Page 2 of Demon's Beauty

Set against the backdrop of the High Priestess’s study, she really does cut an imposing figure. Especially when she stands, magick rolling off her in waves like it always does, a reminder of just what sort of witch it takes to hold the coven’s highest office.

“Yes?”

Esme looks me up and down, eyes narrowing. Like she can see the resentment I’m biting back. Like she can see my doubts, my misgivings, everything I’ve buried under the facade she and the other priestesses are so very good at teaching their protégés how to conceal themselves behind.

The one I’ll wear forever, when I Ascend.

“It would be good for you to spend these next few weeks meditating on the change you’re about to undergo,” Esme says. Pleasant. Still so pleasant, though the sharp metallic tang of magick on the air serves as warning enough. “It’s not to be taken lightly, and not for the faint of heart. And after you make it, this coven is going to be your first, last, and only priority. Do you understand?”

Do I understand?

Of course I do. I’ve known the stakes my entire life. We all do.

My magick, tied to the coven. My allegiance, first and foremost and forevermore belonging to my fellow witches. Power, responsibility, sacrifice.

It’s what I’ve wanted since I knew what wanting meant.

What I thought my sister and I would have together, someday.

But Seren’s not here, so it’s up to me to face Esme on my own, put on that mask, and nod.

“Yes, High Priestess.”

“Good. Then that’s all, Soleil.”

Taking one step back, then another, never turning my back on her, I leave the room. I close the door with a soft thud, and stand in silence for a heartbeat, then two.

I can’t breathe.

Somewhere, in a detached, rational corner of my mind, I wonder if I’m going into some sort of anaphylactic shock. Maybe an allergic reaction. Or a pulmonary embolism. Because I’m not getting any air into my lungs, and there certainly must be a good reason for it.

Of course there’s a reason.

There’s always a reason.

All Crescent witches joke that the High Priestess must get some kind of all-knowing clairvoyance upon her Ascension to the coven’s highest office. Some kind of power to see all our transgressions, our lies, our faults.

A joke, but one that’s always rung more than a little true to me.

Esme knows.

She must know.

There’s no way she doesn’t know I saw Seren before she went back into the demon realm, that I helped her, gave her medicines crafted from my own stores—from thecoven’sstores—to keep her safe on her travels.

Once a witch goes apostate—turning her back on the coven entirely—offering that sort of help is strictly forbidden.

When you’re out of the coven, you’reoutof the coven. All on your own in the world.

It doesn’t matter if you left behind friends, if you spent your whole life building relationships that are ended overnight.

It doesn’t matter if you left behind your sister. Your twin.

Seren made her choice.

I made mine.

I stayed, and for a long time I was so angry Seren couldn’t see why. I was so angry she threw all her years of training back in Esme’s face, abandoned our plan to Ascend together, the silly little fantasy we had that maybe one day we could be High Priestesses, running the coven together.