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A little cottage sat, cozy and quaint, beside an actual, babbling brook. Adam did not recognize most of the plants in the patch of garden space, but they looked healthy, a sign of Lauren’s craft.
“You know, this is way nicer than my apartment,” he said as they walked toward the cottage.
“Perhaps, but you have your freedom, and Vicente.”
The walls of stone around the valley looked unscalable, even for an expert rock climber. To Argent’s point, it was cozy but also very lonely.
“You said she’s working on rehabilitation. What does that entail?”
“She applies her craft to helping produce food, which we distribute to the Lost Ones who will take it. Carl has resorted to pretending he’s stolen most of it. We provide social interaction with other prisoners who are not deemed radical or dangerous.”
The grass was soft beneath his new combat boots.
“And you watch them?”
“Of course. If amends and rehabilitation do not suffice, we have considered what you did to Wilcox, severing his magic while leaving him alive.”
“You’re thinking of doing that to the witches?”
“We are considering it for the unrepentant. It would allow us to return them to your world and remove their ability to do magical harm.”
“But not other harm,” Adam said. “They could still break mortal laws or hurt people on earth.”
“Hence our hesitation. For an immortal, we can imprison them for centuries if we need to. Their loved ones will still be there when their rehabilitation is complete. Humans, however . . . let’s just say there is not an ideal solution.”
Adam thought he understood the problem.
“Time passes,” he said. “Every day they remain here, their families and loved ones age.”
“Exactly, and when the years pile up, are we not punishing them as well as the practitioner?”
It had been like that for him and his mother. He’d hated her when he’d gone into Liberty House. She’d never come to visit, and even if she had, he probably wouldn’t have spoken to her. She had come by Sue’s trailer when he’d gotten out but the years apart had put a distance between them that still hadn’t healed. He wouldn’t see her then, told Sue not to let her in. They were better now, but they’d missed years they couldn’t get back.
Lauren stood in the garden, pouring water from a can. She looked at Adam as they came down the path.
He’d never really met her, though he’d chased her ghost through social media and even been to her old apartment. At the time, he’d been trying to help them, to save them from rituals not meant for humans. Once, they might even have been friends based on her love of plants and his family’s traditions.
Then she’d stood in Wilcox’s circle and cast the spells that had healed the torture White had inflicted on him. It had been a test of the rituals to ensure they could heal Annie. Then, they’d sent him to the Between, so, yeah, he had some bones to pick.
She recognized Adam and her eyes went wide.
“Hi!” he called.
For a moment, she looked like she might run. Then her gaze landed on Argent and she deflated. Accepting that this was happening, she exhaled.
She looked well. Dressed in simple clothes that Adam would have called upscale peasant, she might have wandered off the set of a fantasy movie or been an extra at the ren faire.
The elves would not deprive their prisoners of necessities, though comfort might be optional.
Her compliance had likely earned her better privileges than the others.
“Cole is dead,” he said by way of introduction. “He was part of a plan to use witches and sensitives as living bombs. We need to know whatever you do about the rituals Wilcox taught you.”
She took a moment, and a few breaths, to process what he’d dropped on her.
“He didn’t teach us anything like that, just what you saw. Healing and the banishment, you know, when we sent you there. Nothing about bombs. I mean, I knew Cole . . .”
“Was he the one who recruited you?”
