Elliot stands at my side as I fasten it to the door with a slightly bent tack. He raises both eyebrows when I glance back at him.
“Don’t say a word,” I command. “I’ve always called himMaster, all right? I always will. So?—”
“I’mactuallyjudging your signature. ‘Resident witch’? Is that your official position title?” he asks. “I assumed it was more of a pet name.”
“Do I look like a pet?” I ask. Then, before he can respond, I turn on my heel and storm down the elongated hallway.
Elliot keeps close behind me, his hand slightly lifted, floating near my waist, as though prepared to grab me. To protect me? Doubtful. To use me as a meat shield? Probably.
“Once we?—”
I quiet him with a wave of my hand. Then, pressing my index finger to my lips, I look pointedly around us. Elliot nods. It isn’t until we’re out of the manor, walking in the chilly air of early morning, that he speaks again.
“Do you want to put that in my pack?” he asks.
I follow his gaze to my messenger bag. It’s the same one I always use: a canvas bag with a long shoulder strap. Within it, I’ve packed the memory stone, two jars, and all the needed ingredients.
Nothing to clean my teeth or brush my hair. No food or drinking water. Not so much as a blanket for nightfall.
I’m an absolute fool, and there’s genuinely no excuse. I accepted this adventure on pure, selfish impulse. I saw an opportunity to see Elliot beyond the walls of Sebastian’s manor, and I took it.
Not for his mama’s ingredient.
Not for Sebastian and the vampires.
Not for the satisfaction of foiling the witches’ curse.
But for this. To walk beside someone who once knew me better than anyone, andlovedme as I was. To feel his presence without worrying something will happen to him for being beside me.
Out here, there are no threats, not like the ones within the manor. I’m strong enough to fend off an attack in daylight, and Elliot has a plan for nightfall.
“Cora?” he asks. He shifts, his tall frame slipping into view. Something about that heavy pack makes him seem even larger than he typically does. He could probably carry my bagandme. I wonder whether he would, if I asked.
“I’ll carry it,” I say. Despite my chaotic thoughts, my voice is calm. Steady. There’s even the typical undertone of annoyance clipping through the words.
“Afraid I’ll steal the memories?” he asks. His legs are long, and I have to walk twice as many steps to keep pace with him. I wonder if now is a good time to inform him how out of shape I am.
Yet another thing I should have considered before agreeing.
“Of course,” I say. “Just because you won’t kill me, doesn’t mean you won’t fuck me over.”
He lets out a breathy scoff, something between a laugh and a groan. We walk in silence after that, surrounded only by the sound of our boots on rough stone. The crisp morning air warms slowly, but soon enough, the sun stretches high into the sky, and we pause to remove our jackets.
This time, when Elliot offers to carry my jacket, I don’t protest. I hand it over, feeling a strange twist in my stomach when he carefully folds it into his bag, right over his own.
“You don’t have to carry it,” I say, even as he’s tying the pack closed. “I can carry my own?—”
“Can I ask you something?” he interrupts. He straightens and adjusts the pack between his shoulders. “And try to be honest, all right? I know that’s against your nature, but at least try.”
“What’s your question?” I ask pointedly. I straighten my shoulders as we start walking again, letting my mask fall back into place. To him, I likely look untouchable.
I pretend it’s true.
“Did you steal them?” he asks.
I lift a brow, turning to him in surprise. Of all the things I thought he might ask, that wasn’t one. I figured he’d ask about Harrison or my imprisonment or even our sordid love affair as teenagers.
“Your memories?” I ask. Then, following his nod, “I think we’ve already established that, haven’t we?”
