Magic wove in and out of my fingers, and I wanted to laugh with the joy of it. I felt buoyant, strong, beautiful, sexy, and powerful. I felt how glorious it was to have my finger on the pulse of nature.
This was what I had been missing. Emery had been right those many months ago. He’d said I was more like a witch. A deep connection with others and the world around me was necessary to my magic working. I did think like a witch. The joy and love of this community buffeted me. It made me long for deep roots of my own.
But something was missing from the Ladies of the Light: the male half. Nature existed in both. Kooky though she was, Mary Bell was right about one thing: nature was the light and the dark, and everything in between. The magical world was rough. Wild. The calm and the storm. It required balance. These ladies did themselves a disservice by calling only to the feminine. And only to the light.
I missed Emery. I missed the balance we had found together. It had been so natural with him. So light and easy. We belonged together, whether he was ready to admit it or not.
I shook it off and shoved the spell toward the group, watching it swirl around until it sank into one of the ladies, a short-haired girl with black glasses and a pug nose.
May you kick his ass, lady.
“The witches are good people,” Smokey said. “Just wait until you meet one of the foul creatures that inhabit this world. That’ll ruin anyone’s mood.”
“I’ve already met plenty.”
Smokey’s laugh was low and rough. “You’re probably talking about vampires, right? Since you’re hanging out with Reagan. Maybe a shifter or two? All nice folk compared to some of the other things that exist out there, believe you me. I’ve thought about leaving this place a million times. Going out to Florida and retiring. But there is one thing this place has that Florida doesn’t.”
“What’s that?”
“Reagan.”
“Right.” I’d heard something like that a time or two.
I headed back, passing him. He wasn’t long in following.
“You’ll follow her lead, if you know what’s good for you,” he whispered.
I wasn’t sure if that was true, but these days, I wasn’t sure about much of anything. Except that if you placated someone, they were likely to go away.
“Got it,” I said.
“She has her finger on the magical pulse of this town. Of any town.”
“Totally. I sensed that.”
“You’ll see. If you get in a bind, she’ll help you out of it.”
I turned back toward the house, slowing when I saw a man standing in the entrance of the cemetery. Thick shoulders reduced down, making his upper body a V. He dominated the space by virtue of both size and presence, seething a sort of malice that had me plucking ingredients out of my magical cloud for a painful sort of cocktail.
He took a step forward, and the weave easily rolled through my hands, similar to a spell from one of Reagan’s books. I found myself incorporating strands and strings of the bright, sweet feeling I’d been reintroduced to through the witches, much like I’d pulled happy thoughts into my spell in Darius’s house right before slamming it into Ja.
“Ohhhh!” I shifted as an explosion of understanding hit me. The happier strands added balance, which actually made the spells stronger.
During my blast of awareness, the spell I’d been weaving fizzled out and I was left standing unprotected in a darkened cemetery with a creep and a possible thug.
“Blooming bollocks,” I muttered, starting the weave again.
“What’s she doing out of the house?” the man asked, his stance wide and arms pushed just slightly away from his body. The posture screamed, “Flee before I bust your head.”
I nearly tap-danced backward, having no problem with following unspoken orders. This wasn’t a confidence issue, it was a keeping-the-peace issue.
“I couldn’t stop her,” Smokey said, tensing. “I tried to talk reason, but she was hellbent on coming in here. She wanted to see the”—he lowered his voice to a whisper—“witches.”
The newcomer’s exhale was loud. “Did you chase them out?”
“No, these are the quiet ones. They’re not hurting anyone,” Smokey replied, and I relaxed a little, realizing they knew each other. Given Smokey’s fierce loyalty to Reagan, I figured I was in the clear.
“I don’t care if they’re the mute ones. I don’t need no quacks rolling up in my neighborhood, messing with things they don’t understand.”
