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Suddenly, something, perhaps a shift in the wind or a change in the air, made Dan glance at the door again.

He saw the owl first. Large, white, snowy, settled on Tempest’s shoulder with the upright posture of a creature that had finally come into its own. He knew it was Fortune, in same the way you might recognize a person’s handwriting in a different medium. Fortune’s amber eyes scanned the room with a calm, regal thoroughness that the parrot’s restless sidelong glances had never quite managed. They found his eyes across the crowd. She gave him an infinitesimal nod.

Then he looked at Tempest.

Something was different about her, though it was difficult to say precisely what. She was luminous in a way that went beyond the lamplight—her curls shot through with strands of copper and bronze, her eyes a deeper blue than he remembered. They were the color of open water during the last hour before dark. She looked like a photograph that had been developed properly, in full color. On her head she wore a sparkling tiara with the number 33 spelled out in rhinestones. Her sleeves were rolled up, and winding up both arms, vivid against her skin, was an intricate pattern of branches and leaves that he had never seen before. He could not stop looking at them now.

Beside her, a shorter, rounder witch with dark hair and dancing eyes was already scanning the room for a seat. She caught Dan staring at Tempest and grinned at him.

His feet were moving before he’d made any decision about it.

“You came,” Dan said, as he reached out to clasp Tempest’s hands.

“I did,” she said, and it felt meaningful somehow. Or perhaps it was the way she was beaming at him. “Nice costume.”

“Happy Birthday, by the way,” Dan said. He tipped his top hat at her and bowed awkwardly. It just seemed like the right thing to do, considering the Regency-period costume he’d chosen to wear.

“Nice morning jacket,” a woman grinned, apparently a friend of Tempest.

Dan cleared a table near the sofas for Tempest and her friend, took their order and went to make their drinks.

He had her book ready behind the bar. He brought it over with her Old Fashioned and her friend’s rum and Coke.

“I wanted to give this back to you,” he said, holding the book out. “It was wrong of me to keep it.”

Tempest looked at the book. Then at him.

“I knew it,” she said. The words came out quietly, but her eyes were sparkling.

“You were right.” He could feel himself reddening. She didn’t take the book. She was making him suffer for his crimes, which he supposed he deserved. He kept holding it out. “I appreciated your annotations.”

“Keep it then.” The smile was curling up the left corner of her mouth. “It’s your book with my notes in it. That’s a different thing.”

“Your notes,” Dan said, “are the reason I haven’t been able to part with it.” He stopped and pulled a chair from a neighboring table for himself to straddle. He felt like he had to explain himself. He wanted her to understand, and more than that, he wanted her to like him. He wanted it so much. His hands weren’t steady when he went on. “The way your mind works. My knowledge base is fixed. Once I’ve read something it stays, but it stays as it was. Your notes made me question everything I thought I’d already filed away. For you information is kinetic. It’s a conversation rather than a collection.”

Tempest was quiet for a moment. She seemed to be struggling to suppress a smile.

“That’s the most words I’ve heard you say at once,” she said, losing the battle with her own lips. The smile spread to her eyes.

“I’ve been practicing,” Dan admitted. Her smile was contagious. He felt it moving across his own lips.

Priya, from across the table, said nothing. She was leaning back in her chair with her arms folded, looking thoroughly pleased with herself.

“I had a thought,” Dan said, struggling to keep his tone casual. “Partner up with me tonight?”

Tempest raised a brow. “Is that even fair?”

“Probably not.” Dan smirked.

She held out her hand to shake. He took it in both of his and resisted the urge to turn it over and trace the new vines further up her arm.

“I have the perfect name for our team.” She bit her lip and glanced at the majestic owl seated on her shoulder. “Fortune’s Favor.”

Across the table, Priya clapped her hands in approval.

Fortune shook herself off and lifted her head in a regal fashion. Then she lifted off without ceremony, crossed the short distance to the mantel, and settled into the twiggy basket atop the trophy. In the rafters, a squirrel in a yellow paisley frock stopped mid-sip and stared. Fortune stared back. The squirrel looked away first.

Tom kicked off the competition to a roar of approval from the crowd. Dan and Tempest worked together in a way that felt effortless. His facts, her instincts. They didn’t need to confer loudly or argue. All it took was a look, or a small gesture, and together they arrived at answers more quickly and more decisively than either of them would have managed alone.