I couldn't remember how we got back to my apartment.

When I regained consciousness, I was lying on a sofa. It took me a moment to recognize where I was, but the familiar wall art in the living room of my one bedroom apartment gave it away. I was still cold, but not as terribly shaky as before, and I slowly realized that someone had tucked me in underneath an electric blanket.

Probably Dante.

I groaned as I pushed myself up to a sitting position, keeping the blanket pulled over me for warmth. All I really wanted was to go back to sleep, but I wasn't sure if that was a good or bad plan after significant blood loss.

"Ah, she's awake."

A humanoid form seemed to peel away from the shadows, revealing Dante standing guard. I wasn't sure if it was the vampire magic or my hazy vision that caused him to blend in with the darkness so well. He walked closer, bending down a little to examine my face and my still-aching neck wound.

"I'm sorry. He wasn't particularly gentle, but it should heal by morning," he murmured. With him this close, I could see the pointed fangs peeking out of his mouth... and I had to try very, very hard not to think of the fact that he'd licked my wound closed.

I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

Instead of looking at his fangs, I focused my eyes on the shadows behind him, looking past his face and letting my gaze land on...

Wings.

I blinked, wondering if the Threads were playing tricks on my eyes, but no. They were actually there this time, not the shimmering, hazy outline that I normally saw.

Blue and black butterfly wings, absolutely massive and half obscured by the shadows in my dimly-lit apartment, extended from Dante's back. They were big enough to be flight-worthy, and they matched the ghostly silhouette I'd seen in his Threads when he came through the shop.

My mouth dropped open as I leaned to the side, almost falling over on the sofa in my lopsided attempt to see a little better. I knew some Sylvans had wings, fae especially, but I'd never seen them up close. I'd never heard of a vampire with wings before, though.

"Ah-HA!" I cried, pointing. "I knew you had wings somewhere!"

"Really? That's the first reaction after you wake up?" he snorted, letting out a quiet laugh.

"Cut me some slack..." I grumbled, crossing my arms over my chest. My first reaction could be whatever I wanted. I'd almost died. I thought I deserved a little slack at the moment.

Dante just sighed as he ran a hand through his white hair, but he didn't seem upset. "I keep them glamored under normal circumstances, but I imagine I can't hide them from you entirely. Can't keep an essential part of your being from someone who can see the Threads of Fate."

The...

The Threads...

Oh, no.

"I didn't... tell you about that," I said slowly, still trying to fight through the drowsiness. "Or where I live."

"You didn't, no," he deadpanned, not bothering to elaborate. "Your driver's license took care of the address, if I'm honest. Do you have wards?"

"What kind of witch would I be if I didn't have wards?" I sighed, rolling my eyes. I might not present as the sharpest crayon in the box, but I deserved a little more credit than that.

"A stupid one," Dante deadpanned, glancing around the apartment. "You should be safe here, at least for now, but I'd like to speak with you about moving somewhere else, and soon."

"Right." I spoke slowly, my memories coming back in fragments. "You said you were assigned to protect me?"

"Yes, by the Sylvan Council," he said casually, digging in his coat pocket for something. "Which, by the way— take this."

He tossed a long, narrow object at me that looked very much like an Epi-Pen. I managed to catch it, but I didn't know what to do with it. It wasn't labeled, just a clear plastic pen with a vial inside and a trigger button.

"Vampire venom antidote," Dante explained. "I don't know if he infected you or not, so it's best to have it on hand if you start feeling symptoms. The antidote feels like hell running through your system, I'll warn you, but it'll burn out the venom and keep you from changing. I counteracted the saliva effects, but the venom antidote is... best not taken unless it's fully necessary."

I stared at the pen with my mouth open, looking back and forth from it to Dante until something dawned on me.

"The Sylvan Council?" I squawked. The same Sylvan Council that would probably be fine with putting my head on a sacrificial platter just because I'm a witch? That council?

