“Something like that,” I say, avoiding their faces.
“Good. Good.” June says. “In case you need anything, let me know. We can brew something for you.”
Oh, this is embarrassing. “Thanks.”
“Good, now we need to focus,” she says firmly. “You’re one of us, so I wouldn’t want you to think that I don’t care, but we have a bigger fish to fry at the moment. You’re family, but so is our apprentice. Tessa is scared. She’s in the back room, and she needs you to be strong for her right now. Can you do that? We need all hands on deck right now. Can you do that for me?”
I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat. They think I’m scared for Tessa, and I am. I’m terrified for her. But they have no idea. They have no idea that the lie I told to protect myself is the very thing that’s put a target on my back, that the name on that list they’re so afraid of will be mine.
“I’ll go check on her,” I tell my bosses.
“Okay. In the meantime, I need to figure out something,” June says, already turning to her ingredients.
I find Tessa in the back room, sitting on a stool, her face pale, her hands trembling. I sit down next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“It’s okay,” I say, even though it’s not. “We’ll figure this out. We’ll handle it.”
She leans into me, her body shaking with silent sobs. I hold her, stroking her hair, murmuring reassurances I don’t fullybelieve myself. I’m a fraud, comforting another victim of a lie I created.
June appears a few minutes later, holding a small, steaming cauldron. The liquid inside is a deep, shimmering blue, and it smells of rain and clean earth.
“What is that?” I ask.
“Something I haven’t had to make in a long time,” she says, her expression distant. “Pearl Whitlow taught me this. Before she decided corralling festival idiots was easier than being a circle witch. She always said the best magic wasn’t about grand gestures, but about quiet protections.”
She begins ladling the liquid into small vials, her movements precise and sure. “This isn’t a blocking spell,” she explains. “It won’t keep anyone out. But it will make the threshold know who is welcome. It’s a mimicry of a circle witch’s charm. A request. The door itself will know who is invited. Anyone else won’t be able to pass. They’ll find themselves… inexplicably turned around.”
By one o’clock, the shop is filled with people again. But the mood is different. The fear is still there, but it’s been channeled into something else, something more proactive. They’re not just buying calming draughts anymore. They’re buying June’s new potion.
The “Threshold Ward,” they’re calling it. They’re buying it for their homes, their businesses, for their children’s dorm rooms at the academy. It’s a frenzy of a different kind, a desperate grab for control in a situation that feels dangerously out of control.
I work until my arms ache, until the scent of rain and clean earth has seeped into my skin, until I can no longer tell if the trembling in my hands is from exhaustion or fear.
At four o’clock, there’s an announcement all around town.
“There will be a town meeting tonight at seven o’clock at the Town Hall,” he says, his voice leaving no room for discussion. “All residents are required to attend. I repeat, all residents.”
Well, shit.
Circle of Guarding:
Salt, cedar, and fire ash. Draw tight when danger is near.
The door to my office swings open without a knock. Maggie stands there, her face grim, a small, stoppered vial held between her thumb and forefinger like it’s a piece of evidence. She doesn’t say a word, just walks in and places it on my desk with a decisive click.
“What’s this?” I ask, though I have a sinking feeling I already know.
“June Finch’s new party favor,” she says. “This is the ‘Threshold Ward.’ Rory found it on Clara Hopkins. Said it made her front door refuse to let her mail carrier through this morning.”
I pick up the vial, the glass cool against my skin. I unstopper it and sniff. The scent is complex, layered. Rain, clean earth, andsomething else… something that feels like a request, a question posed to the very structure of a building. It’s clever. Too clever.
I knew June was powerful—her potions are legendary in this town—but I clearly underestimated her. Under any other circumstance, I would have been proud of her ingenuity, her defiance. But not now. Not when Helena is breathing down my neck, when Silas is practically camped out in my town.
“Let me smell that,” a voice says from behind me.
I turn to find Silas Thorn leaning against the doorframe of my office, looking like he owns the place. He’s in a suit, of course. Not just any suit, but a tailored charcoal gray number that probably costs more than my annual salary. The fabric is perfect, not a single wrinkle, and it drapes over his lean frame like it was born on him. His shirt is crisp white, his tie a deep, blood-red silk that screams power and complete disregard for rustic charm. His face is a mask of controlled disgust, as if the very air in my office offends his refined sensibilities.
He holds out a hand, long, elegant fingers adorned with a signet ring. I hand him the vial. He brings it to his nose, sniffing once before pulling back with a look of profound distaste.
