Page 143 of Demon's Beauty

And that ends now.

“You’ve gotten wiser these past months,” I concede, and Callum’s grin widens. “I’ll give all the credit for that to Seren.”

“Please do. She’s the best of me, and Goddess knows where I’d be without her.”

46

Soleil

I’ve spent the vast, vast majority of my time since I was seven years old in the Crescent Coven hall.

It’s been where I lived and breathed and learned and reached every important milestone in my journey toward Ascension.

And I’ve never once felt this much like an outsider.

An impostor, a pretender, stealing in with the twilight like a thief who doesn’t belong.

It’s nonsense.

I know it’s nonsense.

I know it’s just me projecting all my fears and anxieties onto these hallowed halls. It’s not scorn and derision I find on the faces of my sister witches peering out from doorways and balconies as I pass; they’re just wondering where I was, why I’ve come back, if I’m okay.

Probably.

Whatever they’re actually feeling or thinking, I do my best to ignore it as I pass through the entrance chamber and to the grand staircase leading up to the second level where the High Priestess keeps her office. I try not to think about it at all as I keep my head up and my spine straight, looking directly aheadas I walk up to the stately wooden door I’ve stood in front of a hundred times.

Only, there’s a witch waiting there.

Marjorie, of all people, and she gives me a disdainful once-over.

“You came back.”

“I did,” I tell her, just as imperiously. “I’m here to speak to Esme.”

“You’ll have to wait,” she sniffs. “She told me to let you know you could take a seat until she’s ready for you.”

Typical, petty power moves, but I try not to let my irritation show as I sink into a seat next to the door and Marjorie slinks off somewhere.

And then I wait.

And wait.

In a hard, uncomfortable wooden chair outside the High Priestess’s office, I sit and stew in all my emotions until nearly an hour must have passed.

I can’t hear anything from inside the office—there’s probably a noise-dampening enchantment taking care of that—until the handle creaks an eternity later.

The door swings open and I stand from my seat, expecting to find Esme on the other side.

Instead, a man walks out.

A tall, dark-haired man who looks to be somewhere in his forties, wearing an exquisitely tailored suit and with the most remarkable amber eyes I’ve ever seen.

A man in the coven hall is a startling enough sight—beyond a few meetings with high-powered wielders, Esme almost never has cause to welcome one in—but even more startling is his magick.

It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

Not wieldermagick, not witchmagick, not demon magick, but something much deeper, more ancient and powerful. Edged with the scent of smoke and char, it surprises me so much I fall back a step.