“I do not care.” My voice is quiet but firm. “Knox is a paper mage. He went up against the Ministry on my behalf. Of course I am going to help him.”
“But he’s a stranger.”
“Aren’t they all? Everyone is a stranger—until they are not. Sometimes we help strangers because it is the right thing to do. It makes us the best kind of human.”
I do not say that if he refuses, I will go anyway, but he must see it in my eyes.
He sighs and rubs his face, thumb dragging over his mouth as if he is trying not to smile at my stubbornness. “All right. I’ll call my people.”
“Thank you.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Snack Thief has spentthe afternoon outside, but when Lander’s team arrives I grant them temporary access to the chapel, and he swoops in with them. I’m in the middle of making sandwiches for lunch. I wash my hands, dry them on a towel, then turn.
All four of them are in the kitchen, staring at my model of the island.
“How on earth did you get that?” asks a tall, broad-shouldered blond man.
I tilt my head. He is a shifter. I had not expected Lander’s team to include non-magic users. Interesting. I cross the room just in time to see Lander smack the man’s hand away before it touches the map.
“Don’t touch it,” he says, guarding the model as if it were a newborn.
“Hi,” I say lightly.
The newcomers face me: the big, blond, tanned shifter; a dark-haired woman; and a man who looks like her twin. They share olive skin, golden eyes, and matching expressions—siblings or cousins, something close. And Dayna.
“You already know my sister, Dayna,” Lander says. “This is Jilleen”—he nods to the woman—“and this is George.”
“Hello. Pleased to meet you. I’m Harper.”
“Jill,” she replies, shooting Lander a playful scowl. “Only my mother calls me Jilleen.” She offers a warm smile and shakes my hand, her grip firm.
“So who made this model?” the big blond man asks, eyeing it with a mix of suspicion and admiration, I cannot tell which.
Lander points at me.
“This is Riker,” he says, gesturing towards the shifter. “The Alpha Prime sent him to help. I have kept the group to people I trust.”
“Hey, Harper. Pleased to meet you.” His green eyes sparkle as he folds his arms across his chest; his biceps bulge beneath his T-shirt—typical shifter, built like a tank.
Riker. The name is familiar.
Lark has a friend called Riker. After I helped her, I’m almost certain he came around, poking near the boundary of the property. I zapped him with the ward—not hard, just enough to send a message. He was not unkind, merely nosy.
“Pleasure to meet you,” I say politely.
George whistles low, staring at the map. “Youmadethis?” He studies me for a moment, something thoughtful passing behind his eyes.
“Yes. I have got sandwiches, if anyone’s hungry?”
Everyone agrees, and I fetch the tray.
Since the shock of my mistake with Lander’s magic, I force myself to pay closer attention to what the others can do. I taste their magic.
Dayna’s speciality is the same as Samual’s ritual, but with a minor in healing. Jill is an illusion mage, and George is a ward mage, a barrier specialist.
He stares at the wall, eyes narrowed as he surreptitiously dissects my wards. He shakes his head. I know what he sees: no one uses magic like this any more. It is layered—densely layered—and it demands an enormous amount of power.
