I shake my head. “Oh, no. He’s my best friend. The guy who found me and dusted me off and kept me safe. He’s my brotherfrom another mother. Ash, come meet Mayor Carmichael and Mr. Dalton.”
Asher turns his head from where he’s chatting with Marty at the front counter and lopes over to join us.
“Gentlemen,” I say, leaning to the side to bump shoulders with him, “this is my partner in crime, Asher Hendrix of Wichita, Kansas.”
Asher extends a hand and accepts the introductions. “Mayor Carmichael, Mr. Dalton, it’s nice to meet you both.”
The mayor chuckles. “No need for all the formality, kids. I’m just Declan, and this is Pete. The people of Emberwood are a small community but a large family.”
Images of my torture from the other night fill my mind, and I fight not to roll my eyes. Family, my ass.
The brass bell chimes, and it’s as if my nightmare conjured the jerk out of thin air. Wylder comes striding through the door. A wave of shock and repulsion hits me like a slap.
The coffee pot slips from my hand as I stumble back a step and crash into Asher.
Thankfully, Asher catches me, and Mayor Declan catches the coffee pot with astounding reflexes.
“Poppy? What is it?” Asher’s attention follows my gaze, and he straightens to his full height. “Is that him? The one who hurt you?”
I swallow, fear choking me as I manage a nod.
And that’s when all hell breaks loose.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Asher moves like lightning.
One second he’s catching me from stumbling, the next he’s barreling across the diner toward Wylder with the focused intensity of a heat-seeking missile. His fist connects with Wylder’s jaw before the witch even realizes what’s happening.
“You son of a bitch!”
Wylder staggers back, blood blooming from his split lip, but recovers fast. Too fast. He lunges forward, grabbing Asher by the shoulders and slamming him against the nearest table. The impact sends salt and pepper shakers scattering across the checkerboard floor.
But Asher’s been fighting since he was twelve years old, surviving foster homes and street corners where you learn to hit first or get hit harder. He drives his knee up into Wylder’s ribs, then follows with a brutal uppercut that snaps the witch’s head back.
“That’s for hurting Poppy!”
Wylder stumbles, his green eyes flashing with something dangerous, but I realize he can’t retaliate the way he wants to.Not here. Not in front of the humans scattered throughout the diner, all of them gaping at the sudden violence.
Instead, he throws a wild punch that catches Asher in the shoulder, spinning him around. Asher uses the momentum, whirling back with a hook that narrowly misses connecting with Wylder’s temple.
“Enough!” Tanner’s voice booms across the diner as he vaults over the counter with surprising agility. He grabs both fighters, one hand on each of their shirts, and physically separates them like they’re unruly children and not full-grown men in the heat of rage. “Not in my diner, boys. That’s not the way we do things here.”
Mayor Declan appears at my elbow, his hand gentle but firm on my arm. “Come on, Poppy. Let’s get you away from the show. Tanner, how about the back room?”
“Lead the way.”
Mayor Declan guides me toward a door marked ‘Private’ at the back of the diner while Tanner frog-marches both Asher and Wylder in the same direction. My heart hammers against my ribs as we’re all shoved into what appears to be a small party room with a long table and sixteen chairs.
The mayor closes the door behind us with a soft click. He turns to face our little group, his brown eyes hard as flint. “Now then. What the hell is going on here?”
Asher plants himself between me and Wylder like a human shield, his knuckles bloody, chest heaving. “This piece of shit kidnapped Poppy and took her to his fucked-up friends so they could terrorize her.”
Asher’s voice cracks with rage. “She woke up tied to a chair in some warehouse while these psychos took her blood and tissue samples. They almost killed her when they fucked with her powers.”
My mind spins. We’re not supposed to talk about magic in front of regular people, are we? But Declan doesn’t look surprised or confused.
He looks angry.
