Then she dropped her grimoire.
They both moved at once. Their hands collided over the leather binding, and it was yesterday all over again: that electric spark, that magnetic pull. They jerked back like they’d touched hot iron.
“Sorry,” he said.
“No, I’m sorry,” she said at the same time.
They stared at each other, kneeling on either side of the book like supplicants at an altar. Her face was flushed, lips parted. His hand tingled where they’d touched.
“This is ridiculous,” she breathed.
“Completely,” he agreed, not moving.
The moment passed. Hazel snatched the book and fled back to her chair. Marcus returned to the table, gripping his pen so hard the plastic creaked.
Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and the awkwardness vanished, replaced by concern.
“Mrs. Henderson?” Marcus asked, recognizing the change.
“Lily had a bad night.” Hazel was already moving toward her supplies. “The tonic’s wearing off faster than it should. The half-moon peak’s in four days, and she’s already feeling the pull.”
She pulled jars from her kit. Her hands moved with the same efficient grace he’d noticed in her shop. Moonbell extract, valerian, something that shimmered silver in the afternoon light. The awkwardness between them didn’t disappear, but it receded, pushed aside by something more urgent.
“Can you make more?” he asked.
“I can make a stronger batch. But I need to talk her through some calming techniques too: the tonic works better when she’s not fighting it.” Hazel glanced at her phone again. “Mrs. Henderson says she’s scared. Lily, I mean. She remembers what it was like before.”
Marcus watched her measure ingredients with precise care.
“Use my phone,” he said. “The cabin’s landline has better reception for video calls.”
She looked up, surprised. “You’d let me use your work phone?”
“It’s not—” He stopped. It was his work phone. Everything about this assignment was supposed to be work. “Lily needs to see your face when you talk her through it. The cell signal here is unreliable.”
Hazel held his gaze for a moment, something unreadable in her expression. Then she nodded and took the phone he offered.
He gave her privacy, stepping outside onto the porch. The autumn air was sharp, carrying the first real bite of approaching winter. Through the window, he could see Hazel talking, her hands moving as she demonstrated breathing techniques. Her face was soft, patient.
She made it look effortless, this caring for people. But Marcus had seen her supplies, knew how much each ingredient cost, knew she charged Mrs. Henderson a fraction of what the tonic was worth. Knew that half her clients paid in barter or gratitude or nothing at all.
He’d spent five centuries building a career on contracts and precedents. She’d spent twenty years building something harder to measure: trust. Community. A network of people who called her when their children couldn’t sleep, when their magic went sideways, when they needed someone who would answer the phone at any hour.
When she finally hung up, her shoulders had dropped a fraction. Not relaxed—she still held the phone two-handed, like a thing that might go off—but lighter than when the call had started.
“She’s okay,” Hazel said, handing back his phone. “Calmer, anyway. I’ll have the stronger tonic ready by tomorrow. Mrs. Henderson’s driving up to get it.”
“Driving up here? To the safe house?”
“She doesn’t know where we are. I’ll meet her at the gas station in town.” Hazel anticipated his objection. “With you. Obviously. I learned my lesson about solo supply runs.”
She glanced at her phone again. Mrs. Henderson had sent a follow-up:Which gas station, dear? The Sunoco or the Shell? And what time, so I’m not in your way if you have other errands in town.
It was a perfectly normal question. Grandmotherly, even. But something about the specificity nagged at Hazel for a moment.Since when did Mrs. Henderson care which gas station? She shook it off. The woman was seventy-three and driving an hour each way. Of course she wanted details.
The Sunoco. 2pm works, Hazel typed back.
Marcus nodded slowly. It was a risk, but a manageable one.
