“Extremely.”
“Well,” he said with a shrug, “always good to rule things out.”
The road ended where a narrow trail slipped between two old pines. I crouched and brushed my fingers across the dirt.
There was nothing obvious.
No prints. No broken twigs.
But there was something else. A faint ripple of magic lingered in the air, subtle but wrong for this part of Stonewick.
Twobble crept closer and leaned over my shoulder.
“Do you smell that?”
“Yes,” Skonk said immediately.
“What?” I asked.
“Fear,” Twobble whispered dramatically.
Skonk sniffed again.
“Nope. Cinnamon.”
Twobble groaned. “That’s the bakery, you absolute walnut.”
Skonk brightened. “Oh, good. I thought I’d developed magical senses.”
I took a few steps down the trail.
The trees thickened almost immediately. Sunlight filtered through the leaves in shifting patches that moved when the wind stirred the branches.
My birthmark gave a faint pulse just enough to make me pause.
“Someone was here,” I said quietly.
Twobble stiffened.
“Recently?”
“Very.”
So, it wasn’t in my head.
Skonk peered into the woods.
“Maybe they saw us coming and ran,” Skonk offered.
Twobble whipped toward him. “Why would anyone run from me?”
Skonk shrugged. “Have you met you?”
Twobble opened his mouth. “…touche.”
I walked a little farther along the trail as the road disappeared behind us, and the warm lights of Stonewick faded from view.
The feeling crept back up my spine.
