Chapter 141: The Fraud and the Pearl

Evie

The final binding sigil burned bright before sinking into Sengal’s flesh, threads of magic lacing around him like chains made of light. The glow faded into a soft hum as the magic settled, leaving him inert on the cold stone floor. My hands trembled, fingers slick with the residue of power, and I forced myself to step back.

I blinked, trying to reconcile what I’d just done with the man I thought I knew. Sengal wasn’t who I’d believed. Not fully. The man under my spells was something else entirely, something hidden beneath decades of secrets and deception.

I wanted to hate him. I should hate him. But all I could feel was… exhaustion, disbelief... and pity.

The dungeon reeked of blood—iron thick and metallic, clinging to the damp stone. Arnold’s blood. I swallowed hard, forcing my gaze down. The remains of his body lay splayed across the floor, torn. My stomach churned, and I had to fight the urge to look away.

Maverick’s hands had done that. He’d taken Arnold, the son of his friend, his mentor, and ripped him apart. I knew the reasoning. I understood the survival, the necessity—but it didn’t make it any less brutal. It didn’t make it any less horrifying.

Zuri was beside me in an instant, moving like a shadow, her expression tight and controlled. She shook her head slowly, as if she couldn’t believe any of it.

“Sengal was a fraud,” she muttered. “I suspect he was only here to get Arnold… and the orb.”

I listened. Zuri's logic was always impeccable.

“Why just Arnold though? Why not look for the orb if it was so important?” she continued, voice low, measured. “Why not ransack Agatha’s place? Arnold’s manor in the Redwoods? Or even this whole territory?” Her eyes flicked to Bear and Leon, who were carefully maneuvering Arnold’s corpse. “Unless…”

She straightened, expression sharpening.

“Hold on, guys."

Zuri crouched beside the remains, ignoring the slick of blood beneath her knees. She dug into Arnold’s collar, fingers moving with practiced precision.

I leaned closer, curious.

“Agatha likes jewelry,” Zuri said quietly. “Vintage stuff. Big rings, chunky bracelets, ruby pendants. But lately…” She paused, head tilting as if reading a hidden truth. “…lately she’s been wearing this little pearl pendant. Gold chain. Simple.”

Shit. I didn't even notice that. I was so busy trying to stop him from leaving Agatha's cabin.

Zuri’s lips curved into a triumphant smile as her fingers closed around something metallic. She pulled it free, holding a bloodied chain with a pearl threaded through it.

Maverick, beside me, let out a low, amused sound. “Arnold… you were one sly son of a bitch.” He tugged his pants on, as if the world hadn’t shifted beneath our feet.

Zuri dangled the orb against her phone. A white mist shimmered within, distinct and unmistakable.

I stood and stepped toward Sengal, a sharp flick of my hands guiding the chains as they cinched and coiled around him. “No wonder he kept checking Arnold’s neck,” I said quietly. “He knew."

Maverick’s jaw tightened. “We need to get to Bwasho Monastery,” he said, voice clipped. “I need to go through Sengal’s things. Maybe… maybe the vision you had, Evie—it wasn’t Belladonna’s, or Morgana’s. Maybe Sengal did that to you to know what the Covenant was planning without the Covenant realizing it was him.”

Cold understanding spread through me.

“He didn’t like it when I said I was going to make a Dreamless Sleep Draught for myself,” I said slowly. “He… he was up to something. Maybe he wasn’t really in exile. Maybe he was just waiting.”

Waiting for Arnold.

Waiting for the orb.

Waiting for the perfect moment to make his move.

“Maverick,” I said, voice steadier than I felt. “We need to do our own research. About Sybil. The Covenant. And the witch who served Adolpha—Blood Moon’s pack witch. Where can I find all that information?”

“The Council Library,” he said without hesitation. “They’ve got a librarian there who knows where everything is. We’ll go tomorrow.” His gaze flicked toward Sengal, dark as storm clouds. “But right now, we need to take out the trash. I don’t want Sengal here. And Evie…” His eyes softened slightly. “…I need you to remove his wards. I know it’ll weaken you, but the pack needs protection.”

