My living roomlooked like a supernatural support group had exploded in it.
Margaret was in the armchair by the window, tea in hand, radiating the calm energy of someone who had seen far stranger things than magically possessed dating apps. Cassie sat on my couch looking worried. Luna was draped across the back of it, tail twitching. Liam stood in my kitchen doorway, holding a cupof tea and wearing the expression of a man who had learned to simply accept whatever happened next.
Tequila had claimed the coffee table and was glaring at us as we walked in, tail lashing with the energy of a cat who had been left behind during a crisis.
You left, he informed me.Without explanation. I had to entertain myself.
“I was gone for twenty minutes.”
Twenty minutes of uncertainty. I knocked three things off the bathroom counter to cope.
“That’s not coping, that’s destruction.”
Same thing.
Marcus stepped into my apartment, took in the assembled group—the witches, the cats, the Scottish handyman, the still-buzzing phone in my hand—and said, flatly:
“This is the strangest intervention I’ve ever been part of.”
“Have you been part of many interventions?” I asked.
“No. But I’ve seen them on television. They usually involve fewer cats.”
Luna’s tail twitched. “I’m not a cat. I’m a familiar.”
“She talks,” Marcus said. Not a question. Just… resignation.
“They both do, actually,” I said. “Well, Tequila talks to me. In my head. It’s a whole?—”
“Thing. Yes. I’m gathering that everything is ‘a thing’ in your world.”
Cassie stood, ever the hostess even in someone else’s apartment. “Marcus, right? I’m Cassie. That’s Liam, Margaret, and Luna. And the orange cat is Tequila. We’re trying to help Diane figure out what’s happening.”
“What’s HAPPENING is that magic is apparently very real and it’s decided to ruin my carefully constructed isolation.” Marcus ran a hand through his hair. “I had a system. I had a ROUTINE. Wake up, go to work, sell antiques, talk to no one,go home, eat dinner alone, talk to no one, go to sleep. It was working. It was FINE.”
“That sounds…” Cassie paused, searching for the diplomatic word. “Lonely.”
“Lonely was the POINT.”
From the kitchen, Liam made a sound that might have been agreement. Marcus glanced at him, and something passed between them—the silent recognition of two men who understood the appeal of carefully maintained solitude.
“Tea?” Liam offered.
“God, yes.”
Marcus disappeared into my kitchen with Liam, and I heard the kettle click on. Within seconds, they were having a low conversation about something—I caught the words “Scottish Breakfast” and “proper steep time” and “women with magical chaos.”
“They’re bonding,” Cassie observed. “That’s… unexpected.”
“Grumpy men find each other,” Luna said. “It’s like a homing instinct.”
The tall one makes good tea,Tequila added, still sitting on my phone.I’ve had some. He doesn’t know I’ve had some, but I’ve had some.
“You’ve been stealing Liam’s tea?”
Borrowing. I’ve been borrowing Liam’s tea. From his cup. When he’s not looking.
“That’s still stealing.”
