I reach for it, stretching my magical senses as far as they’ll go. I push at the darkness with all my might, gritting my teeth and throwing everything I have at the barrier. I can feel sweat beading on my forehead, rolling down my temples. My limbsshake from holding my sitting position, my muscles protesting the effort of maintaining both physical and magical focus.
I grunt and push harder, desperation creeping in as I sense how close I am to something important. The moment I do, the moment I let that desperation take over, the connection stutters like an engine running out of gas.
The threads snap back like a rubber band pulled too tight, recoiling with such force that it breaks my concentration completely. The warmth fractures beneath my fingertips, splintering into a thousand pieces, and just like that, everything collapses inward, slamming me back into my body so abruptly that I gasp and my eyes fly open.
The quiet of the manor rushes back in like water filling a broken dam, and I’m just me again, sitting on a floor with rug burn on my palms and the taste of disappointment bitter on my tongue. The warmth of the ring on my finger going abruptly cold.
“No, no, no, no,” I breathe, frustration surging up fast and sharp, making my hands curl into fists. “I almost had it. I saw it all, the town, the people, the magic connecting everything. I was so close.”
Sir watches me carefully, his eyes unreadable as they study my face.“You touched it. That’s more than you’ve managed before. Much more.”
“It was right there,” I insist, pushing myself up onto my hands, my voice rising with each word. “I could feel it, I could feel the disconnect, and then it just slipped through my fingers.”
“Because you forced it,”he replies, his tone matter-of-fact but not unkind.“Magic doesn’t respond well to desperation, Keisha. The moment you started pushing instead of flowing, you lost the connection.”
“No, Sir, that’s not it. I felt the block. There’s something actively holding my magic back. It has to be the spell. I’m-”
A sharp knock echoes through the manor before I can finish the thought, the sound cutting cleanly through the room and making us both freeze.
I turn my head toward the front door, my heart still racing from the magical exertion and the frustration of losing that connection right when I needed it most.
Sir’s ears twitch toward the sound, rotating like little satellite dishes. “We have company.”
I push myself to my feet, my legs slightly unsteady after sitting on the floor for so long, securing my braids in the lazy bun on top of my head as I move toward the front of the house. My jersey hangs loose around my hips, and I’m suddenly aware of how rumpled and sweaty I must look, but it’s too late to do anything about it now.
By the time I reach the heavy oak door and pull it open. The smell hits me immediately, something warm and savory that makes my stomach growl with sudden, fierce hunger. Fried chicken, I think, and fresh bread, and something else that smells like home and comfort and everything I’ve been missing.
Bea stands on my porch looking like a woman on a mission, her Pot & Kettle Diner uniform partially hidden underneath her thick winter coat, a large, insulated bag in one hand that’s clearly the source of the incredible smell. Her sister, Zane, is beside her, bundling up against the late afternoon chill, both of them looking entirely too pleased with themselves for this to be a social call.
“Don’t even think about pretending you’re not home,” Bea says without preamble, pushing past me without waiting for an invitation, her boots clicking against the marble floor of the foyer. “I saw you through the window looking like you were either meditating or having some kind of breakdown, and either way, you need food.”
“I wasn’t pretending,” I reply, though my voice lacks any real conviction. I step aside to let them both in, smiling at Zane as she hurries past me, shooting me an apologetic look for her sister’s bulldozer approach to friendship.
“Mmhmm,” Bea hums, already making her way toward the dining room like she owns the place, setting the bag down on the dining table. “Three days, Keisha. Three whole days of you hiding in this house like the town is going to magically forget you exist if you stay quiet long enough.”
“How many times do I have to say I’m not hiding?” I repeat, following them both into the room, though the words sound weaker the second time around, like I don’t quite believe them myself.
Zane snorts softly behind her sister as they both begin to unpack what appears to be enough food to feed half the supernatural population of Ruby Springs. Container after container emerges from that bag, making my mouth water. Fried chicken that’s still steaming, fresh biscuits that smell like butter and heaven, mac and cheese that looks like it could solve world hunger, green beans with bacon, mashed potatoes with gravy, and what looks like an entire chocolate cake.
Bea turns from the table, crossing her arms as she looks at me with the kind of expression that says she’s not buying a word of my protests. Her hair is pulled back in their usual neat style, but I can see the concern in her hazel eyes despite her no-nonsense approach. “Then what exactly would you call it? Because from where I’m standing, it looks an awful lot like you’re letting a few small-minded people drive you out of your own town.”
I hesitate, my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as I search for words that don’t sound as pathetic as I feel.
She doesn’t wait for an answer, which is probably for the best. Taking off her coat with efficient movements, she takesZane’s as well and moves through the manor with the kind of ease that speaks to natural confidence rather than familiarity. I watch her with something approaching awe. I’ve always wanted this, always craved the kind of friendship where someone won’t mind calling me on my bullshit with a smile and a home-cooked meal.
“You can’t let them push you into this corner,” she continues, her voice firm but not unkind as she hangs their coats over the back of two chairs. “People talk, Keisha. That’s what they do, especially in a town this small. But here’s the thing. And I know I’m not telling you something you don’t already know. Half of them don’t even understand what they’re talking about. The other half are too scared to admit they might be wrong about you, about your shop, about what’s really happening with those wards.”
“They think this is all my fault,” I say quietly, sinking into one of the dining room chairs, the weight of the last few days suddenly feeling unbearable. “The break-in at my shop, the wards that were already failing before I got here, even the weird weather patterns. Everything that’s escalated since I arrived, they’re laying it at my feet.”
“And?” Bea shrugs as she takes a serving spoon from Zane and begins laying out the food with the practiced efficiency of someone who’s spent years making sure people are fed and cared for. “Let them think whatever they want. You know the truth. The people who matter know the truth. That’s what counts.”
I look away, my jaw tightening, because she’s right and I know it. I’ve let my insecurities and my lifelong sense of not being enough drive me into isolation just when I should be standing my ground.
“You don’t get to disappear,” she adds, her voice softer now but no less resolute. “Not when this town needs you, andespecially not when you’re this close to figuring things out. I can see it in your face, something’s changed since I saw you last.”
Her words settle somewhere deep in my chest, stirring something I’ve been trying very hard to ignore.
“I felt it,” I admit after a moment, the confession coming out in a rush. “The magic. Right before you arrived, I actually felt it all. Not just little sparks or fragments, but the whole network. The manor, the town, the Spring, all of you, every supernatural being in Ruby Springs. I could sense your individual magical signatures like lights on a map.”
