The medieval wing had become Isla’s confessional.
Not in the church sense—no lattice screens, no murmured Hail Marys—but in the way confession functioned in practice: a place where secrets bled out sideways into the quiet, hoping the stone would hold them.
This afternoon, the saints felt particularly judgy.
She’d come up under the pretense of checking light levels on the textile cases. In reality, she needed air. Space. Twenty uninterrupted minutes where no one said “sensor,” “anomaly,” “crack,” or “Reyes, could you just take a look at this form?”
At least the saints didn’t ask for anything.
They just stared at eternity.
She stood in front of a late-Gothic altarpiece, the Virgin’s painted eyes fixed somewhere beyond Isla’s shoulder, and tried not to think about the fact that a dragon and an anomaly specialist and a municipal board were all orbiting her like anxious moons.
“Do you ever wish you were just… wood?” she asked softly. “Unmoving. Unbothered. Varnished.”
The Virgin remained serenely unconcerned with her existential crisis.
“Talking to the furniture again?” a voice murmured behind her.
Isla didn’t have to turn to know who it was.
She felt him first.
That low, warm hum in her bones that wasn’t exactly magic and wasn’t exactly adrenaline and wasn’t exactly attraction, but was some volatile blend of the three.
“Technically she’s polychromed linden,” Isla said. “Show some respect.”
Cael stepped up beside her.
In jeans and one of Jay’s less aggressive t-shirts—this one just said SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL LIBRARY over an image of a dragon curled around a stack of books—he’d almost have passed for a regular visitor.
If you ignored the way his presence bent the air.
If you ignored the faint glint of old scars under the collar where it slipped at his throat.
If you ignored the way two third-graders down the gallery slid to a halt mid-chase, turned, and stared at him with wide eyes like they’d suddenly remembered every monster under their beds.
He gave them a small, polite nod.
They scurried away.
“You let children run near your relics,” he observed, turning his attention back to the altarpiece. “Bold.”
“We let them get close enough to care,” Isla said. “Then we chase them away from the breakables. It’s a whole system.”
He tilted his head, studying the painted figures.
“Your saints look… tired,” he said.
“They’ve been listening to prayers for six hundred years,” she said. “You’d look tired too.”
“I am tired,” he said.
The admission landed heavier than the banter.
She glanced at him.
He did look tired.
Not the simple exhaustion of someone who’d missed a night’s sleep.
Deeper.
Worn.
His eyes had faint shadows beneath them, the gold ring around his pupils dimmer than usual.
“You’ve been pushing the new tether,” she said quietly. “All night?”
“All week,” he corrected. “It… learns fast.”
“How is that a sentence in my life now,” she muttered. “ ‘The ancient crack-thing learns fast.’”
He huffed a small laugh.
“I thought giving it La Boca Del Mundo would… sate it more,” he said. “It does. A little. But hunger is… exponential. The more it eats, the more it… remembers being empty.”
She suppressed a shiver.
“Is it… ignoring the city?” she asked.
“For now,” he said. “Your church downtown hums less. Your cathedral’s stones are… relieved. But nothing is… erased. Just… redirected.”
“Scar tissue,” she murmured.
He glanced at her.
“You and your scars,” he said.
“Me and your scars,” she shot back.
He smiled faintly.
They stood in silence for a moment, side by side, looking at the Virgin and her son and the tiny saints dutifully posed around them.
“You did not come up here just to talk to paint,” Cael said eventually.
She sighed.
“Leona wants to start a ‘cross-disciplinary working group,’” she said, making quotation marks in the air. “Her, Halpern, me, a couple of outside people from the cathedral and the university physics department. ‘To explore the intersection of material culture and unexplained phenomena.’”
“A council,” he said. His tone made the word sound like a disease.
“More like a committee,” she said. “Worse.”
His mouth twitched.
“She will want to… study,” he said.
“Everything,” Isla said. “The Schmiedler objects. The anomalies. The staff. Me.”
His gaze sharpened.
“She already studies you,” he said.
“Yes,” Isla said. “But now she wants to put it on the calendar.”
He frowned.
“What will you do?” he asked.
She huffed a humorless laugh.
“What I always do,” she said. “Show up. Take notes. Try to keep the damage minimal.”
“Alone?” he asked.
She heard what he didn’t say.
Without me.
Without us.
