He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a small leather notebook. Flipped it open to a page covered in precise handwriting. “I’m conducting interviews with local businesses affected by the mating surge. Your shop was specifically flagged in the Coalition’s preliminary report.”
“Flagged.” Junie folded her arms across her chest. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“You’ve had multiple incidents in the past three months. Unstable formulations. Customer complaints. Refunds.” His attention lifted from the notebook to her face. “Three refunds this week alone, according to my sources.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “Your sources. Let me guess—you’ve been in town less than twenty-four hours, and you’ve already got an informant network?”
“I’m thorough.”
“You’re nosy.” She pushed past him into the retail area, putting distance between them. Her skin felt too tight, too aware. Every nerve ending registered exactly where he stood, how close he was, the space he took up in her shop. “There’s nothing wrong with my potions. The surge is affecting everyone.Dahlia’s pastries have been hitting harder than intended. Cassia’s weather magic has been wild. Narla’s candles keep revealing truths people aren’t ready to hear.”
“And yet your shop is the only one with a pattern of escalating incidents.” He followed her, that deliberate stride eating up the distance she’d tried to create. “A love potion that caused object fixation. A focus elixir resulting in obsessive behavior. A sleep formulation producing prophetic visions. The common factor isyou.”
Junie spun to face him. He was closer than she’d realized—close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. Close enough that she could smell him. Pine and something deeper underneath, something that made her heart stutter against her ribs.
“The common factor,” she said slowly, “is the ley line running directly under my shop. Which you’d know if you’d done your research properly instead of cataloguing my failures.”
A crack appeared in his composure. “I’m aware of the ley line.”
“Then you’re aware that it’s been supercharged by the surge. The same energy that used to make my potions potent is now making them unpredictable.” She held his stare, refusing to look away, refusing to let him see how much this was costing her. “I’m not incompetent. I’m not careless. I’m working with forces that have been destabilized by events no one understands, and I’m doing the best I can.”
Silence stretched between them. Glimmer’s scales had shifted to a watchful purple, the snake’s earlier hostility subsiding into wary observation.
Leo pursed his lips. For a moment—just a moment—his attention dropped. Down to her mouth. Lower, to the rapid pulse beating at the base of her throat. His nostrils flared slightly, like he was breathing her in.
“I’ll need to see your brewing process.” He stepped back, putting professional distance between them. “Your ingredient sources. Your formulation records. Everything from the past three months.”
“Those are proprietary.”
“The Coalition has jurisdiction over surge-related incidents. Your cooperation isn’t optional.”
Junie’s hands curled into fists at her sides. “And if I refuse?”
“Then I’ll be forced to escalate to the Elder Council.” His tone didn’t change, but his posture shifted. Almost—was that regret? “I’m not here to shut you down, Ms. Reed. I’m here to find out what’s happening and stop it. That’s easier with cooperation.”
“You could try asking nicely.” The words came out sharper than she intended. “Instead of storming in here with your notebook and your sources and your judgy lion face.”
His eyebrows rose. “Judgy lion face?”
“You know exactly what I mean.” She waved a hand at his general everything. “You look at me, and all you see is a mess. A problem to be solved. A line item in your investigation.”
Leo went very still. That predator stillness she’d noticed last night, the kind that made the air feel heavy and charged.
“That’s not—” He stopped. Started again. “That’s not what I see.”
“Then what do you see?”
Junie watched emotions flicker across his face—frustration, something darker, something that looked almost like hunger before he locked it down.
“I see a business in trouble,” he said finally. “And a witch who’s too proud to ask for help.”
The words hit harder than they should have. Because they were true.
“I don’t need help.” Her voice came out smaller than she wanted. “I need the surge to stop messing with my magic. I needmy grandmother’s recipes to work the way they’re supposed to. I need?—”
She cut herself off. She was saying too much. Showing too much. This man was a stranger—an arrogant, judgmental, irritatingly attractive stranger who probably thought she was a disaster in human form.
Which, to be fair, she was.
