“You look a little pale. Do you need to sit down? Drink some water?”
“No. It’s not me. It’s this building.” She runs a hand down a beam. “It isn’t right.”
“Excuse me?”
“Just what I said.” She hugs the papers to her chest and shivers. “You have to stop construction right now. You can’t build this resort—not like this.”
“What do you mean, I have to stop building?”
She eyes the steel beams and the workers. The sounds of construction are thick in the air: warning alarms as machines reverse, rocks being dumped in the background, men talking.
Coco’s expression becomes grim. “Because if you don’t, you’ll destroy the magic in this land.”
My jaw tightens, and only one thought flashes in my mind: There’s no way in hell I’m changing one damn thing—magic or not.
Chapter 3
Coco
It’s the ley lines.
I saw them right after I arrived.
They run like a spiderweb down to the site, rivers of milky threads humming with magic. Before they enter the construction zone, they’re strong, almost sentient, alive and thrumming.
But as they race under the poured concrete, I feel a shift. The ley lines deaden. Their energy falters, becoming dim, flat. They struggle to breathe. It reminds me of a clogged pipe or artery. Something is in the way, blocking the path. That something can only be the materials Stone Maddox is using to build his resort.
Which means he is killing the magic—magic that only recently reappeared. Magic my town is banking on to bring in tourist money.
It’s only been a few months since the piggycorns received their power to generate electricity. Even now, there are rumors that unicorns are once again being born with power.
Magic is back and I can’t let it die.
Stone Maddox, however, doesn’t appear to appreciate this.
Worse, there are no laws or regulations regarding materials for ley lines. Legally, he’s not doing anything wrong.
But magically? That’s a different story.
Officially, I’m supposed to base permit approvals on town records and topography reports. Unofficially? Since today is my first assignment, I’m pretty much going with what I see, and what I see is not good.
But I can’t admit this to anyone. If my supervisor discovers I’m using magic in my decisions, I can be fired, branded unstable.
Or worse. Much, much worse.
Stone scowls and when he does, his anger seems to make him grow, and I feel the familiar urge to disappear.
“What are you talking about, we’ve got to stop?” he demands.
I run my hand down a beam, searching for a hum of power and receiving a weak whisper. “What materials are you using?”
He taps his fingers to his belt impatiently. Behind him, the lambicorn bleats. “What do you think I’m using? It’s reinforced concrete and steel beams.”
I nod to a spot where the men are paving an outdoor pavilion. “And the stone?”
He drags his gaze from me to them. His jaw flexes, unflexes. “It’s synthetic. Look, everything is state of the art, efficient. Eco-friendly.”
“But it’s notley linefriendly. These aren’t—”
