Page 8

Kieran

I barely had time to dry my hands before Dahlia’s voice cut through the house like a blade.

“Kieran,” she called, sharp and suspicious, “why was Oleander out of his hutch this morning?”

I glanced toward the hallway, vaguely wondering what the problem was. “I let him out.”

A pause. A deadly kind of pause.

“You what ?”

I stepped into the living room and found her standing there with her arms crossed, glaring at me like I’d just sacrificed a goat on her coffee table. Oleander—the tiny, mean, and entirely too smug black rabbit—sat on the back of the couch, twitching his nose like he owned the place.

“I figured that’s what he was for,” I said with a shrug.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

“Flower, rabbits,” I said slowly, as if explaining it to a child. “They’re livestock. Fur or food. He didn’t seem particularly fluffy, so I assumed... food.”

Her mouth dropped open like I’d slapped her.

“You were going to eat him?” she shouted.

I blinked at her. “Well, I didn’t get that far. He tried attacking me, and I didn’t want to wake you by fending him off.”

She stormed toward me, arms flailing like a madwoman. “That’s because he’s evil! But he’s my evil rabbit! He’s not for eating! He’s for love! Or whatever twisted mockery of love a creature like him can offer!”

I looked at the rabbit again. Beady eyes. Evil aura. Clearly a demon. “He looks like he crawled out of a witch’s cauldron.”

“He probably did, ” she snapped, “but that doesn’t mean you get to make him into stew!”

I raised both hands, trying to calm her down before she started throwing things. “Alright. Fine. No rabbit for breakfast. It was just a misunderstanding.”

Oleander thumped his foot, glaring at me like he understood every word. Little bastard.

Dahlia pointed a finger at me with the intensity of a sorceress mid-curse. “If you lay one finger on him again, I swear I will hex you so hard your beard grows backwards.”

Honestly... I wasn’t even sure that wasn’t already happening. The thing itched like hell.

“I’ll go apologize,” I muttered, mostly to shut her up. “To the demon rabbit. So I don’t get cursed in my sleep.”

I addressed the rabbit, “I apologize for trying to skin and eat you, small demon named Oleander, it will not happen again…”

She flopped onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, mumbling something about “tiny hellbeasts” and “emotional damage.”

I turned toward the hallway, giving Oleander a sideways glance as I passed. He just stared at me, all twitchy nose and judgment. Honestly, if anything in this house was cursed, it wasn’t the locket—it was that damn rabbit.

And somehow, that made him kind of impressive.

Maybe I wouldn’t eat him.

Yet.

I heard her rummaging through the pantry, muttering to herself. Then she called out, “Okay, I need to go to the grocery store. Which means, unfortunately for you, you have to come with me.”

I groaned from the couch, where I was actively trying to scratch my face off. “Why?”

“You’re cursed and stuck to me, remember? If I leave without you, you’ll probably hit the boundary again and give Mrs. Patterson across the street a heart attack.”

Bloody fantastic.

I hauled myself to my feet, still clawing at my jaw like something vile had taken root beneath my skin. She looked up as I walked in and gave me that expression she always wears when she’s trying not to laugh.

“You okay?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

“No,” I grumbled. “Do you have any magic that’ll stop my skin from feeling like it’s on fire?”

She blinked. “What happened?”

I gestured wildly at my face. “It started after I used that purple... thing in the bathing room. The one that smelled like a flower shop exploded in a cauldron.”

“Wait,” she said, looking both horrified and amused. “You mean the lavender body wash?”

“Lavender?” I spat the word like it was venom. “I thought it was some kind of alchemical cleanser. Real lavender does not sting and itch. Instead, it’s clearly hexed. Or poisonous. Or both.”

She snorted, covering her mouth. “You’re probably allergic, because it’s artificially scented.”

“Or cursed.”

“It’s not cursed.”

“Says you.”

She leaned against the counter, still grinning like I was the best show in town. “Fine. We’ll pick up something unscented while we’re out. Maybe oat milk and chamomile.”

“Oat what?”

She rolled her eyes and turned toward the door. “Go get your boots. You’re going grocery shopping, itchy face and all.”

I scowled as I went to put the damned things on. She huffed and pulled out that little glowing device she talks to like it’s a person. “I’m calling Thea. She can drive us.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Who is Thea?”

“My friend,” she said casually. “She has a car big enough for you and the groceries. I don’t have space in my Beetle.”

“‘Beetle.’ Are we still talking about a carriage or some sort of mechanical insect?”

She blinked, then burst out laughing. “It’s a car, Kieran. Tiny, yellow, and probably one good sneeze away from retirement. You’d crush the suspension just by looking at it too hard.”

“So this Thea has a sturdier carriage,” I said slowly.

“Yes,” she said, already tapping away on her phone. “And she won’t mind giving us a lift. Probably.”

“Probably?” I repeated warily.

“You haven’t met her yet, but she’s cool,” she said.

I squinted. “What does that mean?”

“You’ll see.”

That did not reassure me. At all.

“She’s blunt, a little scary, and very observant,” Dahlia continued, which somehow made things worse. “But she’s a good person. Don’t be weird.”

“I’m from the eighteenth century. I am weird, Flower.”

She chuckled, and the sound made my chest feel tight in a way I didn’t particularly care for. Then she raised the phone to her ear and turned away, muttering something about “a mountain of a man” and “double the food budget.”

I sighed, pressing my palms to the table. I wasn’t sure what kind of creature a Thea was, but it sounded like I’d find out soon. And knowing my luck, she’d hate me immediately.

Still… maybe this world wouldn’t be so unbearable.