I turn onto the small side street, headlights catching the fog rolling off the hills. The shop looms ahead, soft light spilling through the windows, faint scent of herbs and baked goods drifting into the damp air.
I push the door open and step inside. The bell chimes, and I catch the scent of cinnamon and lavender. June is behind the counter, apron dusted with flour, her hair tucked messily into a bun. I blink at her, surprised. Where is everyone else?
“Where’s the rest of the crew?” I ask, shaking off rain from my coat.
“Caroline and August are resting,” she says, wiping her hands on a towel. “What can I do you for?”
I glance around the shop, shelves stacked with jars and bottles, their contents glowing faintly under the warm lighting. It almost feels like a sanctuary after the chaos outside, but I don’t have time to appreciate it.
“Oscar Dune sold love potion pastries at the quarry last night. Someone might need an antidote. I need to make sure it doesn’t get out of hand.”
“Caroline worked on the potions.” She picks up her phone, then turns to the register.
I rub my forehead and exhale, leaning against the counter. Figures that Caroline somehow got tangled in this mess. She’s always in the thick of it.
“Did you manage to reach her?” I ask.
“I called her,” June replies, glancing at the small monitor by the register, “but she isn’t picking up. Checked the order number, though. The portion Oscar bought? Mild. It’ll wear off in a day or two. No permanent damage. Oh, that boy is a menace.”
I can’t help but smile, despite the tension. “I’ve got a lot more to deal with than arresting a boy for a mild love potion. Let him stew for a bit on his own.”
June quirks an eyebrow. “That’s surprisingly diplomatic for you.”
I shrug, tapping the counter with my fingers. “Tonight has left me little patience for drama I can’t fix immediately. I’ve got wards to check, fires to contain, surges to stabilize. Oscar can survive a few days as long as he lays low.”
The shop smells of fresh herbs and baked sugar, but the faint, lingering magic makes my skin crawl. I run a hand over my face and glance at the bottles lining the shelves. Each jar hums softly, a reminder of the order and control this place can wield if handled right.
My mind races, flicking through the tasks waiting for me. Silas and the wards come first. The man’s precise, methodical approach clashes violently with the mess left by the storm and the quarry. But I can’t help noticing the way his magic inscribes itself in everything he touches, the disciplined hum of power contained in runes and wards.
I tighten the buttons on my coat, rain dripping from my hair onto the floor. June leans closer. “You want an antidote now, or just checking if things are under control?”
I take a deep breath. “Checking. I don’t need another mess tonight. I’ve got half the town destabilized from last night’s surge and a council warlock breathing down my neck. I’ll see to Oscar myself.”
Her face softens. “Alright. You’re handling it a lot better than most people would.”
I nod, thanking her for her kind words.
I glance at the door and the street beyond. Rain still hammers the pavement, puddles forming like mirrors, reflecting the neon signs of nearby shops. The world outside seemsordinary, almost peaceful in comparison to the quarry and the wards. But I know better. The balance of power, the surge of magic—it’s all precarious, like holding water in cupped hands.
The sooner I can get the wards up and running, the better it will be for everyone. The surge has affected the weather witches, hence the rain.
I need to get that part under control.
June watches me with a faint smirk. “You’re good at managing chaos, for a small-town sheriff.”
I chuckle softly, running a hand over my stubbled jaw. “Small-town? I’ve got half a council breathing down my neck, fires erupting in the middle of a storm, and enchanted pastries causing heart flutters. ‘Small-town’ doesn’t cover this.”
She laughs, shaking her head, returning to her counter. I pull a chair close and settle my elbows, letting my coat hang loose. My mind is already planning the next steps: wards, the flares, the townsfolk, and Silas. That man, precise and almost annoyingly flawless, will either be the help I need or the headache I didn’t ask for. But his runes can stabilize what I can’t, and I need to see them up close, make sure the wards aren’t failing completely.
I sip the water June set out, grateful for the cool relief against my dry throat. The magical residue from last night still tingles under my skin.
Outside, the storm hasn’t abated. The sky is heavy with dark clouds, rolling with low rumbles that echo the pulse of magic still lurking through the town. I step back into the rain, the water plastering my hair to my forehead, and let it wash over me.
My boots squelch in the puddles as I head to my truck.
The town is buzzing, unstable, half of it recovering from last night’s chaos, the other half teetering on the edge of the Rift.
I slide into the driver’s seat, wiping rain from my face. Oscar’s mild disaster can wait. The wards with Silas won’t.