“In fairness…” I raised my hand like a kid in a classroom. Silence descended and I flinched a little, knowing I had the big guy’s undivided attention—something I’d bet most people tried to avoid. “They were totally harmless. They didn’t have enough power to do much, and even if they did, they only have light and love in their hearts.”
The man shifted. The silence stretched.
I got the feeling he wasn’t pleased with my answer.
“But I support keeping all witch and mage folk out of this cemetery,” I went on quickly, half to keep the peace, and half because it was a good idea. “At least until I’m gone.”
“A mage has more power than a witch,” Smokey said.
“I don’t care.” That was what the man said, but what he clearly meant was: “Do not mention anything magical to me again. Ever. Or else.”
“Reagan said you had trouble following you around,” the man said, jerking his head and turning toward Reagan’s house. Smokey and I hurried after him. “I ain’t seen nothing out of the ordinary.”
“The people who are after me will likely be carrying satchels.” I mimed the outline of a satchel across my side even though I was behind him. “Or maybe a belt with compartments. That’s how you’ll know they’re dangerous.”
“Guns aren’t so easy to spot,” the man said, looking both ways before crossing the street.
“I don’t think they use guns. I’ve never seen them use guns, at least. Or even knives. In the past, they’ve relied solely on their ma—” I abruptly stopped when he turned to scowl at me.
“I’ve got my eye out,” Smokey said, drifting to the side and stopping in front of Reagan’s house. The newcomer stopped just off to the side, in the area between Reagan’s house and the neighbor’s place.
“I saw one strange face, but that was when Reagan’s new car was parked here.” Smokey crossed his arms over his chest. “You need to talk to her about that, Mikey. She can’t keep parking that thing here. It draws all kinds of notice. Cops think it belongs to a drug dealer or is stolen, drug dealers want to steal it, preppy tourists want to cross over for a gawk—dent or no dent, it is a fine piece of machinery, and everyone is stopping what they’re doing to take notice.”
The man—Mikey—nodded slowly and turned so he was looking out onto the street. “Yeah, I hear ya. She said it was temporary. I’ll talk to her.”
“Or…and this is just spitballing.” Tingles of fire scuttled up my spine, though I had no idea why. “Let’s steal it and teach her a lesson. I can get the keys, easy.”
Mikey turned slowly and looked at me, his expression blank. In precise movements, he raised his arm until it was perpendicular to the ground and then pulled up his sleeve. His gaze shifted from me to his arm before landing back on me as he dropped his arm back to his side.
Smokey edged away slightly. I backed up until my heels touched the stairs, not sure what was happening, but ready to run just in case.
“Keep that shit to yourself,” Mikey growled.
“Oh, we wouldn’t really be stealing it. I’d get the keys, we’d move it—I mean, I would do it on my own, but I don’t know how to drive a stick—and then I’d put the keys back,” I babbled. “She wouldn’t kill us, promise. And I’m pretty good at anticipating when she’s going to throw a punch. I very rarely get it right to the face anymore. So I can just warn you. Then we can tell her what we did and laugh and laugh.”
“I don’t mean that shit,” Mikey said, his voice rising. “I mean the supernatural shit. I don’t want none of that. I’ve told Reagan before and I’ll tell you now. Keep that shit away from me. I got a simple life and I’m not trying to mess it up with the likes of you fuckers.”
“Wow.” I grimaced and looked at my feet. “If you’re friends with Reagan, I can certainly see why the absence of swearing seems abnormal to her.”
“Reagan said she was untrained,” Smokey murmured. “And Penny mentioned that she was largely naive—”
“I said people call me naive, not that I actually was—”
“—so she might not know what it is she’s doing,” Smokey finished.
“Oh, I’m not doing anything.” I gestured at the magic-less air around us. “There’s nothing going on here. This is all above board.”
“Fucking hell.” Mikey spat on the street, shook his head, and turned. In a moment, he was walking up the stairs of the neighboring porch, his steps much quieter than I would’ve thought for a man of his size.