Chapter 73: Let Me Remember
The estate’s study was transformed into a war room again. Maps and manifests spread across Roman’s desk, marked with new runes and wards drawn by his coven. Anari’s chalk lines crisscrossed the parchment, symbols meant to bind and blur the trail. Felix dimmed the lamps and bent light itself over the maps, testing the cloaking spell against prying eyes.
Lorraine stood just behind Roman’s chair, watching as the witches whispered in unison. She could feel the hum of magic under her skin, deeper now than before, the residue of Jadis’s door like a second heartbeat.
“This shipment is different,” Roman said, his voice low, almost growling. “The goods are hidden, the routes cloaked. If Dwade has spies, they’ll see nothing but shadows. If he uses magic, the wards will twist it back against him.”
Roxy, tall and silver-haired, leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “That’s the theory. But Dwade’s storms are not theory—they’re power. What if he forces through anyway?”
“We’ll be ready,” Roman replied. He lifted his gaze toward Lorraine then, his jaw tightening, but his hand brushed hers under the desk, just for a moment. A promise.
By evening, the shipment rolled out. Cloaked trucks moved silently through the back roads, guarded not just by Roman’s men but by threads of spellwork tied around them like invisible armor.
Lorraine stood on the balcony, watching the storm gather in the distance. The sky swelled with unnatural clouds, veins of purple lightning tearing them open. The wind carried whispers, just at the edge of hearing, like voices calling names.
She wrapped her shawl tighter, but the cold sank deeper than cloth could fight.
“He’s pushing harder,” Shanta said beside her. Her gaze never wavered from the horizon. “He feels the wards. He knows someone stronger has entered the game.”
Lorraine swallowed hard. “Me?”
Shanta didn’t answer.
Later, in the solitude of her room, while Roman was still in the study, Lorraine pressed her palms to her temples. Every flash of lightning outside sent a throb of pain through her skull. It was as though Dwade’s storms were searching for her, clawing into her blood.
She thought of Mara’s scream, swallowed by the swamp. She thought of Betsy’s venom, her betrayal. And she thought of Jadis’s door—what had it taken from her memory, and what had it given in return?
“Am I strong enough?” she whispered to the empty room. “Or am I just leading them all to their deaths?”
The silence answered back with nothing but the echo of thunder.
Downstairs, laughter echoed softly. Rhyan and Shanta sat close behind the counter in the smaller parlor, half-empty glasses of wine between them.
Shanta brushed a strand of hair from Rhyan’s cheek. “You’re lighter when you smile. The Quarter must have been heavy on you.”
Rhyan chuckled, cheeks flushed. “It’s been…a lot. But you—you make it feel like not everything is falling apart.”
Their hands brushed on the table, fingers lingering. Rhyan leaned in slightly, her voice softer. “Promise me, if this all goes to hell, we still find time for this?”
Shanta grinned, eyes glinting like candlelight. “That, moon sister’s sister, I can promise.”
The coven reconvened in the hall. Reports trickled in from Roman’s men—so far, the cloaking held. The trucks had slipped past the worst of the storm.
But the storm itself had changed.
“It’s circling,” Felix reported, his eyes unfocused from scrying. “It’s not chasing the convoy. It’s…searching for us.”
Roman cursed under his breath. “Dwade’s learning. He can smell the magic, even if he can’t see it. He’s turning the storm back toward us.”
Lorraine’s stomach dropped. “He’s coming here?”
Roman’s silence was all the answer she needed.
Later, when the house had quieted and the witches rested in shifts, Lorraine stepped into the corridor. She hadn’t been able to sleep—the storm’s whispers pressed too close, rattling through her ribs.
She almost collided with Roman in the hall. He was bare-chested, his hair disheveled, his eyes burning even in the dark.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked.
She shook her head.
For a long moment they just stood there, thunder flashing the windows, painting the hallway in silver and shadow. Then Roman reached out, tucking a curl behind her ear. His hand lingered against her cheek, rough and gentle at once.
“You mean more to me than you realize,” he said quietly, the words raw. “I thought keeping you at arm’s length would protect you. But I can’t fight this war without you. And I don’t want to live in a world where you’re not at my side.”
Her throat tightened. “Roman…”
He kissed her then—not with the fire of desperation, but with the gravity of a vow. His lips pressed to hers, steady, tender, grounding her as the storm raged outside.
When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers. “Let me show you tonight. Let me remember what I’m fighting for.”
Lorraine nodded, her breath catching as he led her gently toward their room.
The candles burned low, shadows softening against the walls. Roman drew her close, wrapping her in his arms as though she were the anchor holding him steady against Dwade’s tide.
They lay together, speaking in whispers between kisses and soft touches, sharing not just bodies but fears. Lorraine traced the scars on his hands, the tension in his shoulders, while he whispered that she was the one thing in his world untouched by corruption.
When sleep finally took them, the storm outside pounded wildly against the estate’s walls, furious and relentless. But within those walls, for one fragile night, they held each other like the center of a world determined to break apart at any moment.