Page 10 of Spirit Storm

Every car on the street has suffered a similar fate. The local windshield and glass repair shops are about to have one helluva rush. Debris is scattered a hundred feet in every direction, some of it still smoldering. The neighbor's front garden is entirely scorched.

Wylder pulls over, and Asher's truck rolls up to the curb behind us and stops.

I stare at the destruction, and my mind wars with what Caldwell told us. “That was a person? You’re sure?”

“One of the rescued siphoned witches. Yes, I’m positive.” Caldwell flings open the door of the Jeep and gets out.

We follow him, the air outside acrid and heavy with an ozone bite. Underneath it lies something that might be juniper… the individual scent of it, burning away to nothing.

Wylder comes to stand beside me. His hand finds the back of my arm, and he pulls me closer to his side. “What happened here?”

Caldwell glances back to us and frowns. “Magic reintegration failure. This is what we were afraid of.”

With that, he strides off to speak to the team of Order officials already on the scene.

Footsteps crunch on broken glass behind me. Violet appears at my shoulder, and Lily at her other side. Asher and Mica take up position beside us. We stand there in a loose row, looking at what a witch’s life looks like when something goes horribly wrong.

Lily's dark brown eyes shine with tears. “This could happen to us?”

I swallow. “Not in Arcana. You’ll both be safe there.”

Violet slides her hand into mine and holds on tight. I squeeze back and don't let go.

Mica sighs, staring at the wreckage. "And I thought three months of forging was tough. What the hell has been going on here while I was gone?”

“Too much,” Wylder says. “Or, at least, too much to explain here and now.”

I turn to my sisters, meeting the fear in their eyes, my father’s rich brown eyes, and pull up my big girl pants. “You're going to be fine. Both of you. We’ll grab your bags and take you to Arcana tonight. What happened here will not happen to you. I won’t let it.”

Violet nods, and I turn my attention to Lily. “With you two there, and Mica there working on our plan to take down Tharuzel, Asher, Wylder, and I will visit all the time. It won’t be like with Laurel, you’ll see. I’ll make sure of it.”

The Tuesday morning rush at Biscuits & Banter has the particular chaos of a small town that runs entirely on coffee and gossip. I move between the tables with a pot in each hand—regular in my right, decaf in my left—refilling cups before anyone has to ask.

"Poppy, did you hear about the Hendersons putting up that fence?"

Miss Edna sits at her usual corner table, her silver hair pulled back in a tight bun, both hands wrapped around a mug that says, If you didn’t want me to know, you should’ve whispered.

"I think property disputes are above my pay grade, Miss Edna."

"It's six inches onto Carol's side. Six inches."

"Devastating." I top up her cup. "Are you having breakfast this morning or indulging in pie?"

“What kind of pie?”

“Wildberry or apple cinnamon.”

“Oh, definitely apple. Don't tell my cardiologist."

The idea of Miss Edna asking for privacy is both ironic and hilarious. Still, I know when to pick my battles. "Doctor-patient confidentiality goes both ways."

I wink and move on.

Two tables over, the Mackey brothers—both retired, both incapable of talking at a normal volume—are working through plates of biscuits and gravy while arguing about something to do with a lawnmower. I drop the check between them without interrupting.

Neither notices.

The checkerboard floor catches the morning light coming through the wall of glass windows, throwing a sharp grid across the wooden tables. The diner smells like butter and strong coffee and the ghost of last night's soup special.