I knew the moment I woke up on the twenty-first of December that the universe was determined to make me suffer. Everything ached. My magic felt like lava under my skin, the curse was glass in my veins.

I was curled up on the couch. A pathetic bundle of blankets glaring at the mug of tea resting on the table. Placed neatly on a coaster. One crafted from a stray piece of wood that was sanded smooth, painted with the image of brightly colored orchids. Contrasting it was the black mug covered red claw marks and an image of a red silhouette of a werewolf.

I was glaring at the mug because it was freshly empty. And that was a personal insult. I was deeply offended by the audacity of my mug to run out of ginger, lemon, and peach tea.

I clutched my blanket close and tried to find a way to stay comfortable. Or as comfortable as my body would allow. This wasn't my weighted blanket, it was an oversized fluffy thing that was comfortable to snuggle with like it was a body pillow.

The tea wasn't really why I was upset. I knew that. My eyes were glowing again. I'd hoped it would stop doing this after what happen with the curse. But yet, here we were. My eyes glowing and showing no signs of stopping. It was stupid. I was too warm and too cold and my curse was itching.

I closed my eyes. Not that it changed anything. I wondered if the light was bright enough to be seen through my eyelids. I hoped not, I was enough of a freak thanks.

I pulled the blanket over my head. This was stupid. I was being stupid. I'd handled this at school with barely any issue why was I falling apart now?

I heard the sound of something being poured. Hot liquid, judging from the sound. I peaked out from under my makeshift cloak. Mom was sitting on the floor with her back against the coffee table. A teapot was resting on a trivet made of bit of yellow cloth stitched together with visible white thread.

I was proud of myself for not glaring at her.

She was smiling like nothing was wrong. Not a fake reassuring smile, but a real one. She was looking at me like I was a puppy snuggling a stuffed bear.

"I don't feel comfortable messing with your magic when you're like this," she announced.

I let out a pathetic whine. I didn't have enough energy to really complain.

"Do you want to hear a story?" Mom asked. With such little preamble I wasn't entirely sure what she was talking about.

"What?" My voice was barely more than a creak.

"There's a bunch of stories I haven't told you," Mom continued. "What do you think? How about something about Malcarg and Jantres?"

I didn't answer. I wasn't sure if I wanted it, but maybe a momentary distraction would be nice right about now.

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"I'll talk, and if I annoy you too much tell me."

I nodded.

"History doesn't tell you this, but I think Jantres was Malcarg's favorite out of their group."

Hadn't they met first? The others had come later if Dellik's history lectures were right. It wouldn't be that strange if they were a bit closer.

"Malcarg died before the school opened. And Jantres was the one who kept his legacy alive. We're here because of him, from the opening of the school to looking after the Coven in the early days."

This wasn't a story.

"There's a bit of debate on what their relationship was. I think it was something like what you might have someday. Not really romantic, but not like siblings."

I didn't react to that. I remembered when Dragon Tower had shown us the image of Jantres and his knife.

"None of the other Towers are sentient," I mumbled.

"As far as I know. Sylphid Tower never spoke to me. And I certainly never saw any of its walls move to answer questions. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Jantres. The undead was his thing. Did he deal with ghosts?"

"Ghosts?" Mom looked so confused by my tangent.

"Dragon Tower. Could it be a ghost Jantres placed there?"

She blinked. "You think he bound a ghost to the Tower?" She paused to give it some thought. "I suppose that makes more sense than being the only instance of a spell creating sentience out of thin air."

I gasped. Not in pain, in shock. Then I sat up suddenly. "Malcarg!"

"What?" Mom looked even more confused.

"One of the Echoes." I tried to explain while still talking around the whole Red thing. "It was talking to the tower and gave someone the nickname 'M'. The way they were talking, it sounded like it was aimed at the Tower, not at another student." Red asked M to end the Echo. If M was the spirit of Dragon Tower then of course he could do that. M for Malcarg.

I could see the gears clicking in her head. "Holy Hecate…"

I agreed.

"Why on Earth would Jantres bind Malcarg's soul to the Tower?" Mom pondered.

"He doesn't…seem mad about it."

"After two thousand years, I can't imagine how he feels about it now."

"Two thousand years. I think if he wanted to be set free he would have done it."

"You think he…likes being bound?"

"I don't know. I'll have to ask. I'm just saying with that kind of time and all the generations of people coming and going, setting him free should have been possible so why not?"

"Maybe. Depending on what kind of spell Jantres used…it should at least be doable. Give mini-Kingsley a few years and he could do it."

"He has a name."

She chuckled for a bit before settling down. "If Malcarg is in there and he doesn't want to be freed, it still asks the question as why."

"Do you know how Malcarg died?" I asked.

"According to family history, a sickness of some kind. I don't know the specifics. The accounts mention a cough that was sometimes bloody."

Too vague to even begin guessing what it might have been. But it made me wonder. Sick and dying and in the midst of building a school and legacy. If he wanted to see his work to the end… Would he ask Jantres to bind him? Would Jantres have said yes?

"I can't imagine living that long after Victor. A decade or two I could manage, but hundreds of years? I can't imagine asking for that. Especially from Victor himself."

"Is…is that common? To bind a loved one's spirit to an object when they die?"

"It's seen as…grotesque. I guess would be the word for it. It's…how do I put this…it's viewed like taxidermying your grandmother and keeping her in the living room."

"Gross."

"Exactly."

And yet…Malcarg was there. Despite it being looked down on by the rest of the world. Not hurting anyone and existing in peace.

So many new questions for when I returned to school.

"When I die, I just want to rest. I don't want to exist forever."

"Me too. I've told your dad to just cremate me and put me in soil to plant clover."

"And risk being turned into honey?"

"That's exactly what I want."

"Plant a holly tree in my ashes," I told her. "I think I'm starting to become attached to them."

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