Chapter 9:Echoes,Entrance and Sisters with a Thousand Opinions
The masquerade's aftermath hung in the air like glitter clinging to skin—sparkling, inconvenient, and impossible to ignore. As Maribel and Lucien returned to the tower, the echoes of their battle with the Phantom of the Bind whispered through the magical networks. Rumors swirled like wildfire. Some said the Phantom was a bitter ex-lover of Lucien's, others believed he was a manifestation of the tether's instability. A few claimed it was just Isadora in a dramatic mood with an enchanted voice modulator. No one could agree, but everyone had something to say.
Maribel had something to say too, but it mostly involved the words "hot bath," "giant sandwich," and "six uninterrupted hours of sleep." What she did not say out loud—but thought about more than once—was that the tether felt different now. Not just stable. It felt… symphonic. As if their hearts beat in harmony even while they argued about whether pineapples belonged in potion brewing (they didn't), or if wearing matching cloaks was romantic or weird (it was both).
Lucien, for his part, floated around the tower more than usual. Literally floated. His robes shimmered with residual magic, and his demeanor had softened in tiny, almost undetectable ways. He complimented her magical theory scrolls. He brought her lemon muffins. He even, in a moment of profound vulnerability, let her organize his spell shelf by mood rather than alphabetical order.
"It's emotionally intuitive now," Maribel said proudly.
"It's chaos," Lucien replied. "But somehow… working."
One afternoon, a week after the masquerade, a knock came at the tower door—not a magical knock, not a floating parchment, but a very physical, very annoyed sort of knock.
Lucien opened the door and sighed.
Standing there, arms crossed, was a tall woman with green hair coiled like serpents, eyes like molten bronze, and an aura of "I will hex you into a lawn ornament if you breathe wrong." She wore leather boots, a traveling cloak, and an expression that spelled "sibling drama" in ancient runes.
"Hello, Lysandra," Lucien said.
"Don't you 'hello' me, bone boy," she snapped. "You didn't answer any of my spells. Then I hear you're soul-tethered to a living enchantress and fighting masquerade phantoms in public? What the undead hell, Lucien?!"
Maribel peeked from behind a bookshelf. "You have a sister?!"
"Half-sister," Lucien muttered.
"Whole problem," Lysandra added.
Lysandra stomped into the room, examining Maribel like she was an unstable potion bottle. "You're her, then. The tethered girl. The—what's your official label now? Magical liability? Sentimental hazard?"
"Enchanted pain in the ass," Maribel replied sweetly.
Lysandra blinked. "Okay. I like you. But I still don't trust you."
"Fair. I don't even trust me."
Lucien sighed and gestured for calm. "She's here to help, not to start another family feud."
"I'm here because the Necrotic Assembly is sniffing around," Lysandra said, pacing. "They don't like unstable bonds. They really don't like undead romantically involved with the living."
Maribel frowned. "Isn't that, like… super common now?"
"It's becoming trendy," Lucien admitted. "But the Assembly still clings to the old ways. No emotion. No attachments. Just study, spells, and eternal taxes."
"They think you're compromised," Lysandra said bluntly. "They think your soul-tether will turn you weak. That your heart will unmake your power."
Lucien looked out the window. "They may be right."
Maribel crossed her arms. "Hey. Don't start that melodramatic gloom spiral. You're strong. And you're not alone."
He glanced at her, something unreadable in his eyes.
Later that night, while Lysandra warded the perimeter with salt circles and sarcastic commentary, Lucien and Maribel stood on the tower balcony. The stars above shimmered like pinpricks of possibility.
"I keep thinking about what that Phantom said," Maribel said quietly. "That our love is unnatural."
Lucien didn't speak.
"I don't know what's normal in this world anymore," she went on. "But what I feel… it's real. Messy. Complicated. But real."
He looked at her. "So is fear."
"I'm scared too," she whispered. "But I'd rather face it with you than run from it."
He stepped closer. The tether between them glowed softly. "I have lived for centuries, Maribel. Known silence, solitude, and sacrifice. I thought love would undo me."
She touched his hand. "Maybe it will. But maybe that's the point."
He kissed her—slow, fierce, desperate.
And in the darkness, something watched.
From the shadows beyond the wards, a figure took note.
The Phantom had been a test.
The real threat had not yet arrived.
And when it did… love would not be enough