Chapter 143: Periphery
MARGAUX
Laurent and I sat side by side, the encyclopedia sprawled open between us. He beat me to the right section, tapping the page twice with a quiet certainty.
"History of witches," he said.
I leaned closer, eyes tracing the words beneath his steady hand.
The book insisted witches were not born as wolves were, with magic in their veins from the start. Witches were forged, shaped by a pact a common ancestor made somewhere along the winding road of life. The author confessed the witch he interviewed had refused to reveal the pact’s true nature or how it was sealed. All she offered was this: a witch began as wholly human, untouched by magic, until they reached a certain age when the great taint found their blood, and, at the first cast of their magic, through a generational pact, would be reborn into what the old texts named a Darkchild.
"A Darkchild," I read aloud, "is the average witch. Known for their apathy toward mortal concerns, their singular obsession with their own ideals, and the constant presence of a familiar."
"A familiar." Laurent’s brow furrowed. "That sounds familiar to something."
I kept reading, and there it was, laid out so clearly that neither of us had to wonder at its meaning. A familiar was a demon, born from Gehenna, its origins tangled and nearly impossible to trace, even among witches. The witch in the interview claimed the demon came into being the instant the witch was born, and their bond solidified the first time magic was cast. At that moment, the demon would reach out, offering a soul contract, binding itself to its witch forever.
"It strengthens the witch’s magic," I continued. "Teaches them what they know, guides them through what they do not yet understand. Familiars are described here as fiercely protective of their witches. Almost obsessively so."
"And they are invisible," Laurent said, reading ahead of me now, "to anyone without access to magic themselves. Unless they choose to reveal themselves."
"They take animal forms, mostly," I read. "Sometimes mortal ones."
"There is always something off about the form they take," Laurent read aloud, his voice slowing as the weight of the sentence settled in. "Something that gives them away, because no familiar can fully replicate nature convincingly."
Our eyes met at the exact same moment.
The invisible man.
Of course.
He had never been a witch at all. He had been a familiar the entire time, the demon attached to whoever the actual witch turned out to be, walking through these halls in plain view of anyone with the sight to see him while remaining utterly invisible to everyone else.
I glanced back at the page, scanning ahead, when a particular line snagged my attention so sharply I had to read it twice before speaking it aloud.
"No familiar can watch its witch weep without revealing itself," I read slowly. "Whether by claw, wing, voice, or hand, every familiar eventually chooses comfort over concealment."
My mind went immediately back to the footage.
The invisible man had paused after the worst of the attack on Séverine was over. He walked back toward her while Prim had already vanished from the frame. Even in the faint disturbance he left in the empty air, his posture seemed more caring than cruel.
It made no sense, considering what I had just seen him do to her only moments before.
Unless, of course, it made perfect sense—depending on whose grief he was truly answering.
I filed the thought away carefully rather than chasing it immediately.
"If Prim genuinely is the witch," I said, "and not simply being framed for someone else’s actions, then sending sentinels directly at her puts them at serious risk. They would be fighting an invisible opponent without realizing it, the same way I encountered him in that corridor before I understood what I was even looking at."
"I have not received any tragic call yet," Laurent said, checking his phone briefly out of habit even as he said it. "Which means either they have not located her yet, or nothing has happened on that front so far."
I glanced over at Alpha Amine’s apparition, still lingering by the shelf, patient and untouched by our conversation. A thought began to crystallize, clear enough that I spoke it aloud before it could vanish.
"We have knowledge now that we did not have an hour ago," I said. "But if Prim is genuinely being framed, then whoever the real witch is would have made certain provisions to ensure Prim herself believed the lie completely. That she truly is the one responsible. That would explain why she ran immediately after the attack, rather than staying or hiding nearby. She was running because she genuinely believed she had just done something monstrous. In addition to blatantly exposing herself and somehow sparing Séverine, who would have exposed her."
"They cast something on Chris as well," Laurent said slowly, the pieces visibly clicking into place behind his eyes. "The mark you mentioned was on his throat."
"Did you have someone tail him after he left the cell?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Find out where he went. Who did he speak with before any of this happened?" I met his eyes. "I think there might be an easier way through this entire situation than chasing an invisible demon through every corridor in this estate."
"What is it?"
"Trust me first."
He studied my face for a long moment.
"I do trust you," he said finally. "You are this pack’s Luna. But I also have to protect you, which means I need to know exactly what you are planning before you walk into it."
I hesitated.
I had kept the full truth from him, given the relationship that he had with Theodore. Reminding him of his pain felt needlessly cruel.
I turned to Alpha Amine instead of answering Laurent directly.
"Can we make another deal?" I asked him.
"If it is within my ability," he said, drifting closer with obvious interest.
"Can you use whatever spirit senses you have access to," I said, "to help identify who the actual witch is among the people in this estate?"
He considered the question with genuine effort, his expression thoughtful in a way that made him look briefly, strangely human despite everything about him that clearly was not.
"I am unfortunately not that powerful," he admitted. "Your spirit energy registers as remarkably strong to me, stronger than most living people I have encountered, even though I have been stuck in this small space for the longest time. But I do not believe I possess the first idea of how to be a particularly talented ghost in any practical sense."
I sighed.
There was no avoiding it any longer.
I turned back to Laurent.
"Last night, at dinner," I said, "I saw Theodore again."
Laurent went rigid.
"I thought," he started, and then stopped himself entirely, his jaw working through something he clearly had not expected to need words for today.
"He did ascend," I said gently. "I watched it happen myself, the night we freed him properly. But there are still two more of him remaining. Versions of him, I suppose, though I do not fully understand the mechanics of how that works." I took a breath. "One is attached to his father, Alpha Dorian. The other is attached to his sister, Luna Céline."
"Two more," Laurent repeated, his voice carrying a strain I had not heard from him before.
"If Theodore was powerful enough as a spirit to grant me this sight," I continued, "powerful enough to let me see familiars and things no one else in this house can perceive, then I believe whatever remains of him in those other forms might be able to help me identify the true witch. And in doing so, perhaps that part of him will finally be able to ascend as well. Find the rest he has clearly been denied."
"He is still here," Laurent said slowly, "because he has unfinished business with both of them. Is that what you are telling me?"
I nodded. "I believe that is exactly it."
"He is a strong spirit," I added. "I have a feeling he will be able to help me with this, and in return, another piece of him will finally be able to move on properly."
"Who are you going to speak with first?"
"Céline seems like the more natural starting point," I said. "Easier access, fewer complications."
"Then do it." He was already moving toward the door, his pace brisk and purposeful. "I will find out what Chris was doing and who he spoke with."
He left without further discussion.
I glanced down at the encyclopedia still open in my lap, wondering if it held more secrets about my own situation—the threads, the sight, and even whatever Theodore had given me that night. I closed the cover with care and tucked the heavy book under my arm, deciding it was worth keeping close, no matter what else I discovered.
I turned toward Alpha Amine’s apparition one last time before leaving.
"I hope you enjoy what this century has to offer," I said.
"I think we will meet again, child," he said, something knowing in the way he said it that I chose not to examine too closely.
I turned to go.
As I passed him, something flickered at the edge of my vision, low and swift, sliding along the floor behind him like a shadow with a mind of its own. I spun around, certain I had glimpsed something real.
Nothing was there.
"What," he said, watching my reaction with mild curiosity.
"Oh. Nothing," I said, and I left the library faster than I had originally intended to.