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“Oleander, do you need help?” she said, breathy and wavering. “I can—if you’d tell me what’s wrong, I could help you… if you wanted.”

Oleander stared down at the open book in his hand, his brow furrowed and chest heaving thick, gasping breaths. “I do need help.”

Slamming the book shut, he tossed it on the table and strode from the room. She threw her belongings into her satchel and rushed after him.

Peri followed him between towering bookshelves, their footsteps echoing loudly in the thick quiet that blanketed the library. He burst out the front door as if from a cage and into the wet, melting snow of early spring. Rain soaked them and Peri shouted his name frantically.

He did not stop.

She ran after him, stumbling in wide puddles. Oleander had moved far enough away to be almost an outline against the dense rain. Then he was shouting at somebody. Quietly, Peri crept through the slush towards them, careful not to draw their attention.

“You have to know,” Oleander said, his voice cracking with emotion. “You have to tell me what they put in me. I can’t control it. It’s eating me alive.”

“We cannot talk about this here! Are you deranged?” She recognised the voice, vaguely. He was a demon her grandfather worked with.

Oleander grabbed the demon and dragged him behind a nearby tree. “Here. This is the most cover you’ll get. Now tell me what the fuck is happening to me.”

Rain hit the ground in a dull, hopeless loop. Peri crept to the other side of the tree, out of eyesight but close enough to hear what was said.

“Samael!” Oleander shouted over the rain.

Ah, yes. The Grand Duke of the Acquirement Circle.

“Oleander, just calm down. Let’s talk about this rationally.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” Oleander sounded desperately exhausted. A body slammed against the tree and Samael grunted. “Just… tell me what you did to me.”

Her breaths came fast and she found it suddenly hard to swallow. She’d never in her life seen Oleander like this—as feral as a dragon. It seemed that the rain sizzled against her skin even as her breath clouded in front of her.

“Me?” Samael said. “I didn’t do anything to you!”

“Gods below.” Oleander’s voice grew frantic, the words roughening into a growling shout. “You were right next to me at that horrific ceremony!”

“Ask—ask your father. I know nothing! It was just supposed to be—”

“No! Stop lying. You were too much of a rat to stop it. You just watched it happen. And—and I have these strange memories of you with those pots. The pots we were holding. I know you know!” Oleander let out a muffled scream, as if into his hands. “You know. Just fucking tell me you fucking monster. Tell me—” Oleander slammed Samael against the tree once more.

Samael was crying. “I can’t!”

“Stop… lying!” The words rolled from Oleander in a furious growl.

“I really cannot tell you!” Samael pleaded. “There’s a geas!”

A geas? Peri considered what she knew when it came it geases. They were old Hellish magic, basically a spell to keep somebody from speaking certain words. They were also almost impossible to break. Death to the being who cast the geas seemed to be the easiest way.

Oleander scoffed. “Find a way around it.”

“Alright… alright…” Samael said, soft with defeat. “Come with me to my office.”

Oleander dragged Samael to a nearby building, kicked open the door, and tossed him through it into the darkness.

What in the Hell had that been about? Peri had known Samael in passing—he visited her grandfather Moloch occasionally—but he wasn’t known for being particularly helpful. Samael was the Grand Duke with the least amount of power and thus often did the most amount of grovelling. Why Oleander had gone to him was beyond her. Her mind replayed him slamming Samael against the trunk of a tree, demanding what he needed. God’s below! That growl was positively vicious.

Her scarf was strangling her, so she pulled it loose and tipped her head back against the trunk of the tree, closing her eyes briefly. She felt lightheaded. Peculiar.

Peri’s back was against the tree where she’d been eavesdropping. From somewhere near her wrist a sleepy, croaking voice interrupted her thoughts. “Why! But you’ve got the marks of Slang upon you!”

Peri peered down to find a wart-covered black toad hanging to the bark of the tree she was leaning against. “Yes,” she agreed warily. “I haven’t had them very long, though.”