I swallowed and nodded. There was no choice.

We emerged from the dungeon and left the pack house behind, stepping into the manor as if crossing a threshold between worlds. Zuri moved at my side—silent, precise, already shifting into the next problem before the last had finished bleeding.

Stripping Sengal’s wards from the territory had left me hollowed out. The raw backlash of unraveling his magic tremored through my limbs, each dismantled spell tearing something loose inside my chest. By the time I was done, my strength gave out. I sank onto the living room sofa, breath shallow, hands shaking.

Smith—ever attentive, bless him—quietly set a glass of milk and a croissant on the coffee table, the small domestic kindness grounding me more than any spell.

“Hey, Smith,” Zuri said, dropping onto the couch beside me with a groan. “Pack some candy. We’re heading to Bwasho once Bear and Leon are done.”

Smith scowled. “What? We just got here. Can’t we go tomorrow?”

“No,” Zuri replied without missing a beat. “Maverick wants to move now.” Then she nudged my knee. “Finish your milk. You still have to put up your own wards—unless you’re in the mood for a visit from Morgana. Arnold’s mommy dearest.”

I rolled my eyes but obeyed, draining the glass before pressing my palm to the manor wall. My protection charm spilled outward in slow, deliberate waves, threading through stone and soil, stretching past the house and sinking into the surrounding territory like roots seeking water.

When I finished, the tremor in my hands had barely settled when Maverick arrived.

Sengal hung over his shoulder like a discarded thing—limp, bound, duct tape crisscrossing his eyes and mouth.

“Let’s eat, then go,” Maverick said, voice steady, dropping Sengal on the floor beside his chair at the dining table. “Bear’s still… finishing Arnold.”

Dinner blurred into a numb procession of movements. I barely tasted the food. Each bite dissolved into nothing, my thoughts spiraling around the orb, Agatha, Sengal, Arnold—names that refused to settle.

By the time I opened a portal into the lobby of Bwasho Monastery, night had fully claimed Wyoming.

On the other side, Nepal stood frozen in afternoon light. Incense lingered in the air, sharp and clean, and the kind of profound stillness settled over the space—the sort that made even footsteps sound like transgressions.

Agatha stood at the center of it all.

She was thin, skin pale, almost translucent—but her eyes burned with a ferocity that hadn’t dimmed in the slightest. The moment she saw Maverick, she lurched forward and collapsed into his arms, clutching him as if the ground itself might give way if she let go.

“I took care of Arnold for you,” Maverick murmured.

Her breath shuddered out, relief tangled with something darker, heavier. Then her gaze snapped past him—sharp, focused, deadly—locking onto Sengal who was lying on the floor.

“It was him,” she said. “My father.” Her jaw tightened. “He put the maze in my mind.”

I was wrong.

She lifted her hand and the air screamed.

Reality split like torn silk as a portal ripped open between us—silver-edged, unstable, humming with violent power.

“Bear,” Agatha said, her voice thin and lethal. “Throw him in.”

Sengal was dragged forward. Beneath the duct tape, his pulse throbbed visibly. His fingers twitched—small, frantic movements, as though magic itself sensed the end rushing toward him.

Maverick stepped forward. “Agatha, I don’t want him in the territory—”

Her smile cut him off. Thin. Sharp. Predatory.

“He’s not coming with us,” she said softly. “I just want payback.”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a vow.

Sengal disappeared into the portal with a dull pop. The tear in the air sealed itself instantly, the silence rushing back in as though nothing had happened at all.

“Where did you send him?” Maverick asked.

“Antarctica,” Agatha replied. Then her gaze slid back to him, knowing, perceptive. “I know you’re here for me, Mavy—but I can feel it. You want something else.”

Maverick’s jaw tightened.

“I want to see Sengal’s room,” he said. “Now.”

Agatha nodded. "Follow me."