"I'm just... it's warm today."
"It's sixty-two degrees."
"I run hot."
That smirk again. The one that suggested he knew exactly what was happening and found it entertaining. "Clearly."
She excused herself to get water—and to fan her face in the privacy of her kitchen while the cabinets murmured sympathetically and the toaster offered what might have been encouragement in French.
When she came back outside, Liam had moved to the fence line. He was inspecting the gate, which had been sticking for months, when a voice floated over from the neighboring yard.
"Oh my. You've finally done it, haven't you?"
Cassie turned.
It wasn't Marjorie. Marjorie lived on the other side, in the house with the aggressive rose bushes and the Welcome sign that felt more like a warning.
This was Margaret. The quiet neighbor. Older, silver-haired, with a garden that always seemed to be in bloom regardless of season. She wore flowing linen and an expression of knowing amusement that made Cassie's skin prickle.
"Done what?" Cassie asked carefully.
Margaret's eyes flicked to Liam. Then to the faintly glowing wrench still stuck to his palm. Then back to Cassie with a smile that was somehow both warm and unsettling.
"Woken up, dear." She adjusted the basket on her arm—herbs, Cassie realized. Fresh ones. Arranged in bundles that looked suspiciously deliberate. "I've been wondering when you would. Your great-aunt Elspeth mentioned you might be a late bloomer."
"You knew my great-aunt?"
"We were friends for decades. Fellow practitioners." Margaret's gaze was steady. Warm. "She was quite the witch in her day. Powerful. Creative. Absolutely terrible at following instructions." A pause. "You remind me of her."
Cassie's brain stuttered. "You're a... practitioner? Like a witch?"
"Retired, mostly. These days I just keep a garden and occasionally help new witches avoid burning down their houses." She smiled at the scorch marks visible through the kitchen window. "Looks like I might be needed."
"Can you help us?" Liam asked. "Break the binding?"
"Eventually, yes. These things take time—you can't just snap your fingers and undo a summoning spell, especially one powered by that much raw emotion." Margaret studied them both with an appraising look. "Elspeth's grimoire pulls hard when it pulls. The binding is solid. But it's not permanent. You just need to learn enough control to unravel it properly."
"How long?" Cassie asked.
"Depends on how quickly you learn. And how much you fight it." She looked between them, and something flickered in her expression—amusement, maybe. "The spell connected you because you asked for someone to fix what's broken. He happened to be the nearest qualified contractor with experience dealing with magical messes. Bad luck for him. Interesting luck for you."
"Experience?" Cassie turned to Liam. "You've dealt with this before?"
His jaw tightened. "My ex-wife had magic."
That was clearly all he intended to say on the matter. The set of his shoulders saiddon't push.
Margaret rescued them from the awkward silence. "I'll come by tomorrow, bring some supplies, start teaching you the basics. Grounding, shielding, not setting things on fireevery time you have a hot flash." She smiled kindly. "You'll get through this, Cassie. Elspeth believed in you. So do I."
She retreated into her cottage-like house, leaving the scent of rosemary and mystery in her wake.
Cassie turned to Liam. He was staring at Margaret's door like it held answers he wasn't sure he wanted.
"Your ex-wife was a witch?"
"Is a witch. We're divorced, not dead."
"What happened?"
