They piled into the Range Rover - Urien behind the wheel, Mabon riding shotgun, Rux sprawled in the back. Urien reversed hard before swinging the vehicle around to take off back down the driveway.
“Describe him again.” Mabon twisted in his seat. “Everything. Don’t leave out a single detail.”
Rux closed his eyes, pulling up the memory. “Shorter than us. Maybe five-six? Round face, glasses - wire-rimmed, I think. Freckles. Brownhair, kind of wavy. He was wearing this cream sweater and carrying coffee, and he had this smile that just…”
His heart stone blazed, and all three of them felt it. Mabon reached over and squeezed Urien’s knee – a wordless reassurance they’d been giving each other for a century. It was as familiar as Rux’s hand on the back of his neck.
Chapter Two
Mabon
The Range Rover was parked across from the Daily Bean, the engine ticking softly in the afternoon heat.
Mabon held up the newspaper - yesterday’s financial section, because it was the only thing in the car - and peered over the top edge like the world’s worst spy. Beside him in the driver’s seat, Urien had slouched so low his knees hit the steering wheel. In the back, Rux pressed his face against the window hard enough to leave a nose print. But it was all fine. They’d found him.
“This is absurd.” Mabon lowered the paper half an inch. “We look like extras from a bad detective film.”
“Speak for yourself.” Urien shifted even lower in his seat, which seemed physically impossible given his height. His long legs were now folded at angles that defied basic anatomy. “I look completely natural.”
“You’re six-foot-seven, folded like a lawn chair, and covered in garden dirtbecause someone didn’t think to change clothes before stalking our mate.”
“It’s not stalking if he’s ours.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly the definition of stalking.”
“The dirt adds character,” Urien insisted, brushing at a smear of potting soil on his shirt, which only spread it further. “It makes me look...rugged. Approachable.”
“It makes you look like you’ve been burying bodies.”
Behind them, Rux made a noise suspiciously close to a whimper. His breath fogged the window in rapid pants.
“That’s him. Right there. Behind the counter. Do you see him? Tell me you see him.”
“We see him, Rux.”
“But do youseehim?”
Mabon raised the paper again, angling for a better view through the Daily Bean’s front window while simultaneously trying to look like hewas definitely not looking through the window. The coffee shop was bright and cheerful, with potted plants hanging in the windows and a chalkboard sign advertising seasonal lattes.
And there, behind the glass display of pastries, stood their fourth.
Brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses. That soft, rounded face Rux had described in excruciating detail for the past two hours. The man smiled at a customer - the kind of smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes… Mabon’s chest constricted, and his newspaper crinkled, then tore slightly.
“Careful,” Urien muttered. “That’s the stock report.”
“I don’t care about the stock report.”
“You care very much about the stock report. Yesterday, you spent forty minutes explaining cryptocurrency trends.”
“That was yesterday. Before.” Mabon gestured vaguely at the coffee shop. At their mate, who was currentlylaughing at something a customer said. “Now there’s only...him.”
In the back seat, Rux had begun to vibrate. “He’s smiling at that customer. Look at that smile. That’s OUR smile. Why is he giving our smile to strangers?”
“Because he works in customer service and doesn’t know he’s our Treasure yet,” Mabon said through gritted teeth.
“Well, he should.”
“Yes, I’ll just march in there and announce it, shall I? ‘Hello, we’ve been watching you from our car for twenty minutes because magical stones appeared on our chests from the moment we saw you. Would you like to hear about our century-long search for a fourth mate? Also, we brought a newspaper for cover.’”
