CHAPTER 131: CHAPTER 131: THE MISFITS

THE ESTATE’S GATES appeared like a promise in the darkness—wrought iron gleaming under moonlight, wards humming with protective energy that Mailah could almost feel against her skin now. Funny how quickly the supernatural had become her new normal.

She pulled through slowly, the car’s headlights sweeping across manicured gardens and ancient stone walls that had witnessed centuries of Ashford drama. Tonight’s chaos would just be another footnote in the estate’s long history, though Mailah suspected this particular Chapter might be more memorable than most.

"Home," she murmured, the word feeling both strange and right on her tongue.

Grayson’s hand found hers across the console, his thumb tracing idle patterns on her palm. "Home," he agreed quietly.

In the back seat, Oliver stirred, blinking awake with the disoriented confusion of someone who’d dozed off during a supernatural crisis and woken to normalcy.

Shadow remained curled in his lap, purring with the smug satisfaction of a familiar who’d successfully caused maximum chaos and minimum actual harm.

"We’re back?" Oliver asked groggily.

"Alive and mostly unscathed," Lucien supplied from where he’d mysteriously reappeared in the passenger seat sometime during the drive. Angels, Mailah was learning, had very flexible concepts of physical location. "I’d call that a successful evening."

"Your definition of successful is deeply concerning," Mailah said, pulling the car to a stop in front of the main entrance.

"I prefer ’optimistically flexible,’" Lucien replied with that insufferable smile.

They climbed out into the cool night air, and Mailah felt the tension of the evening begin to drain from her shoulders.

Mrs. Baker appeared in the doorway before they’d even reached the steps, her expression as unreadable as ever despite the late hour and their disheveled appearance.

"Welcome back," she said calmly, as if they’d just returned from a pleasant evening out rather than a near-death experience at a supernatural black market. "I’ve prepared tea in the library. And Mr. Thorne, your room has been readied in the east wing."

Oliver blinked. "I have a room?"

"You’ve been conscripted into service," Mrs. Baker replied. "That requires lodging. Unless you’d prefer to sleep in the garden with the other strays?"

"The east wing is perfect," Oliver said quickly.

"Thought so." Mrs. Baker’s gaze shifted to Shadow, who was now perched on Oliver’s shoulder like a particularly judgmental parrot. "The cat’s bowl is in the kitchen. I trust you can manage feeding duties?"

"I—yes, definitely," Oliver stammered.

"Excellent." Mrs. Baker turned to Mailah and Grayson, and something almost like concern flickered in her eyes. "You both look exhausted. The tea is charmed for stamina restoration. Dr. Morrison’s recipe."

"Mrs. Baker," Mailah said with genuine affection, "have I mentioned lately that you’re absolutely wonderful?"

"Not today," Mrs. Baker replied, though Mailah could swear she saw the ghost of a smile.

They filed into the warmth of the estate, and Mailah felt something in her chest ease completely. This was safety. This was home. This was—

"Oh good, you’re all alive," a new voice called from the library doorway. "I had a bet going with Carson that you’d make it back without major injuries. He owes me fifty dollars now."

Mailah looked up to find Mason lounging against the doorframe, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who’d just broken into the estate. He was dressed casually—jeans and a dark shirt—but there was nothing casual about the calculating intelligence in his eyes.

"Mason," Grayson said flatly. "What are you doing here?"

"Visiting my dear brother and his wards," Mason replied innocently. "Is that a crime?"

"In this house? Usually." Grayson’s jaw tightened. "How did you get past the wards?"

"I’m your brother," Mason said, as if that explained everything. Which, Mailah supposed, it probably did. "The wards recognize family. Mostly. There was some initial resistance, but I’m very persuasive."

"Translation: you cheated," Lucien supplied helpfully.

"I prefer ’creatively interpreted the magical boundaries,’" Mason corrected. His gaze landed on Oliver and Shadow, and his eyebrows rose. "And who’s this? Collecting strays now, are we?"

"Oliver Thorne," Grayson said curtly. "Hedge witch. Under my protection."

"Ah." Mason’s smile sharpened. "How very... egalitarian of you. Building quite the collection of misfits and rebels."

"Says the demon who feeds on nightmares," Mailah shot back before she could stop herself.

Mason’s attention swiveled to her, and his smile widened with genuine delight. "Oh, charming as usual. No wonder you’re so besotted, brother."

"Mason," Grayson said warningly.

"Relax," Mason replied, pushing off from the doorframe. "I’m not here to cause trouble. Well, not much trouble. I actually came to warn you."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Even Mrs. Baker, who’d been heading toward the kitchen, paused to listen.

"Warn us about what?" Grayson asked carefully.

Mason’s expression turned serious—a rare enough occurrence that it made Mailah’s stomach clench with worry. "The Collective knows about tonight. About the Market, the corrupted familiar, your very dramatic threats to burn worlds down on behalf of your human." He glanced at Mailah. "Nicely done, by the way. Very romantic in a terrifying sort of way."

"Focus, Mason," Grayson said through gritted teeth.

