"Goddess, yes," Goldie breathed, sinking into the plush velvet. "I think I need it."
With a graceful movement, Tamsin moved to a small side table laden with crystal decanters and dried herbs, pouring a deep red liquid into two heavy-bottomed glasses. She returned and handed one glass to Goldie before settling into the chair opposite her, her expression one of patient, focused concern.
"Now," she said softly, her voice a calm anchor in Goldie's swirling thoughts. "Tell me what troubles you. Start from the beginning."
Goldie took a sip of the wine. It was rich and earthy, with a hint of something floral. She took a deep breath, the chaos in her mind beginning to settle, and looked her coven leader in the eye.
"Tamsin… if a ritual accidentally bound someone to the land without them knowing—like, bound bound—could it be undone? Is there a way to break it?”
For a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fire. Tamsin’s serene expression didn't change, but her eyes, fixed on Goldie, sharpened with an intensity that was almost startling. A slow, knowing smile touched her lips.
"My dear girl," she murmured, her voice a silken blend of amusement and admiration. "You dive straight into the deep end, don't you? No wading in the shallows for you."
Goldie flushed, the weight of Tamsin’s gaze making her feel suddenly, absurdly exposed. “I know it sounds strange,” she said, twisting the stem of her glass. “But something’s wrong, Tamsin. With the Thornfather. With the Grove Core in the GreenHoldings. It feels like… like something’s feeding on both of them.”
Tamsin leaned back, the picture of relaxed authority, hands folded neatly in her lap. She didn’t interrupt, just watched, patient and unreadable, as Goldie fumbled for words.
“I think it started when Marlow Truckenham changed his will,” Goldie went on, the words tumbling faster now. “He tied his Green Holdings share directly to Mycor, and when he died, that connection—it was like a switch flipped. It’s making him sick. Because the Grove Core is sick.”
She drew in a shaky breath. “That’s why I asked about the ritual. If it’s a binding—if someone anchored him to the land without meaning to—there has to be a way to break it. Right?”
Tamsin took a slow sip of her wine, gaze never wavering from Goldie’s face. “An admirable goal,” she murmured.
A small silence settled before Goldie rushed on, eager to fill it. “That’s why I came to you. Because if anyone knows about lifting old, complicated magical bindings, it’s you. You’re my coven leader, and you’re one of the most powerful witches I’ve ever met. I was hoping you might have some ideas.”
A warm smile curved Tamsin’s lips. She reached across to pat Goldie’s hand, her touch cool and steady. “I do appreciate your faith in me, darling. And while I’d never claim to be the best, I might have a few thoughts.”
She leaned back, her smile softening into thought. Her fingers steepled as she stared into the fire. From its nearby perch, her phoenix gave a soft, inquisitive chirp, the faintest curl of smoke rising from its feathers.
“Let’s look at what can be unbound,” she said finally, her tone all calm precision. “If the problem began with Truckenham’s will, has there been any talk of the Thornfather ceding his claim back to the Trust? Restoring balance by returning ownership to mortal hands seems like the most elegant route.”
Goldie shook her head quickly. “Splice says he can’t. The lawyers said the clause was written to make that impossible. It’s not just legal, it’s magical. The transfer’s irrevocable.”
Tamsin nodded slowly, as though turning the idea over. “Irrevocable doesn’t always mean immutable,” she mused, eyes narrowing. “Given time, pressure, or the right ritual leverage, most bonds can be redirected.”
Her gaze sharpened. “You mentioned the land itself is suffering. Do you have any sense of why?”
Goldie hesitated, staring down at her hands. Her pulse thudded in her ears. “Yes. There’s… something. Tamsin, there was a human sacrifice in the Grove Core. Thirty years ago.”
Tamsin’s expression went very still. For an instant, so brief Goldie almost doubted it, something raw flickered in her coven leader’s eyes.
“That’s a very serious claim,” she said softly. “And it makes no sense. How could you possibly know that?”
“The bead,” Goldie blurted before she could stop herself. “When I found the body—there was this mnemonic bead. I didn’t even think. I took it.” She swallowed hard, heat rising in her cheeks. “Later, when I spoke with the Thornfather, he touched it and it shattered. There was a memory inside, and I—” she pressed a trembling hand to her chest, “I saw it. He did too.”
Tamsin exhaled, a slow, careful sound. “And you’re certain of what you saw?”
Goldie nodded. “There was a boy, and blood, and seven people were there.”
Tamsin sat back and steepled her fingers beneath her chin. “Have you spoken to anyone else about this?”
“No.” Goldie shook her head. “The bead’s gone, and there’s no proof. And Mycor… he can’t exactly walk into a police station.”
“No. Of course not.” Her coven leader paused and glanced into the fire for a long moment. Then she looked back at Goldieand leaned forward slightly. “All right. Tell me everything you saw.”
Gratitude and dread tangled in Goldie’s chest. She took a breath and told Tamsin about the bead that had rolled towards her when she found Truckenham’s body. How it shattered in the Thornfather’s hand, spilling dark memory. She repeated the ritual’s chants, their cadence echoing like a dark lullaby. Her voice broke when she described the boy, his slit throat, the ground becoming slick with his blood. The faces, cold and resolute, sealing their pact.
When she finished, the room was swallowed in stillness. Even the wind outside seemed to hold its breath.
