Cassie stumbled back, her hand tingling. Liamshook out his fingers, scowling at the wrench like it had personally betrayed him.
"Well," he said. "That's new."
"What was that?"
"The binding, I'd guess. You're connected to me through the spell, and the wrench is the anchor." He turned it over in his hands—it wasn't stuck anymore, but it still glowed faintly. "When you touched it, you touched the magic that's holding us together."
"So we're... what? Magically handcuffed?"
"Something like that. The binding links us until it's properly broken. Physical proximity probably makes it stronger." He set the wrench on the counter, carefully, like it might bite. "We should avoid touching each other until Margaret can look at this."
"Right. Yes. No touching." Cassie was nodding too fast. "Totally reasonable. Very professional."
The sparks had felt... not bad. That was the problem. They'd felt like something waking up. Something she'd thought was dead coming back to life.
Very inconvenient.
Movement in the doorway caught her eye.
Luna padded into the kitchen, moving with her usual liquid grace. She hopped onto the counter—which she knew she wasn't allowed to do—satdirectly on the still-warm spellbook, and began grooming her paw.
"Well," the cat said, in a voice like velvet dragged over gravel. "This is interesting."
Cassie's brain stopped.
Just... stopped. Like someone had pulled the plug on her entire nervous system.
The cat continued grooming, completely unbothered by the fact that she had justspoken actual wordsinCassie's kitchenlike that was a normal thing cats did on Thursday afternoons.
"Did my cat justtalk?"
Luna paused mid-lick, one paw still raised, and fixed Cassie with a look of profound disappointment.
"I've always talked," she said. "You just never listened. Typical human."
"I—you—but—" Cassie turned to Liam, desperate for someone to confirm she hadn't finally snapped. "The cat is talking."
"Aye." He didn't look surprised. He looked tired, which was somehow worse. "Happens sometimes when there's a lot of magical energy around. Animals pick it up. Cats especially—they're already halfway to supernatural on a regular day."
"I'm not supernatural," Luna said primly. "I'm just finally being heard. Do you have any idea how long I've been offering commentary on your lifechoices? Years.Yearsof excellent advice, and you thought I just wanted treats."
"You do want treats."
"I contain multitudes." Luna's tail swished. "Also yes, I want treats. But that's not the point."
Cassie grabbed the counter for support. Her kitchen was haunted. Her appliances spoke French. Her garden gnomes had formed a militia. She was magically handcuffed to a Scottish stranger whose ex-wife had manipulated him with magic. And now her cat had opinions she could actuallyhear.
"I'm dreaming," she said weakly. "This is a wine-induced nightmare."
"The wine might be contributing," Luna agreed. "But no. This is your life now." The cat's golden eyes gleamed with what might have been sympathy, or might have been amusement. Hard to tell with cats. "Welcome to it."
Liam picked up the wrench, testing it. It stayed in his hand this time without glowing. Whatever the sparks had been, they'd settled.
For now.
"I suggest," he said, "that we both get some sleep. Margaret will be here tomorrow. We'll figure this out then."
"Sleep. Right." Cassie laughed—the slightly unhinged laugh of someone who'd reached the end of her coping capacity. "I'll just sleep in my haunted house with my talking cat and my grumpyScottish houseguest while my toaster judges me in French."
