Amara pokes my arm. “You worry too much. If the Rift wanted to flare, it would’ve done it already. Come on, it’ll be fun. We’ll dance, eat terrible snacks, and forget the world exists.”
Benny winks. “See? Even your friend thinks it’s a good idea.”
I look between them, torn. The thought of the quarry at night—the wind, the magic, the possibility of trouble—sends a flutter through my stomach.
Amara drains her ale and slides out of the booth, pulling her shawl around her shoulders. “Let’s go before you overthink it.”
“Fine.” I sigh, tossing a few coins on the table. “But if we get struck by lightning, I’m haunting you forever.”
She grins. “Deal.”
As we step out into the rain, the air hums with energy, the scent of ozone stronger now. Thistle darts ahead, tail like a banner. The path glistens with puddles reflecting the lamplight. Somewhere in the distance, the faint, haunting hum of the quarry drifts through the wind.
Amara links her arm through mine as we head toward the small parking lot behind the tavern. “Hear that? Even the quarry is inviting us. We need a good night out.”
“You're driving,” I remind her.
“Obviously.”
We reach her car, parked beneath an old maple. Thistle jumps onto the hood, then down again, weaving between my legs before trotting off toward the town square.
“Where are you going?” I call after him.
He doesn't so much as glance back.
Amara laughs. “He's a familiar, not a pet. He'll find you when he's ready.”
I shake my head with a smile. “Try not to get into trouble.”
Somewhere in the distance, the faint, haunting hum of the quarry drifts through the wind.
“Hear that? Even the quarry is inviting us. We need a good night out.”
I laugh, though my skin tingles with unease. “Let’s just hope it’s in a good mood tonight.”
She unlocks the doors with a click and grins. “When is Willowbrook ever not in the mood for a little chaos?”
Circle of Vigilance:
“Draw three lines of chalk. Stand at the center of the intersecting lines. What enters can’t lie.”
The call comes through just as I’m finishing my second cup of coffee. Maggie’s voice crackles through the radio, full of her usual knowing tone.
“Sheriff, got word there’s gonna be a party up at the quarry tonight. Kids, witches, maybe a few from out of town.”
I stare out through the office window, where the sky’s already gone bruise-dark. The wind’s picking up, throwing rain sideways against the glass. Great.
“Copy that,” I say, even though what I want to do is put my head down on the desk and pretend I didn’t hear her. “Who told you?”
The dispatcher laughs through the line, that throaty sound that says she’s two steps ahead of me. “Oh, honey, people tell me everything. You know that.”
Yeah. Maggie Trent is very tuned in to the gossip mill of this town. This is why I insisted on getting her hired as the 911 dispatcher. Nothing ever gets past her. I need that for my team.
“Fine. Round everyone up,” I tell her. “We’ll check it out before it turns into another near-death highlight reel.”
One of my deputies is already standing by the door, pulling on his jacket. Simon’s all clean lines and easy smiles, blond hair that never seems to stay down no matter how hard he tries.
“Bet it’s the Turner twins again,” he says. “They’re magnets for bad ideas.”