“No,” she said. “Tim will be there. Halpern. Maybe someone from the historical society. Maybe a nun with opinions. I’m not going in solo.”
His shoulders eased a fraction.
“Good,” he said.
“You’re still not allowed to crash the meeting,” she added. “No matter how bored you get in the coal room.”
He looked offended.
“I do not ‘crash’,” he said. “I make dramatic entrances.”
“Same difference,” she said.
He studied her profile.
“You are afraid,” he said softly.
“Of Leona?” she said. “Always. Of the board? Perpetually. Of this committee turning into a dragon-hunt? Constantly.”
“And yet you still… agree,” he said.
“‘Agree’ is a strong word,” she said. “ ‘Not successfully avoid’ is more accurate.”
He smiled.
“Isla,” he said.
Her name in his mouth still did bad things to her heartbeat.
“Yes?” she asked, wary.
“If they try to chain me,” he said, voice very calm, “I will burn this building down.”
She flinched.
“Don’t joke,” she said.
“I am not joking,” he said.
She swallowed.
“I know,” she said. “Which is why I’m going to do everything I can to make sure it never gets that far.”
He tilted his head.
“You would stand between me and their chains,” he said.
“Like I stood between you and that well,” she said.
He looked at the altarpiece again.
At the painted Virgin.
“At least your saints have precedent,” he murmured.
“For what?” she asked.
“Interceding for monsters,” he said. “Petitioning for mercy. Standing between wrath and the world.”
“Don’t turn me into a saint,” she said. “I swear to God, I will haunt you.”
He smiled faintly.
“You already do,” he said.
Heat crawled up her neck.
She cleared her throat.
“I, uh, brought someone,” she blurted. “To meet you. Later. If you’re… up for it.”
His brows lifted.
“Your parents?” he asked, a flicker of something like alarm crossing his face.
She choked.
“Oh my God, no,” she said. “I’m not ready for that level of chaos. Maya.”
“Your witch-friend,” he said.
“Stop calling us witches,” she muttered. “But yes. She’s… eager. And I’m tired of lying to her about… everything.”
His expression shifted.
Curious.
Wary.
“You told her?” he asked.
“Some,” she said. “Enough that she thinks I’m not hallucinating. She wants to see you. To… check if you pass the best-friend test.”
He frowned.
“What is the… best-friend test?” he asked.
“She threatens to murder you if you hurt me,” Isla said. “Then decides if you’re worth the effort.”
He considered this gravely.
“Seems… efficient,” he said.
“So you’re… okay with it?” she asked. “If she comes down later?”
He shrugged one shoulder.
“I agreed to… share,” he said. “Your hoard of humans. Within reason.”
Her chest warmed.
“You’re learning,” she said.
He smirked.
“Be warned,” he said. “If I do not like her, I will… rumble.”
“Rumble politely,” she said.
He inclined his head.
“As you wish,” he murmured.
The phrase hit that Princess Bride groove again.
She made herself look away before her mouth did something stupid.
“Six o’clock,” she said. “Coal room. Try not to look too terrifying.”
He arched a brow.
“You are asking a dragon to be… less,” he said.
“I’m asking you not to eat my best friend,” she said.
He sighed.
“Fine,” he said. “I will… smile.”
“Not too much,” she said quickly. “You’ll scare her more.”
He laughed.
The sound rolled through the gallery like distant thunder.
Two docents glanced over, startled.
Isla shook her head.
“Saints preserve me,” she muttered.
The Virgin, as usual, declined to comment.
***
Maya had dressed for the occasion.
Which, in her case, meant ripped black jeans, combat boots, a graphic tee that said WITCHES GET SHIT DONE, and more eyeliner than usual.
She bounced on her toes outside the staff entrance, eyes bright, arms full of takeout containers.
“I brought food,” she announced. “If your lizard man’s gonna judge me, at least he’ll do it while eating dumplings.”
“He’s not a lizard,” Isla said automatically. “He’s—”
“A dragon, yes, you’ve mentioned,” Maya said. “Fifteen times. I’m choosing to file that under ‘reptile-adjacent’ until proven otherwise.”
Isla swiped her badge and let them in.
The corridor exaggerated Maya’s energy.
Her bootheels clicked.
Her bangles jingled.
Her curiosity buzzed like static.
“So this is where you spend all your time,” she said, looking around at the beige walls and fluorescent lights with mock solemnity. “The glamour. The drama.”
