Page 99 of Malicent
Two hours later, I am myself again, the transformation finally broken—despite drinking a second elixir in the carriage to maintain the disguise.
I dress simply: black trousers and a loose black tunic.
And then I gather Iris, Kalix, and Felix back into the meeting hall.
Felix already knows most of it, but I lay it all out carefully, answering every question.
It takes three hours to sift through everything and to face the uncomfortable truth.
We need to infiltrate a Manipulator’s coven. We need to find out if they’re behind the disappearances, infections, andmutationsspreading across the land.
We still don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with. Not after the Duke. Not after the abomination in the cave.
At least we have another lead now, even if following it means walking straight into the dark.
Chapter 26
Millicent
THE NEXT TWO WEEKS PASS uneventfully, outside of Felix insisting I share some of my meals with him. He never mentions what happened at the coven, and for that, I’m thankful.
It turns out Felix and Ollie get along far too well. I sometimes forget Ollie’s emotions are tied to mine and that his reactions—his likes and dislikes—often mirror the things I won’t admit to myself.
Kalix and Cage are in and out of the palace grounds, hunting for any wandering manipulator witches to question.
Meanwhile, I remain in the lab, assisting Iris.
We add to the journal, notating that the curse seems to be capable of tearing down mental shields on contact. We hypothesize this makes a body more compliant—more vulnerable to whatever infection or possession it invites in.
The anxious energy that’s become part of me finds some outlet here in Iris’s lab.
She is growing on me, more than I expected. Often, she makes me miss Arcadia. I should write to her. I think she’d actually enjoy the castle and the people here.
People.
It’s strange to admit: Kalix and Felix have grown on me too. Iris is brilliant, and her marks prove her strength. I would have once thought her weak for liking humans. Now, I’m not so sure.
Maybe it’s not weakness to change. Maybe it’s a strength to feel—to care. That thought is fleeting, chased away by the sudden brush of a cool hand over the back of my neck.
The Nightmother.
Her presence is exceptionally strong today, unmistakable. The full moon.
It’s a reminder that a sacrifice must be made. I finish up in the lab, but my hands are clumsy, and my mind is elsewhere.
A beaker shatters, and Iris waves me off, dismissing me with a worried frown.
As sunset bleeds across the sky, my awareness only worsens, my sole focus on her and the steps I must complete tonight.
The night approaches. And the Nightmother is waiting.
I FOLLOW THE LIGHT OF the full moon through the dense brush guided by instinct alone.
The siren call hums in the air around me, my name whispered in a dozen overlapping tones.
“Come,” it whispers, distant and echoing, as if carried on the wind from every direction
Multiple voices. All hers—all hers.
