“Thanks for that, Captain Apparent.I know,” I shot back.“Because no one bothered to tell me anything until Alice was gone.I’ve been figuring this out blind—and shockingly, ‘interdimensional maintenance’ wasn’t on my Manhattan résumé.”
“She died suddenly?”he pressed.
“Yes.That’s how dying tends to work.”
Something flickered in his eyes.Calculation.Worry.
“That’s… unfortunate,” he said.“The Council will not be pleased.”
I laughed, short and humorless.“The Council can get in line.”
“Who’s running the flower shop?”he asked.“That was Alice’s cover.”
“I am.”
“And you’re not?”
“I’ve been busy not dying.”
“If you don’t return to it, your cover will be compromised.”
That was it.
I grabbed his bicep—solid as carved stone—and turned him toward the door, giving him a firm shove.To my surprise, he moved.
“That’s enough.Bu-bye.”
“You can’t remove me,” he snapped, bracing a hand on the frame, leaning in close.“You’re making a serious mistake.”
Owen was right behind me now—a presence, not a threat, but ready to become one.
I met Voss’s gaze, voice low, dangerous.“I’m done with secrets.I’m done with everyone knowing my life better than I do.You explain what is happening—right now—or you leave.”
Something in my voice—or the magic I hadn’t learned yet—made him ease back.
“All you had to do was ask,” he said carefully.
“Okay, then.I’m asking.”I stepped aside.“Sit.We’ll get you coffee.”
I motioned to the worn sofa then gave Owen a pleading look.He muttered something under his breath but complied.Voss sat.Willow immediately claimed his lap, purring smugly.He scratched her head between the ears.
“Your cat likes me,” he said.
“Willow,” I corrected.“She hates being called cat.”
He blinked.I took the sofa opposite him, clasping my hands in my lap.Owen returned with coffee, handing one to the agent and one to me.I beamed as he settled next to me—close enough our knees brushed.Quiet solidarity.
“Tell me everything,” Voss said.
He took a sip of coffee, then set aside the cup and pulled out a notepad and pen from the inside of his coat pocket—while still maintaining Willow, who seemed determined to fuse herself permanently to his lap.
I told him what mattered.
Alice.The will.The tree.The ritual.The attic tear.The shadow-things.The grimoire responding like it recognized me—and the moment in the shop when something on the other side had listened hard enough to find my name.
Voss’s pen stilled.
“A listener,” he repeated, quiet.
