"I mean it," Margaret had said, fixing Cassie with a look that suggested she'd know immediately if Cassie broke that rule. "You need to learn to walk before you can run. Right now, you're trying to sprint while juggling fire."
"I wasn't trying to juggle?—"
"The metaphor stands."
Now it was evening. Liam had retreated to the guest room to shower and change into whatever unfortunate item from Derek's wardrobe was next in the rotation. Cassie sat in the living room,surrounded by books, trying to find anything about breaking magical bindings that didn't require "three virgin hairs from a white stallion" or "the light of a harvest moon reflected in blessed spring water."
The house, at least, seemed to want to help.
Books floated down from shelves she hadn't even known she had. One particularly enthusiastic volume about "Unbinding and Release Work" literallyflewacross the room and landed in her lap with an emphaticthump.
"Okay, okay," she muttered to the house. "I get it. You're trying."
The walls flickered a pleased shade of amber.
Cassie had noticed the color changes getting more frequent. The walls cycled through shades like a mood ring attached to her emotional state—soft blue when she was calm, agitated yellow when she was anxious, a deep gray when she was sad.
And pink. The walls went pink alot. Usually when Liam was in the room.
She was studiously ignoring that data point.
"Find anything useful?"
Cassie jumped. Liam stood in the doorway, hair still damp from the shower, wearing a T-shirt that said "World's Best Dad" stretched across his chest.
“Did Derek actually wear that?” she asked, staring at the shirt.
“It was in the box.” He looked down at it. “Should I be concerned?”
“We have one daughter—Sophia, who’s in college.” She snorted. “He forgot to show up to every event, concert, recital, or game she was ever in. Every. Single. One. But sure. World’s Best Dad.”
“Ah. So the shirt’s a lie.”
“The shirt is aspirational. At best.”
"That's deeply sad."
"That's Derek." Cassie gestured at the pile of books. "I found some unbinding spells, but they're all... complicated. Most require both parties to willingly release the bond, which we can do, but the caster has to maintain perfect focus and balance for the entire ritual. Which, given my track record..."
"You'd set something else on fire."
"I'd set something else on fire," she agreed. "Margaret says I need at least a few weeks of practice before I'm ready to try."
Liam settled into the armchair across from her. The walls flickered pink. Cassie determinedly did not look at them.
"Tell me about her," Cassie said. "Your ex-wife. The one who had magic."
His expression shuttered slightly. "What do you want to know?"
"How did it start? You said she used magic on you, but... how did you even realize?"
He was quiet for a long moment, staring at something past her shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was careful. Measured.
"Her name is Fiona. We met in Edinburgh, married young. She was brilliant. Funny. The kind of person who made everything feel possible." He paused. "The magic was subtle at first. Little things. I'd be angry about something, and then suddenly I wasn't—I'd feel calm, agreeable, like my anger had been a temporary glitch. She'd suggest something I didn't want to do, and by the end of the conversation, I'd be convinced it was my idea."
"Love spells?"
"More like... compliance spells. Mood adjustments. She called it 'smoothing the rough edges' of our relationship." His jaw tightened. "I didn't even notice for years. I just thought I was becoming more mature, more reasonable. It wasn't until a friend pointed out that I'd changed—that I didn't argue anymore, didn't push back on anything—that I started paying attention."
