The surge hit her like a wave.
And this time, it brought Liam's binding magic with it.
Her hands flared bright gold. The glowing spread up her arms, across her chest, until her whole body was radiating light like a human torch. The heat wasinsideher andoutsideher, magic and menopause combining into something that felt like standing in the center of a bonfire.
Liam gasped, doubling over. His hands blazed to match hers, light pouring off him, and she couldfeelhim feeling it—the heat, the power, the overwhelming sensation of being too full of something that needed to escape.
The dish towel on the countercaught fire.
Actual fire. Real flames, licking up the fabric like they'd been waiting for permission.
"SHIT—" Cassie lunged for it, but the fire spread to the paper towel roll, then began enthusiastically trying to climb toward the cabinets.
"Water!" Liam was already moving, grabbing for the sink, but the faucet—the magically repaired, better-than-new faucet—chose that moment to spray sideways, directly into his face.
Margaret sighed heavily from the doorway.
"I'll get the extinguisher," she said. "You two try not to burn down the neighborhood before I get back."
Luna hopped onto the counter, surveyed the chaos with feline calm, and began grooming her paw.
"Told you not to cast unsupervised," she said.
The flames climbed higher.
The gnomes watched through the window, their ceramic faces gleaming in the firelight.
And somewhere in the cosmic distance, Cassie's dead great-aunt was probably laughing herself sick.
4
TALKING CAT. SASSY BFF. SPARKLY DISASTER
The fire was out.
Margaret had accomplished this with the casual efficiency of someone who'd extinguished magical fires many times before—a quick chant, a handful of herbs thrown at the flames, and a look of profound disappointment directed at Cassie that made her feel like she was twelve and had just been caught stealing cookies.
Now they sat in the kitchen—Cassie, Liam, Margaret, and Luna, who had claimed the chair that technically belonged to Liam and refused to move.
The dish towel was a casualty. The paper towels were martyrs. But the house itself had survived, which Cassie was choosing to count as a win.
"I need you to understand something," Margaret said, setting a large casserole dish on the counter. Lasagna, by the smell of it. Because apparentlymagical mentors came bearing comfort food and judgment in equal measure. "What you did today—layering spells without understanding how they interact—that's how witches get hurt. Or worse, how they hurt other people."
"I know," Cassie said quietly. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking?—"
"You were thinking. That's the problem. You were thinking about work, about feeling visible, about beingenough." Margaret's expression softened. "But magic doesn't care about your intentions. It cares about your focus. And right now, your focus is scattered across about seventeen different anxieties."
"Eighteen," Luna offered from her stolen chair. "You forgot the one about whether the gnomes are plotting something."
Cassie glared at her cat. "Whose side are you on?"
"Reality's side. It's a lonely place, but someone has to live there."
"I like this cat," Margaret said. "She's honest."
"She's a menace."
"I'm both," Luna agreed, beginning to groom her paw with the air of someone who'd won an argument they hadn't been having.