"Why do you think I'm in your shop so often?"

"I... thought you liked my tea," I admitted sheepishly, turning the antidote injector over in my hands. It was both flattering to me and endearing to see him coming in for new tea blends each week.

Dante opened his mouth. Then he closed it again.

"The... tea is good, too," he muttered, cheeks flushing, eyes suddenly glued to the floor.

That made me smile, which I desperately needed at the moment. At least it hadn't all been a lie.

"So... do you want tea while you tell me what the fuck is going on? Because I think I need some for my nerves."

"Tea... sounds nice, yes," Dante said, nodding. "You should sit, though. I'll get it."

"Fine by me," I muttered, slumping back against the sofa. I was still cold and tired, not to mention that my neck was incredibly sore. I'd concede to letting someone else make me tea in my own kitchen.

Dante didn't ask for directions, instead opting to open cabinets until he found the mugs, then reaching for the pink tea kettle that constantly lived on my stovetop. I finally started to feel a little more awake as he filled the kettle with water. Adrenaline obscured some bits of my memory, but I could clearly recall leaving the witch social, deciding to walk home, and then...

Well, then a vampire attacked me.

"That vampire," I said slowly. "He called me 'Weaver.'"

"You are the Weaver," Dante said casually. "I don't see why that would be strange."

"What does that even mean?" I groaned, resting my head in my hands.

He paused then, going stock still for a moment with his hand hovering over my kettle. Dante seemed like he might have been reading my Threads for a moment, like he was trying to calculate what to say, how to respond, but in the end...

"You really don't know?" he asked, brow furrowing.

"I know I see Threads, and that I can read them by shape and color. If I want to, I can use them to look into the future. Clearly, you know all that, too," I said. "I also know that I can look all I want, but messing with them has consequences. Bad ones, usually."

That was essentially all I knew, though. Even my mother and grandmother were disturbed by and a little afraid of my ability to manipulate fate itself. My grandmother was about two steps shy of considering it a curse, but both were happy to dismiss it as a childhood fantasy. They told me to work on my other witch magic instead.

I did, sort of. I preferred running a decently mundane apothecary for less-than-mundane clientele. I could work spells, of course, like the smothering spell to put out the fire, but nothing complex. Nothing specialized. I never took to elemental magic, healing, necromancy, or even divination that didn't lean on my knowledge of fate Threads. I refused to cast love spells, never connected with crystals beyond seeing them as pretty rocks, and still couldn't read or interpret any charts related to astrology if my life depended on it.

To my family, I was admittedly a bit of a magical failure, leaning on my mundane knowledge of herbs instead of actual magic. For me, though, it was always the Threads guiding me. It was always that knowledge that let me do what I was able to do, from herbal remedies to divination.

It was just that no one believed how I was able to do it.

Sure, I took notes. I expanded on the processes. I made connections so that I could operate without the Threads. They were always there, though, a lingering presence just in case I needed them, and sometimes a temptation I simply had to shove away.

"Have you ever noticed that no one else, no witch and no Sylvan, has the same magical abilities that you do?" Dante asked slowly.

I had. I wasn't oblivious to that. "I just... I thought it was just rare."

"Rare is an understatement. Once every few generations, someone like you is born with the ability to manipulate the Threads of Fate." He opened the cabinet and retrieved two mugs, placing them on the kitchen counter. "You are the only one in the world who can do what you do."

Well, that was... not as surprising as it probably should be. I'd never run into anyone else who could do what I did. It made sense that it was because no one else with these abilities existed, but it was scary— no, utterly terrifying— to have that confirmed.

I didn't ask for this. I didn't want this magic. The Threads always caused more trouble for me than anything else in my life, from wrecking friendships to minor disasters to... the summer I didn't talk about.

Everyone wants to be special, I guess, but it's usually not very fun finding out that you are special. It typically came with too much responsibility and a whole lot of loneliness, and I wasn't really excited about either of those things. All I wanted to do was live my life.

