has their entire European base of learning there.”

Which doesn’t make the fear any better. There are hundreds of people in the city who might recognize her, might recognize Gurlien. Experts they could bring in, runes that could be drawn, anything.

“They’ll mock my accent because I learned French in Quebec, but I’ll be able to play translator,” he continues.

“French is easy,” Ambra shoots back, then rubs her face, her stomach turning over. “I don’t need a translator.”

“Right,” Gurlien drawls, before switching seamlessly to French. “If I speak in French, will you stop freaking out?”

“I’m not freaking out,” Ambra snips back, and he just raises his eyebrows at her, and she sighs. “You’d be afraid, too.”

“Of Nalissa?”

It’s too much of a magnifying glass on her, so Ambra paces across the apartment, the heart pounding in the body.

Before Gurlien’s hand touches the leash on his wrist, and she stills, turning towards him.

He’s watching her, a funny look on his face.

“Were you trying to get my attention with that?” Ambra asks, stalking back towards him, but he doesn’t blanch away, not like Chloe did.

“Yes,” he replies, precise.

Ambra narrows her eyes at him, but he doesn’t back down.

“You’re panicking about something, I can feel it through this, and I want to understand a bit better so I can help,” he continues. “I don’t know why I could tell, but I could.”

This changes things, and she straightens.

“You shouldn’t.” Nobody ever has. Or, rather, none of the Five have ever reported getting any emotions from her, and she felt so many that she can’t imagine that they’d just ignore them.

If they did get emotions, if they did get the cast off of her feelings, they’re even more heartless for ignoring them all this time.

Gurlien’s face twitches, like he’s about to say something but thinks better of it, as he weighs his words, his fingertips still against the leash. “It doesn’t hurt you.” It’s more of a question than a declaration.

“You haven’t hurt me,” Ambra repeats, a curiosity starting to well up inside of her, at his actions. At the calculations flying behind his eyes. “But really, you shouldn’t get anything from that.”

“Interesting,” he says, cautious. “You have any demon research at that library?”

She bares her teeth at him, and, surprisingly, he smiles back. “More than you can ever read.”