"Right, yes. The point is, they’re not happy. Varrow in particular is making noise about your interference with his property—" he held up a hand at Grayson’s growl, "—his words, not mine. I think we can all agree that humans aren’t property."

"Can we?" Lucien asked mildly. "Because I’ve met at least seven demons tonight who would disagree."

"Which is precisely the problem," Mason continued. "The Collective is planning something. A demonstration, maybe. A challenge to your authority. I don’t have all the details yet, but Carson mentioned they’re organizing."

"Carson’s been talking to you about it?" Grayson asked sharply.

"Carson talks about it to us," Mason replied. "It’s his nature. He collects information like some people collect stamps. The difference is, sometimes he actually shares it." He paused. "He wanted me to pass along that the anniversary wasn’t the end of things. It was the beginning."

Mailah felt Grayson tense beside her, felt the way his hand found hers again like an anchor. "Did Carson say anything else?"

"Just that Lucson is interested in your little revolution," Mason said. "Though whether he’s interested in supporting it or crushing it remains to be seen. You know how he is about ambiguity."

"Lucson is interested in power," Grayson said flatly. "Everything else is just strategy."

"Probably," Mason agreed. "But even Lucson can see which way the wind is blowing. The old systems are fracturing, brother. What you’re doing—whether you meant to or not—is accelerating that fracture. Some people see opportunity in that. Others see threat."

"And which one are you?" Mailah asked, surprising herself with her boldness.

Mason’s smile was enigmatic. "I’m the one who prefers entertainment to stability. Watching you and Grayson dismantle centuries of supernatural tradition while falling adorably in love? That’s better than any nightmare I could craft."

"You’re using us for entertainment?" Mailah said incredulously.

"I’m appreciating the show," Mason corrected. "There’s a difference. Though I’ll admit, I’m curious to see how it ends. Tragedy? Triumph? Some combination of both that reshapes the supernatural landscape forever?"

"Hopefully none of the above," Oliver muttered. Shadow hissed in agreement.

Mason noticed him properly for the first time, his expression shifting to genuine interest. "A familiar that old shouldn’t be with someone so young. How did you manage that?"

"I didn’t manage anything," Oliver said nervously. "Shadow chose me."

"He’s had a long night," Mailah interrupted gently.

"Haven’t we all," Mason agreed. "Which is why I’ll make this brief. Watch your backs."

"Noted," Grayson said curtly. "Now unless you have anything else useful to contribute, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave my house."

"So hostile," Mason sighed. "And here I thought we were bonding." But he moved toward the door anyway, pausing only to address Mailah directly. "Take care of him. He’s better with you than he’s been in centuries, but that also makes him more vulnerable. Demons in love are dangerous—to others, certainly, but mostly to themselves."

"I’ll keep that in mind," Mailah said, unsure whether to be touched or concerned.

"Do." Mason’s smile returned, sharp and knowing. "Oh, and Mailah? Welcome to the family. Such as it is."

And then he was gone—not vanishing like Elara had, but simply walking out the front door like a normal visitor, his footsteps echoing through the entry hall until the night swallowed them completely.

The silence he left behind felt heavy with implications.

"Your family," Mailah said finally, "is really exhausting."

"You have no idea," Grayson replied wearily.

Mrs. Baker, who had remained perfectly still throughout Mason’s visit, finally stirred. "The tea is getting cold. I suggest you all drink it before the effects wear off." She fixed Grayson with a pointed look. "Especially you. You look like you’ve aged a decade tonight."

"I feel like I’ve aged a century," Grayson muttered, but he let Mailah tug him toward the library where the promised tea waited.

Oliver followed with Shadow, looking shell-shocked but determinedly brave.

Lucien had vanished again—angels apparently had impeccable timing for exits—leaving just the three of them to collapse into the library’s comfortable chairs.

The tea was indeed charmed—Mailah could taste the magic in it, bright and restorative, chasing away exhaustion like sunlight burning through fog. She drank deeply, feeling strength return to muscles she hadn’t realized were trembling.

"So," Oliver said after they’d all had several restorative sips, "tonight we survived a supernatural market, met an ancient seer, got threatened by at least five different beings, and received cryptic warnings from Grayson’s nightmare-feeding brother. Is this... is this going to be normal now?"

"Probably," Mailah said apologetically.

"Right." Oliver didn’t sound particularly upset though. If anything, he looked energized by the chaos. "My grandmother would have loved this. She always said the Thorne family was meant for interesting times."

"There’s a curse about interesting times," Grayson observed.

"There’s a curse about everything if you look hard enough," Oliver replied. "Might as well make the most of it."

Shadow purred agreement from his lap, and Mailah couldn’t help but smile.

They really were collecting misfits, weren’t they?

Then—

A loud crash echoed.

They both spun.

Oliver stood there, pale as moonlight, holding a broken crystal. "Uh... so Shadow found something strange."

Grayson groaned. "What did you do?"

"I didn’t do anything!" Oliver protested. "The crystal just exploded. On its own!"

Mailah sighed. "Of course it did."

Grayson’s expression shifted instantly from weary exasperation to cold focus. "Show me."