“Is my stalker playing with me? Is that why the lights keep doing that?” she asked quietly, her voice tinged with concern as Poppie recounted tales from his youth, oblivious to their exchange.
Stone met her gaze, his features softening. “It’s nothing to worry about, Sophie. You’re mine. I protect what’s mine.”
Mine.There was that term again. The romance booklover in her wanted to read something into his continued use of it. Something alpha-delicious. Common sense said it had been spoken more along the line of, “You’re my assignment.” That kind ofmine.
Nevertheless, hearing him sayminewasn’t awful.
Ugh. She clearly needed to do more work on her psyche to rid it of its toxic desire for that sort of book boyfriend to materialize in her life.
“Promise?” she asked Stone.
“Promise,” he said without hesitation.
Chapter 17
Three hours later, Stone stepped out onto the balcony, the brisk air contrasting sharply with the steam that wafted from the bathroom. He quickly dialed Clarabelle, his connection to a world beyond the ordinary.
“Wasn’t expecting to get a ring from you this evening,” Clarabelle said instead of hello. “What’s troubling you?”
Now that Clarabelle was back in their lives, he and his brothers had a routine. Each of them was assigned two nights a week to call and check on her, making sure she hadn’t crossed over without a goodbye. On Sundays, they either ate dinner together, if Clarabelle was nearby, or they did a Zoom chat after dinner.
“My magic is still glitching,” Stone told her.
Several years ago, Stone and his brothers had discovered that Clarabelle had been an honest-to-goodness fairy godmother when she was alive. Then, when she had died, she’d gotten stuck in the second veil due to unfinished business.
Theyhad been her unfinished business.
She’d had plans to train them to become Fairy Godfathers, but had died before she got around to rocking their worldwith her secret. Because Fairy Godmothers were on the verge of becoming extinct, Clarabelle had been granted time in the second veil to finish her unfinished business.
Now, Clarabelle was a Magical ghost, and even though her unfinished business had been accomplished, she’d finagled a way to stay longer in the second veil. The details of the persuading were not up for discussion.
“Oh, fiddle-faddle,” Clarabelle said. “Tell me everything.” Her voice was calm, which told him his news wasn’t unexpected. “Is it your wand? Is it refusing to behave?” she asked.
“So far, so good with Bravo Baton.” His wand was currently tucked away in his go bag. The last time he had tried to conjure something with it, he’d succeeded. “It’s Sophie. Shit is still happening every time we touch.”
Clarabelle tsked. “The same kind of shit? Or new shit?”
He chuckled at her use of swear words. As a rule, she disdained the little fuckers. “Most recently, I got this surge of energy I couldn’t control, and the lights flickered.”
Sophie had no idea just how right she’d been the other night when she’d told him control was his fatal flaw. But not in the way she assumed. Magic in the hands of a person not in control could become fatal. Thus, staying in control was essential.
Clarabelle’s response to his dilemma was silence. Not a good sign.
He’d hoped for a laugh and a pithy comment about how magic just sometimes had to wiggle and scratch its backside. “Mom?” he prompted.
“And is it your injured hand you’re touching Sophie with when this happens?” she finally inquired.
He leaned against the railing and stared up at the full moon. “Not always.”
“Hmm. What a kettle of worms that presents.”
“What?” Stone asked.
“It appears the spell I cast to heal your wound didn’t take.”
“Then this can be fixed. You can recast your spell?”
“No. That’s not possible. It was a one-and-done type of spell.”