Apparently, that wasn't as easy a task as I'd thought.

"Why me?" I asked, eyes following him as he moved around the kitchen, turning on the stove to heat up water for the tea.

"I can't answer that. All I know is that the Sylvan Court knows about your magic, and they've been keeping an eye on you via... Well, me," Dante said, huffing as he fiddled with his hair. I wondered if it was a nervous habit. "Where's the tea?"

"How?" I asked. "And— under the corner cabinet. It's in the tea box."

"You have a tea box?" he asked, nose wrinkling as he frowned.

"Are you seriously judging my tea storage?" I deadpanned.

"It's just... it's so specific..." he said. "I never even drank tea before I tried samples in your shop."

"Dante," I sighed. "Stay on track."

I was admittedly happy at the thought that I'd gotten him to start drinking tea, though.

"I don't know how the Council found out about you in the first place," he admitted. "But after that fireball the other day, I... Well, I wasn't going to stand by and let you get hurt. I only found out about it hours later."

"Thanks, Dante," I whispered. Something in my chest ached at that. I was sorry to have suspected him as the potential culprit behind the fireball incident.

"You're my friend. Or, I'd like to think you are," he said, shrugging awkwardly. "In any case, I think it's time you met the Council."

"You want me to go meet the Sylvan Council?" I blinked incredulously. "Why?"

"I think it's obvious that more people than just the Council have managed to sniff out your magic, but I can guarantee that the Council will protect you from the rest if you go to them."

I wanted to believe him. I did.

"It's just... Why would I have any reason to trust the Council?," I asked, resting my head in my hands. "Half of the established Sylvan communities have laws against witches living there, we don't have any representation on the Council itself, and let's not forget that a Sylvan just tried to kill me. Like, this happened hours ago," I snapped.

"A Sylvan sent by the Council also saved your life," Dante pointed out, raising an eyebrow. It was a fair point.

"I..." I paused, crossing my arms over my chest. "How do I know it's not an elaborate setup?"

Dante paused, seeming to consider.

"I'll make you an offer," he said. "Listen to what I have to say, consider coming to talk to the Council, and I'll heal your arm for you."

"You... can do that?" I breathed, eyes going wide.

Witches, as energy manipulators, could only do so much with our magic. There was a price for everything, a way the world had to stay in balance, even for Sylvans. However, for witches, the price was usually much higher. In the case of healing magic, that meant pain during the healing process, and a lot of it.

It also meant that witches typically couldn't perform magic as powerful as Sylvans. My mom had done quite a lot of repair work on my arm, but it wasn't fully healed, not by a long shot.

"There will be some scarring. I can't take that away," Dante admitted. "I can repair the worst of the damage, though, and it should save you weeks of painful healing."

"Okay," I said, already shrugging off my sweater and reaching to unwrap the bandage on my arm. If Dante could fix this for me, I didn't mind spending a few minutes listening to what he had to say.

I winced as the bandage painfully peeled away from the still-raw skin. Even with a poultice and my mom's magic, it was still raw and painful. Air exposure only made it worse, the burns flaring more than the pain in my neck from the vampire bite.

"Fuck, that's nasty," Dante hissed, grimacing.

"Tell me about it," I muttered, gritting my teeth. Anyone without access to healing magic would have needed to go to the hospital for burn treatment.

"Can I touch?" he asked, reaching out towards my arm, but not making contact yet.

"... Gently, please," I said quietly, watching as he brought his hand closer. Healing magic worked better with skin contact, and I assumed that was true for both witches and Sylvans, but I wasn't looking forward to paying the price for this healing.

As Dante gently traced his fingertips over the wound, starting at my shoulder and working downwards, the wounds felt cold and warm in turn. I couldn't bring myself to look as he worked— healing magic was freaky to watch. As cool as the idea of skin knitting itself back together might be as a concept, it was pretty disturbing in reality.

