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A headache sank its claws into the base of my skull.

“Absolutely. I’ll get right on that.”

I spent an hour at the kitchen counter pinning Pinterest posts to a board named Italian Summer Poolside until it was a curation of linen, olive trees, pale umbrellas, and glassware that looked like it would shatter in the very presence of a dishwasher. My focus was destroyed by a text from Damian.

you looked incredible last night. I can’t stop thinking about you. I can still taste you.

I read the text three times, which I’m ashamed to admit, because I knew exactly what it was. The text was uncanny, and I knew this wasn’t the Damian I’d been with last night. It was exactly the kind of thing Kai was sending Callie: coven-sanctioned affection that a few sociopaths would review to make sure he was following flirt protocol. What annoyed me the most was that it still made my pulse race and my heart flutter in my chest.

But then he sent a photo of himself at the gym, his shirt partially pulled up to reveal the fox tattoo. I smiled. A message inside a message. So this was the game we were playing. And if he was going to torture me with this game, even out of necessity, I was going to do the exact same thing to him.

I grabbed a Band-Aid from the first-aid kit, then locked myself inside one of Vivienne’s five guest bathrooms. I stripped down to my underwear, congratulating myself on choosing a matching set for once, and placed the Band-Aid exactly where Damian had cut his thumb on the thorn. Then I pulled out my hair tie, zhuzhed my hair to give it some volume, and took a selfie with the Band-Aid visible.

battle wound from the world’s most dangerous job. you’d have handled it better. you’re good with your hands like that, I typed, then sent it along with the photo.

He replied in under a minute.

you’re going to get me thrown out of this gym. I nearly dropped a dumbbell on someone’s foot. unfair. and I’m pretty sure that’s my Band-Aid.

Before I could bask in the double-edged sensation of our little game any further, I heard Vivienne calling my name.

“Send me the Pinterest board, Marlowe. And those returns are still sitting in my closet.”

I boxed the returns and ran her errands, stopping by the farmer’s market last, where I found her seventy-three-dollar Manuka honey and bought two jars.

With the honey inside a crisp paper tote, I made my way back to the car. A band played folksy guitar and crooned by the picnic tables. The late spring weather was a blissful blend of dappled sun and cool breeze. A large poodle and a baby in a stroller conversed through a sign language of wet sniffs and tiny fingers.

As I neared the parking lot, a jewelry stand caught my eye, its silver and crystal pendants glinting in the sun.

Jess was standing behind the stall. “Hey!”

“Hey!”

We hugged, awkwardly, the Manuka honey swinging to smack her thigh as I leaned in.

“I haven’t seen you here before?”

“It’s something new I’m trying,” she said, squinting into the sun.

“Cute necklace,” she said, eyeing my neck.

“Thanks. It was a gift.”

Jess gave me a quick knowing smile.

A man in a worn leather jacket and a black T-shirt sidled in next to her. He met my gaze once, then looked away. My stomach dropped. Even if I hadn’t known he was coven property, he still would have unnerved me. His gray eyes had skated over me with a cold intrusiveness.

“This is Soren,” she said. “We just met yesterday,” she giggled, in the most girly, un-Jess way possible.

“Hi,” I said. “Marlowe. Nice to meet you.”

I didn’t extend my hand. We both half-nodded at each other. He was standing very close to Jess, and now his hand moved to her back. More possessive than affectionate, or maybe it was paternal. He looked like he was at least in his late thirties. About a decade older than her.

I glanced at Jess’s wrist and saw a black leather woven bracelet, one I didn’t remember her wearing before. Hanging from it was a charm. A small silver flame.

My pulse ticked in my neck. The ambient noise of babies and acoustic guitars blurred to a din.

“I have to run,” I said. My smile wanted to falter, but I didn’t let it. I left the stall and walked to my car.