Page 51 of Malicent
I don’t understand it. The thought burrows under my skin. I refuse to acknowledge it. Instead, I walk to the table, slipping on a pair of gloves. The silence lingers a little too long before Kalix’s voice, rougher than Cage’s smoother cadence, cuts through the air.
Kalix pauses, running a hand through his hair as he swirls his whiskey. “Iris does not need me to protect her, but my baby is a crier. If you make her cry, it won’t end well for any of us.” His voice is gruff but carries an air of affection. “You don’t know her story, and she doesn’t know yours. She wasn’t always like this. She had dark days; her coven life was hard.”
He swirls the amber liquid in his glass before downing it in one swift motion. Setting the empty glass onto the bar, he rolls his shoulders, relaxing his muscles.
“I don’t hate witches, Millicent. Hell, not even the Le Strange ones.” His gaze flicks toward me. “I’ve seen girls like you. Hardened into weapons, until there’s nothing left. I’m not saying I know your story, but I will say, I don’t hate you for it. Because we have all been in dark places and done even darker things.”
My eyebrows pinch together, not understanding why we were still on this topic.
“I haven’t been in any dark places,” I state, as a matter of fact. “Not outside of what others have inflicted. I don’t know about other covens, but mine’s the best. The strongest.” Pride settles deep in my chest. I turn to face him.
Kalix huffs a quiet laugh and shifts on his stool, crossing one ankle over his knee. Leaning back against the bar, he props his elbow up. His posture is loose, but his smirk is sharp. “Okay, denial, we don’t have to talk about it.” He speaks smoothly, but there’s something teasing in it—like he knows something I don’t.
Then, without missing a beat, ”Now tell me, have you really fucked a guy and eaten his liver to have a baby?”
I choke on nothing. His tone takes me off guard. “What the hell? Do I give that kind of aura off?”
Kalix snickers, his grin widening. “I’ve heard that witches do it. Gotta make sure we’re safe. It’s just a general screening question.”
He lifts an imaginary notepad and pretends to write something down. “Next one. Do you turn into a pig on a full moon?”
I snort at the foolishness of his question, “Yeah, totally. I grow wings, too,” I mumble sarcastically.
“Uh-huh. I see.” Kalix pretends to scribble more notes. “Terrible news—you’re delusional. I’m afraid you suffer from pig-related hallucinations. When did this desire to be a pig first start? Is it a fetish? This is a safe place.” He nods solemnly, like a concerned doctor.
I can’t help the laugh that escapes me, masking it with a cough as I smooth my expression back into its usual blank canvas. Kalix catches it anyway, his smug smile widening just as Cage strides into the room, looking ready for a fight.
His presence shifts the mood entirely.
My eyes flick to his armor, and I’m curious whether his attire is made from the onyx scales of his dragon. The plating covers his torso and legs, bound together at the seams with thick leather. The same dark material extends up his neck and down his arms, clinging tightly to his frame and leaving little of his skin exposed. His sword, ever present at his hip, gleams under the lamplight.
“Let’s head out,” he commands, turning on his heel without waiting for acknowledgement.
I grip the leather strap of my satchel, falling into step behind him with Kalix close behind.
Outside, three horses await us, each a varying shade of brown. I step up to the smallest one, judging it to be the fastest and, more importantly, the easiest to mount. Slipping my foot into the stirrup, I swing my leg over the saddle in one fluid motion. I shift my position with a firm grip on the horn.
Beside me, Kalix and Cage mount their steeds with practiced grace. Without a word, Cage urges his horse forward, and we follow. The heavy gates groan as they rise, and, trading glances, we ride into the night.
Exiting the castle under cover of darkness is bleak. The plains stretch out before us, dotted with sparse trees swaying in the breeze. We cross a small bridge and the landscape changes; scattered houses soon give way to a dense cluster of towering apartment-style homes. Even at this hour, the city is alive. Tavern music spills into the streets, mingling with the laughter of drunks and the distant clatter of hooves on cobblestone.
As we ride deeper, the houses become smaller, the spaces between them widening. The noise fades. The air thickens with the scent of damp earth, hay, and livestock. My horse snorts. A sharp, acrid scent—fertilizer—makes my nose wrinkle just as my mount rears. It stomps its hooves in protest.
Cage reins in his own agitated steed. “We go on foot from here. The animals won’t get any closer. They know something isn’t right.”
I glance at him, then at Kalix’s horse. Both are equally unsettled.
“Shhhh,” I murmur, running a soothing hand down my horse’s neck. She exhales sharply, but her body relaxes under my touch. Slipping from the saddle, I land lightly, bending my knees to absorb the impact. I lead her a few steps back and leave her to graze.
Cage and Kalix do the same, their whispered words of reassurance barely carrying over the thick silence.
I inhale deeply, focusing. My senses extend outward, seeking, but there is nothing. Nothing beyond the presence I’ve come to recognize as Cage’s.
Something is out there, and the horses know it.
Not trusting what my senses fail to detect, I move toward the pasture. A flaking wooden fence marks the boundary. The cattle were likely grazing when they were attacked. The moon provides just enough light to see, and my dark vision sharpens the shadows. Still, I keep my awareness stretched, reaching out to avoid any surprises.
It’s too quiet.
