Avine pressed a hand to her chest in mock surprise. “Shocking.”
Narla moved through the chaos with quiet purpose, lighting candles and placing them around the room. The first flame caught, and the atmosphere shifted. Comfort spread through the space—not physical heat, but ease. The inn’s old magic seemed to sigh with contentment as Narla’s scent-magic wove through the air.
“Lavender for calm,” Narla murmured. “Cedar for grounding. And a touch of sea rose, because the house likes it.”
“You can tell what the house likes?”
Narla’s small smile held secrets. “I can tell what everything likes. It’s a blessing and a curse.”
Junie emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray of drinks that hadn’t been possible with Avine’s limited supplies. “Cocktails. Don’t ask what’s in them. The magic works better if you don’t question it.”
“That’s concerning.”
“That’s witchcraft, baby.” Junie distributed glasses with a flourish. “Now. Everyone, settle in. We have important business to discuss.”
An hour later, Avine was two cocktails deep, surrounded by pastry crumbs.
The witches had circled back through the details with wine-fueled enthusiasm—the Elder Council, who met monthly in theory and meddled constantly in practice. The gossip network, which Junie called “aggressive communal eavesdropping.”
Now they’d moved on to town stories, each one more ridiculous than the last.
“—and then the seagull,” Cassia was saying, tears streaming down her face, “the seagull lands on Elder Piprick’s head and screams. Right in the middle of the council meeting. Screams like it’s seen the apocalypse. And Piprick’s sitting there with bird feet in his hair going ‘I believe we were discussing zoning permits?’”
Dahlia wiped her eyes. “He didn’t even flinch. Kept talking about setback requirements while the seagull had a complete meltdown above him.”
“Speaking of meltdowns.” Cassia’s grin turned sharp. “Let’s talk about your visit from the Alpha.”
The ease in Avine’s shoulders stuttered.
“There’s nothing to talk about. He showed up. He checked the wards. He left. I barely know him.”
“And yet.” Narla’s voice was quiet, observant. “Here you are, very carefully not talking about him.”
“Which is classic mating surge behavior, by the way,” Dahlia added, reaching for another pastry. “The magic makes people orbit each other while pretending they’re not. It’s predictable once you know what to look for.”
“I’m not orbiting anyone.”
Avine reached for aDon’t Overthink Danish. “He was rude. And territorial. And?—”
“Hot,” Cassia supplied. “You forgot hot.”
Avine bit into the danish. “I didn’t notice.”
Every candle in the room flared bright orange.
SEVEN
AVINE
The four witches turned to stare at the candles, then back at Avine. Marzipan blinked slowly from her throne, the feline equivalent of an eye roll. Even Glimmer, draped across Junie’s shoulder, seemed to be judging her.
Avine’s voice went flat. “What was that?”
“Orange.” Narla’s smile was infuriatingly serene. “The color of attraction. My candles respond to strong emotions in the room. They’re sensitive.”
“Those are defective.”
“They’re never wrong.”
