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He sat me in a booth. Audrey and Carolina slid in beside me while Mack remained standing, broad enough to discourage anyone from turning curiosity into commentary.

Mrs. Chen approached first. “The High Priestess says you’ve corrupted her daughter.”

Carolina stiffened.

“I can barely corrupt a load of laundry,” I said. “Last week I turned everything pink.”

“That was my red dress,” Carolina muttered.

“Evidence of corruption,” Lucy called from the bar.

A few people laughed. Others didn’t.

Mrs. Chen placed a paper bag on the table. Four blood packets, fresh enough that heat still clung to them. “Jacqueline told merchants not to serve you. My store is mine. She can hex my prices if she dislikes it.”

“Thank you,” I said.

A young witch near the jukebox stood abruptly. “You don’t understand. If we defy her, our families pay.”

“I do understand,” Carolina said. “That’s why she keeps winning.”

The witch’s face crumpled. She left without another word.

One by one, the room divided. A goblin offered to repair my door at cost. The librarian promised access to restricted curse texts. Two coven witches refused to meet Carolina’s eyes and slipped out the back. No grand rebellion. No heroic speech. Just frightened people deciding which fear they could live with.

Dean set a key on the table.

“Upstairs room,” he said. “Wards are older than Jacqueline’s position. You two need somewhere to disappear, use it.”

“She could destroy your bar,” I said.

“She could try.” His wolf flashed in his eyes. “This place survived Prohibition, three hellmouth leaks, and karaoke night with a banshee. I like its chances.”

Carolina covered the key with her hand. “Why are you helping us?”

Dean looked toward the sign above the door: NO HUMANS ALLOWED. Someone had taped a smaller note beneath it that read: EXCEPT AUDREY. SHE’S SCARY.

“Because rules are supposed to protect a community,” he said. “Not protect the person who made them.”

The answer settled over the table.

I had come expecting judgment. Instead, I found groceries, shelter, bad jokes, and a room full of people who were scared but no longer silent.

It still wasn’t enough. Jacqueline’s curse was eating through every protection Mack installed. Carolina was losing her family one frightened face at a time.

Someone had to end it.

So I made the only move left.

I was going to beg.

For one perfect heartbeat during the ritual, I’d felt whole. The bond had cracked the curse wide enough for my real nature to surge through: graceful, strong, free. Then her power slammed the curse shut again. She arrived moments later and twisted it until it hurt to breathe. That single heartbeat was almost worse than never knowing what she’d stolen. Now I remembered exactly what freedom felt like.

I couldn’t spend the rest of my life remembering that heartbeat and waiting for the next blow.

She hadn’t merely restored the original curse. She’d made it worse. The clumsiness was back, but now it came with pain: a constellation of new bruises appearing even without impact, joints that ached as though I’d been beaten, and muscles that spasmed and locked without warning. The bond had given me back my grace just long enough to remember what I’d lost. She’d taken it away and twisted the knife.

The blood Dean pressed into my hands helped. By the second bag, the trembling had eased enough for me to stand. By the third, I could cross the room without my legs folding beneath me.