Page 44 of Last Gift: Supernatural Battle

Varden continued, “For many years, I pinned my dreams of more at the end of Caves. Then, division would end. We would unite against the foe. All would be well. The reality is different. Slower, and”—he lifted a shoulder—“as I said, I formed a series of foolish hopes that got me through each day and night when I felt hopeless. I feel somewhat disappointed, and only I am to blame for building up the end of Caves to such a degree. I will be well again soon.”

I set my hand on his. “We’ll get there, sir. I promise you. This coven will return to its day as a coven of old. I know it.”

Varden’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “Yes. All will be well.”

He rose and walked away, and I noted the slight limp to his gait that wasn’t there yesterday.

“I never know what to do when old people get upset,” I admitted.

Wild had remained silent through the conversation. “You treat them like you’d treat anyone else who was upset.”

“No, not in that sense. I find the whole experience bizarre. My grandmother only cried when people got hurt. Except she cried tears of laughter. I guess my concept of the elderly is skewed from that.”

Wild’s shoulders were shaking. “I wish I’d met Rowaness.”

“She would have loved you, after ensuring you knew the one hundred most painful ways to inflict damage on an opponent.”

Wild’s grin widened. “And your mother?”

“She would have made you a meal and welcomed you, all the while probing your weaknesses to exploit them if you ever harmed me. She would have appeared neat as a pin during the day, but would’ve spent all night with her eyes open, staring into the darkness as she formed the perfect trap to contain you for eternity. That kind of thing.”

He wasn’t grinning anymore.

“Too much?” I asked.

Wild didn’t answer the question. “And Syera?”

“She would have hated you, treated you like crap, and then when things reached a head, she would’ve attacked you with the intent of seriously hurting you. After that, if you fought back halfway decently, then you’d be part of the family in her books.”

Laughter startled from him. “It doesn’t make much sense, but I still regret that I’ll never know them.”

They would’ve chewed Wild up and spat him out when they realized he was made of the good stuff. “So am I.” I wished so badly that could be different.

Wild took my hand in his, and soothing calm filled me. “I need you to check the gates, but how about we let off some steam first?”

I quirked a brow. “Again?” There had been some raucous bedsheet activity before his early-morning shift.

“Always. But how about we play around with your grimoire magic this morning? I know divination is your focus, but bringing characters out of books to life is kind of fun.”

One of Huxley’s favorite fighting tricks too. I wouldn’t mind learning that one. “I can think of a few characters I’d bring to life.” Wasn’t it every paranormal romance reader’s dream to bring the male love interest into the world?

Wild growled low, “Who?”

“Uh, Humpty Dumpty.”

“You’re lying, but who’s that?”

“He’s an egg that fell. Couldn’t be put back together.”

I felt Wild’s urge to question me further, and then he forced it back. Didn’t blame him.

We walked to the library, and I jogged ahead to open the door to the grimoire learning center, ignoring Wild’s snicker. I’d never done this before—for certain, anyway. Now I had grimoire magic and could get inside. Cheap thrills would get me through this shitshow.

We entered the far cubby that belonged to the quad, and Wild wasted no time sending out a silence charm so no one could eavesdrop.

“Probably for the best,” I said. “Pretty sure Frond is setting spies on me.”

Wild’s chest rumbled. That was new.

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