Respect and admiration warm in my chest, and before I know it, our tether is humming with the emotions. Rogan looks over at me, surprise twinkling in his mossy gaze. “What’s that for?” he asks, his tone deep and inviting. I practically have to fight off the shiver that wants to crawl through me at that melted milk chocolate timbre.
Come on, body, we can’t let him think he’s got it like thatalready. We’re still early stages, make him work for it.
“What’swhatfor?” I challenge, pretending like I have no idea what he’s referring to.
He gives me a knowing smile but doesn’t call me out. “Anyway, Elon and I knew that they wouldn’t leave us alone forever. We had an inside track on how they played the game, and we were painfully aware of what we were up against. So we started tracking and documenting anything and everything we could against them. We looked into every possible lead. Lines of magic wiped out without warning or provocation. Unsanctioned stripping of power. Blanket immunity for certain families no matter how vile the crimes against fellow mancers. Blackmail. The list goes on and on and on,” he explains, and I try to tamp down my anger.
I turn down the block the shop is on, and a warm tingling feeling of welcome washes over me.
“We began to collect what evidence we could. We hacked into our parents’ private records and files, worked to gain access to top secret digital records. We’ve slowly siphoned what we could, and now we’ll put it all together and start educating all supernaturals about what’s been going on unchecked by the powers that be.”
I raise my eyebrows with surprise and shoot an impressed look over at Rogan.
“That’s way lessDeathly Hallows and the final magical show downthan I thought this war was going to be,” I admit.
Why do I sound pouty about that?
I side-eye myself for a moment, not missing that Rogan seems to be amused by whatever it is that’s radiating to him via our tether. I really need to figure out how to mute this thing. A girl does need to rely on her mysterious ways from time to time, although this could come in handy when I’m PMSing and need to send chocolate and comfort food SOSs because I’m too growly to form proper sentences otherwise.
We pull into the parking lot in front of the shop, and a flash of everything that happened the last time I was here courses through my mind. I look to the passenger seat as though Hoot will be right there in all of his unimpressed and stinky glory, and my heart aches a little when I register that it’s just Rogan sitting there.
“He’s safe at home with Gibson and Tilda, they’re all best friends, and as soon as you pick up some stuff, we’ll be on our way to see them,” Rogan reassures me, reaching out and lacing his fingers with mine.
I offer him a small grateful smile and then turn off the car and step out. Cool air caresses my cheeks as I take in the fig-colored awning and the large front windows that sit on each side of the front door. I run my gaze over The Eye, studying the name of the shop as though looking at it long enough will provide some much needed direction. I pull a deep fortifying breath in, and then I slip the spare key Hillen gave me into the lock and push the door open.
I expect the inside to be a mess. Rogan and I didn’t exactly stop to clean up after ourselves before we rushed out of here in search of my grimoire. But it’s apparent that Hillen and Tad did some tidying up when they brought my boxes here. My chest tightened when she told me that they had packed up my apartment about a week ago.
I totally get it, no point paying rent when you’re dead. Even if I hadn’t been murdered, the likelihood that I was going to be moving into the apartment above this shop when I came back from my adventures in magic land was pretty high anyway, so Hillen and Tad were doing me a solid either way.
Boxes are stacked by the front register, labeled in surprising detail even though they were eventually going to find themselves donated. Although this is mycan’t stay stillaunt that organized all of this, so really I shouldn’t expect anything less. Hillen said they brought some of my stuff here to join what they were clearing out from my Grammy Ruby’s place. Then everything was going to those who were less fortunate and needed it.
Rogan comes in behind me, the heat of his body teasing my back. His strong presence practically wraps itself around me, grounding me, and I all at once feel more settled and secure. I step closer to the cardboard stacks, running my finger over the waist-high edge. It’s strange that most of my life is packed in so few boxes. I figured there’d be more here.
I guess it makes sense, since my furniture is in storage, waiting for Tad to go through it to see if there’s anything he wants to keep. My pictures and other sentimental things are at Hillen’s house. These boxes are just clothes, some dishes and cookware, and a collection of other random things that there’s no point keeping when the owner is long gone, but it feels good to see them again.
“It’s strange to be back here,” Rogan observes as he looks around. “So much has changed in such a short amount of time, who would’ve known,” he muses, offering me a small smile as he takes in the righted shelves and swept floors.
“Pretty sure my ancestors did,” I tell him as I start to pull boxes down from their stack in search of the ones marked clothing.
“How so?” he queries, taking a box I hand him and setting it aside for me to go through.
“When you applied your best Puss in Boots begging eyes and asked for my help, I was going to say no.”
Rogan clutches his chest and shakes his head judgmentally at me. I roll my eyes.
“It’s not like you’d exactly endeared yourself to me, barging in and trying to rob me of my choices. There was no way I was getting tangled up in your damage,” I tell him, and he snorts out a laugh and raises an enticing eyebrow at me.
“There’s no running now,” he taunts playfully, and I chuckle.
“There was no running then,” I admit on a breathy laugh. “My ancestors legitimately zapped me into accepting. At the time, I thought that’s what it must have felt like when I was magic bound to help someone, so I begrudgingly cooperated. But now I know that’s not what it was,” I go on, searching through the rest of the stack, hoping I’ll find a box marked underwear.
Please don’t tell me Hillen threw them away. I know it’s beyond creepy to donate used underwear, but I promise, this time, I won’t judge.
“What was it then?” Rogan asks as he works to restack the boxes I don’t need.
“When I’m being called to help someone, it’s like this anxious, itchy,why do I feel like I’m forgetting somethingfeeling. I feel pulled in a direction and put in that person’s path. But with you, it was more a gentle tasing that I’m going to callfate assistance,” I joke, arcing a hand in the air like I can see the name written in the very atmosphere around us.
“You think we’re written in the stars?” Rogan asks, and I can’t get a read on just what he might think about that.
