“So I’m… what? A magical anxiety medication?”
“Think of it more like an anchor,” Margaret said. “Her magic is a storm. You’re the thing that keeps her from being swept away.”
“I didn’t sign up to be anyone’s anchor.”
“Neither did I,” Liam said from the kitchen doorway. “And yet here I am, renovating a magical house and making tea for supernatural emergencies.”
“Does it get easier?” Marcus asked.
“No. But the tea helps.”
Marcus turned to me, something shifting in his expression. Less angry now. More… resigned. Maybe even curious.
“So what happens now?”
“Now,” Margaret said, “you both figure out what this connection actually is. Whether it’s friendship, or something else, or simply magical necessity. The magic brought you together. What you do with that is up to you.”
Told you he had nice eyes,Tequila observed from his perch on my phone.
“Shut up,” I muttered.
“I didn’t say anything,” Marcus said.
“Not you. The cat.”
He looked at Tequila. Tequila looked back, unblinking.
“The orange one?”
“He has opinions.”
“About what?”
“Everything. He thinks you have nice eyes.”
Marcus blinked. Then, unexpectedly, laughed—a short, surprised sound, like he’d forgotten laughing was something he did.
“Tell him thanks. I grew them myself.”
I like him,Tequila said.He’s weird but he’s funny.
“High praise,” I told Marcus. “He doesn’t like anyone.”
That’s not true. I like the expensive wet food you keep forgetting to buy. I like the sunny spot on your bed. I like when you forget to close the bathroom door so I can judge your shower routine.
“He’s listing things he likes,” I reported. “None of them are people.”
“Sensible cat.”
SEE? He gets it.
Later,after Margaret had left with promises to research the anchor connection further, and Liam and Marcus had exchanged phone numbers like two men forming a trauma bond over tea, Cassie found me in the kitchen washing mugs that didn’t need washing.
“You’re stress-cleaning,” she observed.
“I’m productively tidying.”
“Same thing.” She leaned against the counter next to me. “So. Marcus.”
