“Yeah,” Callum said. “She made it when she was a mage at school here.” He swallowed around the hard lump in his throat. He tried not to think about his mother too much, about whether she would have been kinder to Chaos, whether she would have loved him no matter what fingerprints were on his soul.
“I know she died at the Cold m******e,” Celia said. “I’m so sorry.”
Callum cleared his throat. “It’s all right. It was a long time ago. I never really knew her.”
“I never knew my aunt, either,” she said. “I was a baby when she was killed at the Cold m******e. But if I ever got a chance to take revenge, I’d —”
She broke off, looking embarrassed. Chaos had freed himself from the leaves and was trotting up the hill, twigs caught in his fur.
“You’d what?” Callum said.
“I’d kill the Enemy of Dea
