Page 125 of Last Gift: Supernatural Battle

The thoughts were mine, yet I’d never vocalized them in such a way. I could see that Varden had triggered the deeper thoughts during a conversation months prior. My answer then was different.

For how can we trust, he’d said, when we are unsure of a being’s capacity for kindness and decency? Once we become aware that one’s capacity for kindness is different to ours, is there any going back to what those two people might have been? Or do those two people merely trust each other in things up to that place where their decency and kindness differ? If so, is there any point in maintaining a trust with such a person or shall we abandon that relationship to seek out people with a closer capacity to ours?

I’d answered that I’d rather experience full trust with a handful of people. Varden had wished me luck—he’d known two such people in his life.

Existing in a community was a tricky, complex business. An existence I could choose to reject.

Now I chose not to.

Yet I couldn’t allow disappointment and bitterness and guilt to overtake me in time. I wanted to truly honor the need for diversity of thought and action in this coven and be free of cynicism. That meant my self-validation had to become a potent elixir against the limitations of people because they were people.

What I did had to mean most to my well-being, far more than the actions—or lack of action—of others. That didn’t mean that I wouldn’t have a select few that I depended upon on a deeper level, and who I would treasure in the knowledge and hope they treasured me too. But if I wanted a community—a coven—then my mindset had to shift, or I’d be the one left hurt and lonely.

I smiled, and for the first time in months, since discovering what I was, I felt the hard casing of guilt around my heart crack and start to crumble.

I was a demon, and my heart was true.

“I don’t have an issue with what you are,” Spyne said, breaking into my soul-deep thoughts.

I pulled myself out of my head. “That’s a surprise given your reaction.”

“My issue,” he said carefully, “is that I thought I knew you, only to find you’d shown me one part. My issue isn’t that you haven’t got your heart in the right place; it’s that I disagree with the subterfuge. In saying that, I’ve been on the receiving end of these people you describe. As has the man I was with. If you don’t feel able to trust me or others with what you are, then perhaps that’s our failing and not yours. Or perhaps you’re guilty of the limitations you accuse others of by assuming this coven would react in a certain way to what you are. Regardless, the issue remains that you’re concealing something that, given your position and what we face, I believe there’s a duty to disclose. Not just for the health of the coven, but for your health and continued participation in this community.”

Rooke gave me a different outlook the other day—one that suggested people didn’t get to see every bit of my life because of the position I held. Spyne disagreed.

“I wonder,” I mused, “if I was not a demon, would there be another part of me that people felt I should disclose? If not that, then another. At what point would I cease to be a person and become an object?”

“You’re a servant of this coven. More so than anyone else,” he countered.

“A servant, yes. A slave, never. The difference being that I retain the right of choice over my fate.”

“You made the choice to become leader of this coven.”

“Yes, but not at the loss of all other choices. Did you decide to date Huxley at the loss of all of your other choices?”

Rather than provoke anger, I sensed we’d provoked deeper thought in each other.

“For what it’s worth,” the grimoire said, “I’m sorry your position is a tricky one. I’m sorry that someone attacked your magic. I’m guessing it was Frond and his group.”

Spyne had been privy to our thoughts on Frond while with Huxley.

“I wish things were easier too. I’m sorry that you found out about my heritage in a way that left you feeling betrayed, and also that this seems to have secured your decision about a break in your relationship with Huxley.”

Spyne swallowed hard. “Thanks.”

I held up his application. “I’ll give this some thought. An interspecies transfer has never been done, and that doesn’t make things impossible. It just means we’ll need to navigate new ground with the other supernaturals to ensure you and this coven will be safe.”

Another quiet, “Thank you,” followed, and soon I was alone again. The conversations with Spyne and Varden had left me unsettled. I could feel the revelations they’d invoked churning inside, and I understood that those had to be latched onto and nurtured to help me in time. I had some self-doubts and beliefs to break through. That never felt comfortable.

First though, I set Spyne’s application aside and picked up the letter I’d set aside earlier.

Advisors flocked in the open doorway, and I blinked at them.

“It’s that time already?” I asked.

Huxley slid a tray of food in front of me. “This is the last tray of food I’ll ever get you.”

He was a liar. Trays of food were our thing. “Thank you, Esteemed Advisor Leif.”

---