The cold eventually turned to warmth and settled there, and the warmth turned to an itch. And then a stronger itch. Then, after that, an itch that seemed to burn— but only for a few seconds. It wasn't true pain, not in an excruciating way. It was more like a bug bite or a rash settling down.

And then it was over.

"You can look now," Dante said.

When I finally turned to see, he was smirking at me, but I was too distracted by the state of my arm. Before, the skin was raw and covered in gaping wounds, some still bleeding or oozing. Now, some of the residue from those wounds remained, but the skin underneath was healed. I needed a shower to wash off the grime and the gore, but only scars remained.

"How did you do that?" I whispered, marveling at the sight of my skin as I ran my free hand over my arm. The scars looked silvery and new, yes, but properly healed, and without any of the same pain that my mother's healing caused. "Is this a vampire thing, too?"

"I'm only a quarter vampire," he said, smiling so that his fangs showed. "Most of my lineage is fae, but I do have a few tricks up my sleeve. Not unlike you, I think."

"I don't... I don't do that anymore," I said, wrapping my arms around my chest. "I don't touch the Threads. The Council doesn't need to worry about that, trust me."

Never again. Never.

"We're not looking for only you. There's someone else involved in this," he explained, leaning in close and lowering his voice. "Magic has a balance to it. When someone with the skill set of the Weaver appears, there has to be a foil to them. There has to be someone to swing the scale back, just in case the Weaver goes too far."

"And who is that?"

"The Hourglass."

I blinked. That just seemed a little silly for a code name.

"You sound like you're telling me a fairy tale," I said with a snort.

"I am, in a way," Dante mused, frowning. "It's a... pattern we've seen happen over and over in the Sylvan records. The Weaver appears somewhere in the mundane world, and then shortly after, so does the Hourglass."

"And then what?"

"Never anything good," he muttered. "There's a reason the Dark Ages are called that."

"You're not serious," I scoffed, shaking my head as a manic laugh slipped out. Dante only stared, though, his bright blue eyes absolutely piercing.

He was serious.

"Shit," I muttered, smile dropping immediately.

"Deep shit," he agreed. "In the meantime, I'm supposed to tell you not to use your magic. Apparently your powers are tied to the Hourglass, so using them in limited capacities is best."

"I don't use it anymore," I said with a sigh. "I learned that lesson back when I was about sixteen. No cutting threads. No using my magic. Ever."

It was too dangerous. I just couldn't risk it anymore. The power to alter the fabric of reality was too much, not to mention the cost involved to change big events. I wouldn't risk putting anyone else in danger... not after what happened that year.

"Sunday," Dante said softly. "You can't just choose not to use magic like yours. It's an innate part of you. It would be like me trying to say that I don't have wings."

"I told you— I haven't cut any Threads," I insisted. "I haven't touched a thing, not in years."

"No, Sunday. Walking around and looking at Threads is enough to shift things in minuscule ways. Using Threads for divination, even as an observational tool, is enough to change things. It's not just about cutting and tying. It's about the knowledge itself." He spoke gently, but it felt like knives in my chest.

I hated that everything he was saying made sense.

The Threads themselves were very sensitive. They reflected the ebb and flow of the fabric of the universe, and they could certainly changed based on a change in someone's mental state. It didn't have to be just my metaphysical meddling that changed Threads. If I wanted to, I could convince someone to change their own Threads based solely on my foreknowledge. Turn left instead of right. Get the other peanut butter brand because the normal one will give you food poisoning. Little things.

I was stupid to think those little observations wouldn't count, but it's how I'd been operating for years. In the realm of maintaining balance, it made sense that it still counted. No matter how small, no matter how innocent, my adjustments based on foreknowledge had an impact.

What was that people said about the wings of a butterfly causing a hurricane somewhere else?

"How do you know all this?" I finally asked.

"I'll bring something for you tomorrow. It'll explain a few things."

I certainly hoped it out.