Chapter Eleven

When Rebel was a child, she used to be without a care in the world.

Then one day out of nowhere, her heart stopped being able to understand rhythm. At seven years old, she had blacked out and plunged down a flight of stairs in the Institute. Doctors declared she shouldn’t have survived the fall—might not survive her own heart. Regardless of how, she’d worn her trusty pendant that day, and it became the moment she knew something divine, something magical, had saved her. It was then she felt sure of the truth in the impossible.

In wishes.

Now trapped in the basement, Rebel had gripped her pendant praying for that magic once more, and had cast her wish—hoping the consequence turned out better than being eaten alive. She should have seen it before. Madame Gramone’s unusual hobbies, her punishments, how she would appear out of nowhere as if knowing whatever Rebel had broken into or out of. And this was the witch’s final sentence. As dozens of rats closed in, the world seemed to slow, and with it, Rebel’s heart.

The image before her had frozen.

The walls melted and everything blurred.

Like a thousand glowing hands, Anjeline’s magic had encircled her, as if she were in the center of a whirlwind—and as quickly it surfaced—it stopped.

There were no ravenous nails digging into her skin, no teeth ripping flesh, only the warmth of a hand clasping her own. She glanced up, no idea where they were, just that she wasn’t dead, she wasn’t being eaten alive, and that now Anjeline was rather affectionately—speaking to a cow.

Rebel sucked in air. “Where…”

No longer were they in the basement but in an emerald field. No threat in sight, save for the gang of long-haired cattle grazing. Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe she’d wake up and find her leg being consumed by tiny teeth. But her satchel was now back within her grasp, her bond to the vase remaining. The wish had worked. Anjeline had saved her.

“I could kiss you right now.” She exhaled.

Anjeline’s brow wrinkled, then she fought back a smile. “Perhaps later.” Modesty laced its way in her voice. She seemed aware their hands were still locked together and drew it away as though it hurt.

Rebel instantly missed the warmth and took another breath, to her surprise, in no need of pills. Then she remembered. “So? What’s the…consequence?”

For several heartbeats, Anjeline’s eyes roamed over her. She checked Rebel’s ears and vision, brushed fingers over bruised knuckles, her face tightening in what looked like concern. “Some consequences surface faster than others. Depending on the person, it might take days to appear fully,” she replied. “A wish of instant travel is less harsh. You may lose partial hearing, suffer bowel inflammation, or one of your fingers might not have come with us.”

“That’s less harsh?”

“You’re alive, aren’t you?” Anjeline raised a brow.

Rebel examined her fingers. Counting ten, she relaxed. She hadn’t expected her first wish to come about like this. Then she wondered why Anjeline hadn’t given her any term to agree to before casting it. Not that they’d had much time to talk about agreements. She shook her head, not needing more stress. Wishing for their safety couldn’t have too great of a cost, could it? Whatever would come, she prayed her thieving talent wouldn’t be in jeopardy. She gripped her satchel tighter, truly realizing the power with which she held. A power capable of blowing up in her face. Shaking her head, she spared another glance at their surroundings. Everywhere she looked, there were emerald hills, an epic land of a stark beauty, mist, and mountains.

“Where are we?”

Anjeline held out a hand and a cow lumbered toward her, nuzzling its horned head in her palm. It mewed something and waved its tail. She gave it a nod and voiced, “They say we’re in the Highlands.”

“You can talk to them?” Rebel blinked again.

“The bonds may suppress my power but I can still understand the earth’s creatures.”

“Of course you can.” The wind ruffled hair into Rebel’s eyes, and she noticed a looming castle in the distance. A sign up ahead read: Castle of Mey. They had jumped to the northern Highlands. She turned wide eyes onto Anjeline. “You brought us to Scotland? We’re two days’ travel from London.”

Anjeline stroked the cow’s head. “Well, you didn’t offer a specific location.”

“Well, I was too busy peeing myself.”

A wry expression worked over her face. “And pray tell, what’s your plan now that we’re wanted by half of London’s magic-kind? Do thieves have sanctums?”

Rebel’s chest twitched. Now it wouldn’t be just lycanthropes hot on her tail, but also every magical mobster in the city. A name came to mind. Jaxon. “They do when they’re the fox,” she replied. “We just need a little feline finesse to sneak us onto a train.”

Anjeline understood perfectly. “Rebel, no.”

She smiled. “Rebel, yes.”