Page 139 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

“What do you want, Aemon?” Lillith sneers.

“I want you to stop being a foolish child,” Aemon says, sounding bored. “I want you to listen and use your little brain to think critically for once. Out here dropping wards, prancing around the city like there’s not something out here trying to get you.”

“You can’t trick me back into solitude and entrapment. We learned your little secret. We’re not even cursed.”

“Of course you’re not cursed. That doesn’t mean you’re safe!”

“And who’s fault is that?” she shouts back. “You destroyed the Nightingale pearl!”

He blinks at her, looking genuinely taken aback by this accusation. “No, I didn’t. That was simply a moment of terrible coincidence when I was checking the spell.” He pauses, his dark eyes narrowing on her. “I don’t understand. You should know this already. You have the journals. You’ve read them, haven’t you?”

Silence. Lillith shifts between her feet.

“You’re joking,” Aemon sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Gods. Why is it so hard for you Nightingales to care about your own mortality?”

“How do you even know we have the journals?” I ask him.

His eyes land on me reluctantly, like he’s chosen to forget that I’m there. “I have someone on the inside,” he growls.

“Who?! No one can get past—” Lillith starts.

“Relax. The cat. It’s just the cat. What did you name her? Foam?”

“Gloam?” I balk, betrayed. “That little traitor.”

“I summoned Gloam. When I was six,” Lillith says.

“You summoned a Familiar. And you’d already had one. I couldn’t go in myself, so I threw a little something together for you. You’re welcome.”

“The wards on the house would have never allowed that,” she challenges.

“They ward very specifically against me, but otherwise they just block out anyone who would cause you harm,” Aemon says, then as if getting back to the matter at hand, “Lillith, why haven’t you read the journals?”

“Back off, asshole. How would you feel if everything you thought you knew to be true wound up to be completely flipped on its head?”

“Oh, you mean like if a little farm girl agrees to wed you in exchange for your power, and then decides to take off with some concert pianist instead?” he asks. “Like when it keeps happening for eight more generations? Like when the bloodline promised you decides to end itself?”

“Why do you care? Just marry someone else!” Lillith says. “With the romance novels these days, I’m sure you can find some other mortal girl to put a ring on.”

“I can’t,” he growls.

“Why?” she growls back.

“Because a marriage between a witch and a familiar is a powerful thing. Because your wedding gift would be power. And that power can’t go to just anyone. It needs to go to a vessel that can carry it.”

“Then find someone else who gives a fuck about power and marry them!” Lillith cries.

“And how, exactly, do you expect me to do that. Hm? Since the trials, most witches spend their time hidden in pocket dimensions like The Buried City. I haven’t exactly had time to court anyone, what with my full time job protecting you and your imbecilic bloodline.”

“What exactly would a willing marriage even do for you?” I ask. “Like, I don’t get the obsession. Why would you want to lose all this crazy power you’re talking about?”

Aemon heaves a sigh and leans against the tree next to him. He crosses his arms. “It would change who I am. It overwrites my being. One oath in place of another. It frees me from his contract.”

“Whose?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Can’t tell you that.”

“Bro—” I say.