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In the center console, among an accumulation of old receipts and spare change, I found a black Lightning cable. I plugged the connector into the port at the bottom of my dead iPhone, setting the glass rectangle in the cup holder.

For five long seconds, the screen remained pitch-black. Then, a faint red battery icon flickered to life, swiftly followed by the glowing white Apple logo illuminating the dark glass.

I leaned over the steering wheel, speaking clearly toward the screen. “Hey Siri, find clothing stores near me.”

A smooth, calm, robotic female voice echoed clearly through the Suburban’s front speakers: “I found several options near you. The closest is Target, three miles north on Highway 101.”

I tapped the first result on the screen, bringing up Apple Maps. The blue navigation line rendered instantly, tracing a quick six-minute route through the coastal redwood corridor.

Dax recoiled so fast his head nearly cracked against the passenger window. His eyes were blown wide as he stared at the glowing rectangle, his hand hovering inches from his concealed dagger.

“What in the name of the gods was that?!” Dax hissed, his voice hushed and genuinely terrified. He leaned in close, peering intently at the smooth glass face of the phone as if expecting a demon to burst through the screen. “Tauriel... who is speaking from inside that glass slab? Is there a pocket-sized mage bound inside the metal? What kind of dark blood magic is this?!”

“It’s not magic, Dax,” I said, shifting the transmission into reverse and glancing over my shoulder. “It’s a phone. It’s an electronic device that uses wireless signals and artificial intelligence. There isn’t a person inside it—it’s just code.”

“A disembodied voice that knows where to buy trousers using invisible air-signals...” Dax breathed, shaking his head in sheer disbelief as he reached out a hesitant finger to touch the glowing map. “That sounds like high-tier sorcery with extra steps.”

From the middle row, squeezed tightly between Caspian’s broad frame and Manem’s shoulders, Mal leaned his head back against the leather headrest and let out a long groan.

“Gods help us,” Mal droned, his eyes rolling toward the ceiling of the cab as he shifted his long legs in the cramped space. “This is going to be a long couple of hours.”

“Keep your complaints to yourself, Mal,” I said, catching his eye in the rear-view mirror. “Or I’ll turn off the air conditioning and let you roast in those leathers.”

Caspian didn’t say a word. He sat in the middle of the bench, his royal blue eyes locked onto the back of my neck in the mirror, watching every movement of my hands on the wheel with that heavy intensity that made the air inside the vehicle feel thick enough to choke on.

I pressed my foot onto the gas pedal, backing the Suburban out of the garage and down the gravel driveway. The heavy tires crunched over the wet pine needles before I cut the wheel, swinging the massive black SUV onto the dark, winding asphalt of Highway 101.

The headlights sliced through the cool evening coastal fog as we headed south toward the department store. Five lethal Fae warriors riding inside a Chevy, bound for the mortal realm’s version of armor.

Several minutes later, I pulled the Suburban into the sprawling, brightly lit parking lot of a massive Target.

The glowing red bullseye logo towered over the entrance, washing the concrete in a sterile crimson light.

Dax pressed his face against the passenger glass, his brow furrowed in utter disgust as he took in the landscape. “Gods above. What a hideously square fortress. It looks like it was built by someone who despises beauty.”

He rolled down his window, leaning his head out to stare down at the pavement beneath our tires. His eyes narrowed with deep concern. “And why have your people encased the trees in tiny rock graves? Look at them, Tauriel! They’re trapped in little squares of dark, frozen earth surrounded by this endless black substance. Is this how mortals punish their flora?”

“It’s called asphalt, Dax. And those are parking lot islands,” I said, putting the Suburban into park and cutting the ignition. “It keeps cars from running over the trees.”

“It looks like a stone prison for oaks,” Dax muttered, shaking his head.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and turned around in my seat, locking my gaze onto the three towering Fae warriors crammed into the back row. I raised a hand, pointing my finger straight at Manem’s iron-plated chest.

“Listen to me carefully,” I said, my voice leaving no room for negotiation. “You leave your broadswords in the trunk under the blanket.”

Manem’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle jumped along his neck. “A High Commander does not surrender his steel on foreign soil!”

“I’m not asking you to surrender it, I’m asking you to hide it so we don’t get swarmed by mortal authorities,” I hissed. “I swear to you, the only threat inside that building is a flock of aggressive yoga moms.”

A dead silence fell over the cab.

Dax slowly turned around in his seat, his eyes wide, his hand instinctively dropping toward his concealed dagger. “What... what in the gods’ names is a yoga mom?”

Mal leaned forward from the middle seat. “Is it a tier of dark spellcasters? Do they manipulate blood magic?”

“Do they bend bones?” Manem growled, his hand tightening around his hilt.

I dragged both hands down my face, letting out a long, heavy sigh. “No. They are mortal women in extremely tight stretchy trousers who drink iced coffee, stretch their bodies for exercise, and will ruthlessly trample you if you get between them and organic produce.”