“You haven’t even seen the dehumidifiers,” Isla said.
They passed Marcus at the security podium.
His brows rose at the sight of Maya.
“Guest?” he asked.
“Volunteer,” Isla lied smoothly. “Helping with… outreach.”
Maya beamed.
“I’m excellent at outreach,” she said. “Ask my exes.”
Marcus snorted.
“You bringing food to the gremlins?” he asked, nodding toward the sub-basement.
“Something like that,” Isla said.
He waved them through.
The stairs down always felt longer when she knew what waited under them.
Maya puffed slightly at the bottom.
“If he’s ugly, I’m going to be so disappointed,” she said.
“He’s… not ugly,” Isla said.
“Oho,” Maya said. “You just used your ‘trying to be objective about someone you’re into’ voice.”
“I’m not—” Isla began, then gave up. “Shut up.”
They stepped into the old foundation corridor.
The air warmed.
Maya slowed.
Her eyes widened.
“Okay,” she whispered. “I feel it now. The… buzz.”
“You’re not imagining it,” Isla said. “Welcome to the threshold.”
They reached the coal room door.
Isla paused with her hand on the knob.
“You can still bail,” she said quietly. “If this gets… too much. Too weird. I won’t be mad.”
Maya rolled her eyes.
“Bitch, please,” she said. “I’ve waited my whole life for empirical proof that your weird little heart was right about the monsters. Open the door.”
Isla exhaled.
Turned the handle.
The coal room was lit by a single bare bulb, casting everything in a soft, yellow glow.
Cael stood near the center, hands in the pockets of his jeans, bare feet braced on the concrete, expression carefully neutral.
He’d tied his hair back at the nape of his neck.
The dragon runes along his ribs were hidden under the t-shirt.
The crown and other hoard pieces sat on the tarp behind him, arranged in a loose semi-circle.
He looked… almost ordinary.
Until you noticed the way the shadows clung to him.
Maya stopped dead.
For a heartbeat, the room was silent.
Then she breathed, very softly, “Oh, okay, yeah, that’s a dragon.”
Cael’s mouth twitched.
“Maya,” Isla said, voice a little higher than she’d intended. “This is Cael. Cael, Maya.”
Maya set the takeout containers on a nearby crate with exaggerated care.
Then she straightened, squared her shoulders, and stepped forward.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m the one who’s going to haunt you if you hurt her.”
Cael’s brows rose.
He glanced at Isla, then back at Maya.
“A direct threat,” he said. “I respect that.”
Maya blinked.
She’d evidently expected… more protest.
Less agreement.
“Okay,” she said. “We’re off to a weird start.”
“Is there a… protocol,” Cael asked Isla, “for meeting one’s… best friend?”
“It’s not a job interview,” Isla muttered. “Just… be yourself. But, like, the version of yourself that understands modern social cues.”
“I am learning,” he said.
Maya circled him once, not bothering to be subtle.
He stood still under her scrutiny, head tilted, as if indulging a small, excitable predator.
“Shit,” Maya said finally. “He’s hot.”
“Maya,” Isla hissed.
“What?” Maya said. “I need to say it out loud so it stops rattling around in my head. Look at his arms.”
“I have arms,” Cael said helpfully.
“Exactly,” Maya said. “That’s the problem.”
He smiled faintly.
“You are… very loud,” he said.
“You’re very… everything,” she shot back.
They regarded each other.
“You smell of… city,” he said. “Ink. Cheap wine. Cheap perfume. Expensive opinions.”
Maya’s eyes sparkled.
“You smell like a barbecue I want to make bad choices at,” she said.
Isla put her face in her hands.
“I regret this already,” she muttered.
“Good,” Cael said. “Regret means you are awake.”
Maya laughed.
“Okay, I like him,” she said. “Terrible taste, Reyes. Truly. Ten out of ten, would enable.”
“Do not,” Isla said.
Maya sobered.
Her gaze slid to the crown behind him.
To the chalice.
The reliquary.
The scale.
The air around them seemed to thicken.
“Those are…” she began.
“His hoard,” Isla said quietly.
Maya’s breath hitched.
“Holy shit,” she whispered.
She took a tentative step closer.
Stopped at the edge of the tarp.
“May I?” she asked.
Her tone was different.
Not flippant.
Reverent.
Cael regarded her.
