A year ago, Nell had moved into Greymarket and been nearly consumed by the Lustrum—a shifting, liminal labyrinth Goldie still couldn’t pin down as good, evil, or anything in between. Nell would have vanished into its depths had Sig not claimed her, yanking her back from the brink and forging an unprecedented bond between a human and a one-hundred-fifty-year-old cryptid.
Their ensuing courtship had been as bewildering as it was passionate, and climaxed in a second confrontation with the Lustrum. That encounter had healed the errant space itself, sealing cracks in the Lustrum as well as in themselves, and Sig and Nell had emerged as a Dyad: two halves of a whole with the uncanny ability to sense the thread of Doom and decide whether to intervene.
Now, Sig and Nell moved through the world as if guided by shared wings, their laughter light and certain. It was a bliss that even Goldie, accustomed to the uncanny romances of Bellwether, found profoundly moving.
Nell dropped a warm paper bag and a coffee onto the desk in front of Goldie before flopping into an empty chair. “We finally stabilized the last ripple from the Doom, capital D, capitaleveryone almost died screaming. It was touch and go for a while, but Sig anchored it.”
She rubbed the heel of one palm over her sternum. “It’s sealed now. Or healed. Or maybe just… quiet. But gods, I’m tired. I told him he owes me.”
Goldie beamed, unwrapping her second pastry of the day. “Oh, I think I knowexactlyhow you want him to owe you. Definitely involving that proboscis of his.” She took a bite of the chocolate croissant and winked. “Multiple orgasms as devotional practice. He really is a modern man.”
Nell flushed, but a grin tickled her lips.
“Andby the way,” Goldie continued, licking a bit of chocolate from her thumb, “you still haven’t asked if he’s got a single brother or cousin or whatever. Honestly, it’s rude.”
Nell’s eyes narrowed as she spotted the crumpled waxed paper bag already sitting off to the side. “You bitch. You already had a treat.”
Goldie made a valiant effort not to look guilty. “That one was unsolicited. A gift from a patron.”
Nell stilled. Her smile didn’t fade, but her gaze sharpened, brightening with the white shimmer that meant she was seeing more than what was in front of her.
Goldie recognized it immediately and lunged to grab her wrist. “No. Don’t youdare. Don’t you Dyad-weird your way into this. Let me have my pastry-based flirtation like a normal witch.”
Nell’s grin widened, eyes still glowing. “You know I can’t help it. Take it up with Greymarket if you’ve got a complaint.” She sipped her coffee, unbothered. “Besides, you didn’t seem to mind when I warned you off texting Ezra at midnight a few months ago. Saved you from three paragraphs of self-sabotage.”
Goldie groaned and thunked her forehead against the desk. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” Suddenly, Nell's expression shifted, the teasing falling away as she tilted her head. Her gaze skated over Goldie as if following invisible threads.
“Funny. When I look at you right now, I keep seeing… leaves. Shoots. Something sprouting.”
Goldie sat bolt upright and shuddered. “Absolutely not. I kill every plant I touch. If the universe thinks I’m about to become fertile ground for anything, it’s got the wrong witch.”
Nell chuckled, but her tone was gentler now. “Just telling you what I see.”
Goldie fanned herself with a return slip. “Gross. Don’t prophecy at me when I’m mid-croissant. You’ll ruin the taste.”
That got Nell laughing again, the tension dissipating as easily as it had come. “Fine, fine. Back to business. Who was the guy in Dockers who brought you a treat? And what the hell is going on with Ezra?”
Goldie let out a long, theatrical sigh. “I don’t know what’s going on with Ezra. Last time we talked, we argued about…” She waved vaguely. “Magical politics. Boundaries. Nothing and everything. We haven’t spoken since, and I’d rather not spiral about it, thanks.”
Nell’s expression softened, but Goldie pressed on. “Meanwhile, you’re all mated and glowy and content. I just want to keep my options open. Flirt. Eat pastries. Not tie myself in knots over an emotionally constipated man who owns more hair products than I do.”
“Totally fair,” Nell said, rising to her feet. “But if youdoend up entangled with anyone, you’re legally obligated to tell me. I’ll accept being informed after the crazy sex, but before any binding rituals. Deal?”
Goldie rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed.
Nell arched her brows, eyes flashing white again. “And for the record, that guy in Dockers? He’s got potential. Something about him glows. And he’s on the city council, isn’t he?” She gave a delighted gasp. “Don’t tell me you’re about to repeat thedating authority figuresphase. Last time it was the school council, remember? Because you wanted?—”
“Nope. No, bitch. We are not doing this.” Goldie jabbed a finger at her and tossed a paperclip.
Nell cackled. “Oh, brave library spirits,” she intoned grandly as she retreated to the break room. “Watch over Marigold and keep her from accosting me with office supplies. Please and thank you.”
Goldie leaned back in her chair, laughter still lingering in her chest. She thought of Jonah’s smile, of the way Nell’s presencemade everything a little more golden, and of how the rhythm of her life felt sweet and steady.
Her gaze drifted to the book still open on the counter. Page ninety-three stared back at her: the woodcut of seven solemn figures, torches aloft. Her attention snagged on the drape of a robe—wide-sleeved, dramatic, the hem pooling in curls of ink.
Goldie’s lips pursed. “That,” she murmured, snagging a pen and flipping to her notebook, “isabsolutely fire.” She sketched a quick note in the margin about sleeve lines and embellishment, already plotting how to spin something like it into her Herald costume.
