Bea’s eyes light up with genuine excitement. “With food, right? Please tell me there’s going to be food.”
“With food,” I confirm, because honestly, feeding people might be the easiest form of magic I’ve got access to right now.
“I can cater,” Bea says immediately, like she’s already mentally planning the menu. “People will show up for my cinnamon rolls alone, I guarantee it. I may need to have a friendly competition with Lin and Toni over who makes the best baked goods in this town, but I got you. Oh, this is good. With your grand reopening and Founder’s Day coming,” she grins. “Yeah, we’re about to put this kitchen to work.”
“Noted,” I say, genuinely amused by her enthusiasm. “I’ll bribe the entire town with carbohydrates and sugar.”
Bea laughs, a sound full of warmth and genuine affection, then moves on to check on another table that’s been trying to get her attention.
I look down at my plate, then back at Maceo, my fingers still tingling faintly where his hand held mine, like the echo of something magical is still coursing through my system.
The pulse is gone now, disappeared like it was never there, but it left something behind—a sense of direction. A tiny spark of hope that says my body isn’t lying to me, that I’m not reaching desperately for nothing, that something in me is responding even if it’s small, even if it’s messy, even if it’s as quick andunpredictable as the flicker of lights in a cozy diner full of people looking for someone to blame the electrical system on.
Maceo lifts his burger like he’s making a toast, his eyes dancing with amusement and something deeper. “Eat,” he says, his voice warm with affection. “Then we’re going for that walk I promised you.”
I lift half of my grilled cheese in return, because I can absolutely play along with that kind of celebration. “Fine,” I say, my voice lighter than it’s been all day, possibly lighter than it’s been since I arrived in Ruby Springs. “But if I accidentally short-circuit the entire diner again, I’m blaming you entirely.”
His grin turns wicked, full of mischief and promise. “Worth it.”
I roll my eyes, but my free hand reaches out to tighten around his again, just once, because the truth is, I needed this moment more than I realized. Not just the magical flicker, though I’m not going to pretend that didn’t feel like a small miracle. I needed this reminder of normality, this evidence that I can exist in the world without choking on the weight of everyone’s expectations.
Outside the windows, the town keeps turning at its own unhurried pace. Leaves continue their slow drift to the ground with the changing season, painting the sidewalks in shades of amber and crimson. The Ruby Spring keeps running its mysterious red course through the center of everything, steady and eternal as it’s always been.
In the middle of all of it, I sit in a worn vinyl booth with a Wolf shifter who holds my hand like it’s the simplest, most natural thing in the world, and I let myself believe, quietly, stubbornly, that whatever is locked away inside me isn’t gone forever. It’s just waiting for the right moment to crack wide open.
Maybe, just maybe, that moment is closer than I thought.
Chapter
Ten
THAT WAS ALMOST A KISS
Music is always my salvation. When the weight of responsibility crushes me, when the pages of magical texts blur together into an incomprehensible maze of symbols and incantations, when my brain feels like scrambled eggs left too long on the stove, I turn to rhythm. Right now, after three straight hours of attempting to decipher the difference between moon bell essence and starflower extract, I need that escape desperately.
“I can’t absorb another word about magical herbology,” I groan, slamming the heavy tome closed with more force than necessary. The sound echoes through Thorne Curiosities like a gunshot, and dust motes dance in the late afternoon light streaming through the shop’s tall windows, casting everything in a golden haze that should be peaceful but only emphasizes how trapped I feel.
Sir, perched regally on the polished counter beside me with his tail wrapped neatly around his paws, gives me that withering look he’s perfected over what I suspect are centuries of dealing with inadequate humans.“The reopening is in three weeks,Keisha. You haven’t even begun to grasp the most basic magical properties of?—”
“I know, I know.” I wave him off, already digging my phone from my back pocket with the desperation of someone drowning who’s just spotted a life preserver. “Just give me fifteen minutes to clear my head. That’s all. Fifteen minutes to remember I’m a human being and not just a vessel for arcane knowledge.”
The Familiar’s whiskers twitch with the kind of disapproval that suggests I’ve just proposed burning down the shop for fun.“Time is of the essence. The community expects?—”
“Fifteen minutes,” I repeat, already scrolling through my carefully curated playlists with the focus of someone defusing a bomb. “Then I’ll be the most studious, dedicated, magically-inclined woman in all of Ruby Springs. I promise.”
Sir’s amber eyes narrow to slits.“Your promises have proven remarkably elastic lately.”
Beyoncé’s bass drops through the shop’s sound system. Thank God my grandmother installed decent speakers when she renovated this place. Something inside me loosens like a knot finally giving way. My shoulders roll back, tension melting from muscles I didn’t even realize were clenched, my hips start to sway of their own accord, and I slide off the uncomfortable wooden stool that’s been my prison for the better part of the afternoon. For the first time today, I actually breathe fully, pulling air deep into my lungs instead of the shallow, anxious sips I’ve been surviving on.
The shop transforms into my personal stage, my sanctuary. Between the pristine shelves lined with curiosities I’m still learning to identify, past glass cases filled with enchanted oddities that pulse with their own subtle magic, I dance like nobody’s watching. Because nobody is watching, just one increasingly disgruntled Familiar. Lucien’s nowhere in sight, and the connecting door between our shops is closed.
I spin on my bare feet, having kicked off my shoes hours ago, letting my long braids fan out around me in a dark cascade. The familiar weight of them against my back, makes me feel more like myself than I have in weeks. The playlist transitions seamlessly from Beyonce to Rihanna before finally landing on Jill Scott’sGolden, and a little squeal of pure joy escapes me before I can stop it.
“This is my jam!” I announce to the empty shop, my voice rising with the chorus as if Jill Scott herself is in the room with me, encouraging every note. I sing at the top of my lungs, letting the rich melody fill every corner of the space, feeling the persistent tension in my chest dissolving with each word, each breath, each movement.
Sir’s tail twitches in what I choose to interpret as barely restrained irritation rather than the feline equivalent of a seizure.“Must we endure this theatrical display?”
“Oh, come on!” In a moment of pure impulse born from the intoxicating combination of good music and temporary freedom from dusty textbooks, I scoop him up before he can protest, cradling his surprisingly solid weight against my chest. His fur is incredibly soft, and he’s heavier than he looks, all lean muscle beneath that pristine coat. “Dance with me, you eternally grumpy cat.”
