As they prepared to slip out, it was Herman who hesitated. “If we’re caught…” he muttered, tail flicking.

  “We won’t be,” Minnie said firmly, adjusting the strap of her satchel. “The Crone’s out. The bees scouted the way. Everything’s in place.”

  Herman blinked at her, surprised by her certainty. “Well. Someone’s feeling bold.”

  “I’m not bold,” she replied. “I’m following the pull. It hasn’t led me wrong yet.”

  The cat gave a sceptical snort. “That’s a comforting thought, until it leads you straight into a meat grinder.”

  Minnie met his gaze without flinching. “Then I’ll climb out and keep going.”

  For a beat, Herman said nothing. Then, with a low grunt, he trotted to her side.

  “You know,” he said casually, “you’re a bit too fearless for a mortal.”

  She gave him a sideways look. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying,” Herman replied, “that I’m an immortal god, and even I don’t waltz around the Crone’s castle like I own the place.”

  He paused, then added with a curl of his lip, “Maybe, you should try dying sometime. You’d be surprised what you can live through.”

  Minnie raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you show me how it’s done?”

  Herman let out a soft laugh, almost fond. “Fine. Lead the way, Miss Destiny.”

  Minnie sighed, and it wasn’t all exasperation. Beneath the worry, a thrill stirred in her chest, the strange, electric feeling of doing something that mattered. Something that fit. She scooped Herman into her arms and pulled the cloak tight around them both, its shimmer wrapping them like divine light.

  The halls were still. Only the hum of far-off magic and the distant groan of the castle settling for the night broke the quiet. She crept through the hidden passages with practiced ease, the bees flitting ahead of her like scouts. She no longer wondered how they always knew the way; they simply did. And she trusted them.

  The treasure room was just as she’d left it: choked with dust, cluttered with gleam and shadow, smelling of old power and long neglect.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The air prickled with energy, and she realized it was stronger now, as if something in her were tuning itself, slowly, to the magic around her.

  Herman leapt from her arms onto a low table, his golden eyes already scanning the hoard with focused intensity.

  “The Crone only keeps the strongest magic,” he murmured, tail flicking. “All this is just clutter. Broken toys.”

  Minnie trailed after him, her fingers itching with curiosity but too aware of the danger to touch. There was so much power here, humming under layers of dust: daggers with jewelled hilts, crystals that pulsed faintly, strange metal contraptions whose purposes were long forgotten.

  It reminded her of Fin somehow, and made her ache for him, not with fear or mystery anymore, but with a quiet, unwavering pull. The way one feels the sun behind a cloud.

  Herman prowled with purpose, pausing now and then to sniff or tap at an object, muttering to himself. Then, without warning, he headed for a cluttered cabinet, flung it open, and dumped its contents to the floor with one sharp swipe.

  He pawed through the mess until he uncovered a golden staff, ornately worked, with two snakes coiled around its head. Their gem-set eyes glinted in the pale light.

  Minnie looked at him curiously. He absolutely radiated with affection. This was a strange new side of him.

  “That’s what you came for,” she said softly.

  Herman didn’t answer right away. He laid the staff reverently on the floor, pressing his forehead to it, then licked its surface.

  “Yes,” he whispered, a gleam in his eye. “My baby. My true love. My greatest accomplishment.”

  Minnie raised an eyebrow. “So your greatest achievement isn’t strong enough to catch the Crone’s attention?”

  The cat bristled. “The Caduceus is attuned to me. No one else can draw its true strength.”

  With casual brutality, he swept a nearby table clear and placed the staff upon it with all the care of a holy relic.

  “I’ll pick it up when I leave,” he said, voice low. “It’d be suicide to carry it around right now. But it’s mine.”

  He turned back to the piles and began selecting items more carefully now. Minnie didn’t know what he was looking for, but splendour definitely wasn’t a factor. The first item that caught his attention was a wooden hairbrush, smooth and delicately carved with spiralling vines. A few green strands were still tangled in its bristles.

  “Dryad’s brush,” Herman said, placing it on a vacated shelf. “Will grant you favour in the forest. Might be useful if we ever make it that far.”

  The second was a towel, soft and finely embroidered with fish in gliding motion. It was still faintly damp, as if freshly used.

  “Rusalka’s towel,” Herman commented, putting it near the brush. “Good for crossing water without drowning. Wouldn’t recommend it to a young man, but you should be fine.”

  The third item was a small glass jar, plain and round. Herman hurled it off a high shelf with no warning, and Minnie caught it just before it hit the floor. Inside, faint bluish lights flickered through murky liquid.

  “Pickled will-o’-wisps,” he announced. “They’ll turn any land into a swamp. Very helpful if you are pursued cross-country.”

  He gave a satisfied huff and licked his paw like a cat full of cleverness.

  “The rest of it might be more expensive,” he mused aloud. “But these will help us when we run.”

  Minnie stared at the items, worn, but strange and powerful. Her heartbeat quickened as she registered the shift in his words.

  Not if we run. When.

  That single word thrilled her, terrified her, and filled her with quiet purpose.

  Herman was preparing, and so should she.