Blackhart

“You know,” Silvy says, “the brood mother isn’t going to stay silent forever.”

“I know,” I say.

The gateway buzzes and, when I look over, the witchstone above it is gold. I slip my fingers across the witchstone under the counter and the gateway opens onto the Night Market.

“Get out,” I say as Cerulea walks in.

She just stares at me. She's never been confronted like this.

The gateway closes behind her and I repeat myself. “Get out.”

Her face pinches. Her left eyebrow cocks up she tilts her head slightly to the side.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Hex. I'm offended. I thought we were friends." She pouts out her lower lip. "We've been through so much.”

“Have we? Last I remember I had Silvy drop you off on an oil rig. That was you, right? It had to be. I can't think of any other shrill adepts she dropped off at an oil rig.”

Her tongue dips into her lower lip and swims across her teeth. "You thought that was funny.”

“Calling you shrill or leaving you stranded on an oil rig?”

Cerulea swallows, and takes a deep breath. Her face slowly composes. She takes another deep breath.

What is this? Why is she here?

“So, I was thinking—” she tries.

“Your first mistake," Silvy says, puffing into existence on her shoulder.

Cerulea shoulders shoot up and she swipes at Silvy, even though Silvy's already disappeared and reappeared back on the counter of Blackhart.

“Cursed little thing," Cerulea hisses.

“Yeah," I say. "That's the point.”

Cerulea blows out a quick puff of air and tries to recompose himself. "For the second time. Hexana, if you—”

“Hex. My name is Hex.”

“Right." She closes her eyes and her hands ball into fists. "Hex. I need your help.”