“You may… look,” he said. “Do not touch. Yet.”
“Consent,” she said. “I like it.”
She knelt.
Bent her head over the chalice.
Her face reflected, warped, in its polished surface.
“Feels…” she said softly. “Old. Heavy. Like… history with teeth.”
Isla’s chest swelled with a weird pride.
“That’s… about right,” she said.
Maya moved on to the crown.
Her fingers twitched.
Then stilled.
“You weren’t kidding,” she said. “It does hum. A lot. My fillings are vibrating.”
Cael blinked.
“Fillings?” he asked.
“Later,” Isla said.
Maya straightened.
Turned back to them.
“Okay,” she said. “Serious time. TV’s hottest National Geographic special aside… what’s the risk assessment here?”
Cael’s mouth curved.
“You speak like your Tim,” he said.
“He’s not my Tim,” Isla muttered.
“Not yet,” Maya said under her breath.
Island glared.
Cael’s brows drew together.
“Risk,” he said slowly. “We woke something. We tied it to another place. It could… slip. It could… snap. It could decide it does not like the taste of convent stone and come back for city instead.”
“Honesty,” Maya said. “Refreshing.”
“Also terrifying,” Isla added.
Maya nodded.
“And your sorcerer friend?” she asked. “Tapeworm Lady? Where does she land on the ‘will she make things worse’ scale?”
“High,” Isla said. “But also high on ‘has information we need.’ We’re… in a careful dance.”
Maya considered.
“And your board?” she asked. “They still think this is all about grant money and climate control?”
“Yes,” Isla said. “And I’d like to keep it that way as long as possible.”
Maya exhaled.
“Okay,” she said. “Here’s my amateur strat plan, as the only person in this room not contractually obligated to either an institution or an eldritch entity: you leverage the hell out of your positions. Reyes, you work the academic angle. Tim works security. Dragon Boy does the heavy lifting with cracks and hoards. Consultant Lady gets looped in just enough to keep her from going rogue. And I…”
She spread her hands.
“Keep you human,” she finished.
Isla’s throat tightened.
“Maya,” she whispered.
“Someone has to remind you to eat and watch dumb TV and not spiral into martyrdom,” Maya said briskly. “I volunteer as tribute.”
“You are not tributing anything,” Isla said fiercely.
Maya grinned.
“See?” she said. “Already doing my job.”
Cael watched them, something like… fondness… in his eyes.
“Your hoard is… fierce,” he said to Isla.
She rolled her eyes.
“They’re not my—” she began.
“They are,” he said simply.
Maya tilted her head.
“You keep using that word,” she said. “Hoard. I know it’s your dragon kink, but… what does it actually *mean* to you?”
Cael considered.
“Humans think hoard means… pile of gold,” he said. “Shiny things. Greed. They are not wrong. But for my kind it is… anchor. Heart. The things we choose to tie ourselves to so we do not… burn.”
Maya’s gaze flicked to Isla.
“And when the hoard includes people?” she asked.
His jaw tightened.
“Then we protect them,” he said. “Fiercely. Often stupidly. Sometimes… wrongly. We can smother. We can coil too tight. We can call chains protection. That is why your consent word matters.”
Isla’s heart pounded.
Maya nodded slowly.
“Good answer,” she said. “I’m still contractually obligated, as Best Friend, to make this clear: Isla is not a goblet. She’s not a crown. She’s not a dragon-snack. She’s a whole-ass person with her own hoard tendencies. You fuck with that, I will find a way to exorcise your ass.”
Cael inclined his head.
“Understood,” he said.
“And if she hurts you,” Maya added, “you can also call me. I am an equal-opportunity menace.”
Isla groaned.
“Stop offering to be his therapist,” she said.
“I’m everyone’s therapist,” Maya said. “I should start charging.”
Cael smiled faintly.
“Thank you,” he said.
His tone made it sound like he meant it.
Not just politeness.
Appreciation.
Acceptance of the awkward, ridiculous, necessary boundaries humans drew around their hearts.
Isla’s chest felt full and aching.
She’d wanted this.
Her worlds colliding.
Her best friend and her dragon and her hoard of objects and her crack-riddled city, all in one room.
It was terrifying.
It was right.
Maya clapped her hands.
“Okay,” she said briskly. “Emotions done for the moment. Who wants dumplings?”
***
End of Chapter 21.
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