Updated Apr 13, 2026 • ~8 min read
Chapter 16: Protection Spell
Sage
Sage’s hands are shaking as she sets up the protection ritual in her apartment, and she hates it, hates showing weakness, but she came too close to losing Oliver today and the terror hasn’t faded yet.
“Are you sure about this?” Oliver asks, watching her arrange candles and salt in precise patterns. “Morgan said the bond is permanent.”
“I’m sure,” Sage says, not looking at him because if she looks, she might see doubt in his eyes, might see hesitation about binding himself magically to someone as damaged as her.
“Okay,” Oliver says simply, and Sage’s chest tightens because he trusts her, actually trusts her with this.
The protection bond is ancient magic—the kind Sage’s grandmother taught her but warned her never to use lightly, because linking yourself to another person’s life force is intimate in ways that go beyond physical or emotional connection.
Once the spell is complete, Sage will be able to sense Oliver’s emotions, his location, his danger. And Oliver will sense hers. They’ll be connected until one of them dies, and the surviving partner will carry the echo of that bond for the rest of their life.
It’s terrifying. It’s necessary. It’s what Sage should have done for her coven five years ago, except she was too young and too proud and by the time she was desperate enough to try, there was no one left to protect.
“I need your blood,” Sage says, pulling out the ceremonial knife she uses for magical workings. “And it’s going to hurt.”
“I’m familiar with pain,” Oliver says, offering his hand without hesitation, and Sage carefully cuts across his palm—not deep, but enough for blood to well up dark and red.
She cuts her own palm next, the pain sharp and grounding, and presses their wounded hands together, palm to palm, blood mixing as she begins the incantation her grandmother taught her.
The magic rises immediately—Sage’s power recognizing Oliver’s trace sensitivity and reaching for it, and Oliver gasps as the connection forms, threads of magic binding them together in ways that Sage feels all the way to her bones.
“This binds us magically,” Sage explains, voice rough from power channeling through her. “You’ll feel if I’m in danger. I’ll feel if you’re in danger. The bond can’t be broken except by death.”
“Understood,” Oliver says, and his hand tightens around hers, accepting the binding.
Sage finishes the incantation, and the spell settles into place with a warmth that spreads through her chest, unfamiliar and comforting and terrifying all at once.
She can feel Oliver now. Not just physically—his hand in hers, his presence in her space—but magically, emotionally, like a constant awareness at the edge of her consciousness. She can sense his determination, his fear for her, his affection that’s growing into something deeper.
“It worked,” Oliver says, wonder in his voice. “I can feel you. Your magic, your… emotions?”
“The bond goes both ways,” Sage confirms, reluctantly releasing his hand even though the physical connection felt right in ways she’s not ready to examine. “Which means you’ll know if I’m scared or hurt or—”
“Or falling for me?” Oliver suggests, grinning despite the blood still dripping from his palm.
Sage glares at him, but she knows he can feel through the bond that it’s not real anger, just defensive deflection.
“This isn’t funny, Reyes. I just permanently tied us together magically. Do you understand what that means?”
“It means we protect each other,” Oliver says, and his voice goes soft, serious. “It means you’re not alone anymore, even when you’re trying to be. It means I’ll know if you’re in danger and I can help.”
“It means you’ll be a target,” Sage corrects. “The Collector will sense the bond and use it against us. You’ll be leverage.”
“I was already leverage,” Oliver points out, wrapping his hand in bandages with practiced ease. “At least now I’ll know if you’re in trouble.”
They clean up the ritual materials in silence, and Sage is hyper-aware of Oliver’s emotions through the bond—concern for her, determination to help, affection that makes her chest warm, fear that he’s trying to hide but can’t quite manage through the magical connection.
“I can feel that you’re scared,” Sage says quietly. “The bond… it makes emotions transparent.”
“I am scared,” Oliver admits. “We’re fighting an immortal entity who wants to kill you, I almost died today, and we’re running out of time. Being scared seems reasonable.”
“But you’re staying anyway,” Sage observes.
“Of course I’m staying,” Oliver says, like there was never any other option. “Sage, I’m in this. All the way in. The bond doesn’t change that—it just makes it official.”
Sage doesn’t know how to respond to that kind of certainty, that kind of commitment, so she does what she always does when emotions get too intense—she deflects.
“We should test the range,” she says, moving toward her bedroom. “See how far apart we can get before the bond weakens.”
She makes it to her doorway before she feels it—a pull through the bond, not painful but insistent, like elastic stretched too far—and when she turns back, Oliver is watching her with knowing eyes.
“It doesn’t weaken,” he says gently. “Does it? The bond stays strong regardless of distance.”
“I was just—”
“You were running,” Oliver interrupts, but there’s no accusation in his voice. “From intensity, from intimacy, from having someone who can actually feel what you’re feeling. And that’s okay, Sage. I get it. But you can’t run from this bond. It’s permanent.”
Sage wants to argue, wants to insist she’s not running, but Oliver can feel through the connection that she’s panicking, that the intimacy of the bond is overwhelming in ways she wasn’t prepared for.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Sage admits, voice small. “How to let someone in this completely.”
“You don’t have to know how,” Oliver says, echoing words he’s said before. “You just have to not push me away when it gets scary.”
“Everything about this is scary,” Sage says.
“I know,” Oliver agrees. “But we’re scared together now. That’s what the bond means.”
He’s right, Sage can feel it—their fear is shared now, flowing through the connection, and somehow that makes it more bearable instead of worse.
“Come here,” Oliver says, not a command but an invitation, and Sage crosses the space between them and lets him pull her into a hug that feels like safety.
Through the bond, she can feel his emotions clearly: affection, determination, fear for her, hope for them, and underneath it all, growing steadily stronger, love.
He loves her. He hasn’t said it yet, is giving her time to catch up, but the bond doesn’t lie and Oliver’s feelings are crystalline in their clarity.
Sage should be terrified. She is terrified. But she’s also… relieved? Because through the bond she can feel that Oliver’s love isn’t conditional, isn’t fragile, isn’t going to disappear the moment Sage fails to be perfect or strong or anything other than exactly what she is.
“I can feel that you’re processing something intense,” Oliver murmurs against her hair. “Want to share?”
“You love me,” Sage says, and it’s not a question.
Oliver stiffens slightly, then relaxes. “Yeah. I do. I was going to wait to say it until after the case, but apparently the bond has other plans.”
“I’m not there yet,” Sage admits. “I want to be, but I’m not. Is that okay?”
“It’s perfect,” Oliver says, and through the bond Sage feels that he means it, feels that he’s genuinely patient, genuinely willing to wait for her to catch up.
They stand there, holding each other, connected by more than just physical proximity now, and Sage lets herself feel the bond, lets herself accept that she’s not alone anymore, that Oliver is with her in ways that can’t be undone.
“When this is over,” Sage says quietly, “when the Collector is dead and we’re safe—”
“If you’re about to make promises about our future, maybe save them,” Oliver interrupts gently. “Until we know we have a future.”
He’s right, and Sage hates it, but he’s right.
“Okay,” she agrees. “But Oliver?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For staying. For accepting the bond. For being patient with me.”
Through the connection, she feels his response before he says it: warmth, affection, determination.
“Always,” Oliver says, and Sage believes him.
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