The gentle caressing of thin fingers through her hair was what eventually roused her. She didn’t open her eyes immediately. She simply laid there, breaths even and soft, head no longer pounding, and heart steady and controlled. Her body ached in some places, but she felt better than she had ever since she’d awoken in the mysterious place.

Her eyes slowly blinked open, groggy with sleep, and stared up at the being hovering above her. In a brief moment of clarity, she realized her head was resting on the being’s lap. After taking in their surroundings, she also realized she was laying on the floor, that everything that's happened recently hadn’t been some twisted dream.

Brown eyes met the dark shadows where a face should have been. “What are you doing? What happened?”

The witch was silent for a moment, and then she whispered, “I expected a more harsh reaction than this. You’re no longer scared of me.”

It’d been a statement, not a question. She realized it was true with little surprise. Now, she was just tired. Through all the time she’d been there, she’d experienced much greater horrors than some creepy-looking creature. Being scared of the witch now seemed childish to her. There were bigger things to worry about.

“What are you?” she asked softly.

“A witch, according to you.”

“But that’s not true.” She moved to sit upright and the witch let her in silence. Now that she thought about it, the witch was a being of absolute silence unless she deliberately intended to make noise. Even now, the breaths the creature drew held no sound. That is, if she was breathing at all. “You’re something else. Something much worse.”

“What do you think I am?” the witch asked curiously.

“A demon.”

“Maybe. That’s what I thought, too.”

Before she could question the odd statement, the witch was handing her the previously gifted journal and pen. She eyed the items warily, neglecting to reach out to take either one. She wasn’t sure what was going on with her, but she was sure they had something to do with it. Perhaps the gifts were cursed.

“Take them.”

The second the two words left the witch’s mouth, she reached out to take them compulsively. Her eyes widened at the very beginnings of a headache starting to reside in the back of her head. Then, she turned said eyes onto the witch with a glare.

“What are you doing?” she bit out.

“You have a job to do,” the witch simply said. “Don’t you remember?”

Immediately, she flipped open the journal and began to write down a memory as it came back to her.

The night went as well as it could’ve. That was, until the long, tiresome night was beginning to come to a close. One of Delaney’s girls, the blond one with the faded eyes, got bold and attempted to make her escape. She wasn’t smart about it. She hadn’t tried to sneak away. She sprinted across the mansion with a slight limp, one heel clicking and one bare foot pattering against the floors, eyeliner smudged and runny with tears, once neatly done hair a mess of knots and tangles, and her dress torn in the most revealing of places. 

Delaney hadn’t seemed worried. He turned to me and told me to grab her, as she was approaching my general direction. Her eyes met mine in panic but I simply stared back, not moving an inch.

“Go!” Delaney commanded again. 

I stood rooted in place, a challenging gaze now focused on him.

“Dammit…” I saw him reach for the gun in his suit but he glanced around the room of drunk men and hesitated. 

Atticus went after her in my place without the need of being instructed to do so. Delaney was relentless with the death glare he leveled me with. Angelica rather obviously fidgeted in worry and distress from across the room. The group of now positively wasted businessmen hooted and hollered and laughed.

I stood my ground even as Delaney approached me with barely tempered steps, practically vibrating with anger. He placed a hand to my chest, pushing me back against the wall and leaning in close to my ear. Caging me in as if I were nothing but an animal out of line.

“Firebird,” he murmured. His breath reeked of whiskey. “What the hell was that?”

“Looked to me like she got away,” I replied, gripping the hand still implanted painfully on my chest and attempting to push it away. It didn’t budge. “Surprised you didn’t do anything about it.”

He pulled back a bit to stare me directly in the eyes. For a while, neither one of us said anything. Then, he took a deep, shaky breath and stepped away.

“We’ll discuss this matter later.”

My eyes flickered over to the door when Atticus emerged. He was alone. I smirked.

It seemed she’d gotten away.