Page 123 of Tracking Snow

Tired, yes. Exhausted, definitely. She had twins somewhere in the middle of earning her CPA certification and building her own firm like a lunatic with a spreadsheet addiction.

But happy.

And now she’s here.

Behind the bar.

Where magic-kind keep vanishing.

Finally, I force myself to push away from her, but my hands cling to her shoulders.

"It’s not safe. You need to go home."

She laughs right in my face. "I’m not doing that."

"Red, I’m serious."

She leans over and kisses my cheek before breaking away from me. "And so am I."

She grabs two clean bar towels from the stack, tosses one over her shoulder, and snatches the empty garnish tray from beside my elbow. "You’re out of limes, you have a mountain of dirty glasses, and someone at table six has been waiting so long he’s started to chew on his own arm."

"Red," I try again.

"Besides," she cuts me off. "Brexley is here." Red nods toward the door as she reaches for the cutting board. "So everyone can relax before Rap gives herself an aneurysm."

"Too late," Rap’s voice cuts in from behind me, dry and sharp.

I turn just as Rap steps in close with a towel, wiping down a spill, eyes flicking over Red with a mix of irritation and relief she’s not even trying to hide. It’s been the two of us holding down the fort, and not very well at that.

Red doesn’t even pause, already slicing into a lime. "Hi to you too."

I look to the doorway where Red’s tall, muscular husband waits near the entrance with what I can only describe as his murder posture.

Brexley looks just as scary as he did the first time I met him, with silver hair, broad shoulders, and a scar cutting down his face. Except now I know the terrifying silver-haired werewolf is also a stay-at-home dad who will walk around with spit-up on his shirt, wearing it like a badge of honor.

He catches me looking and gives one sharp nod.

Rap sighs, follows my gaze, then looks back at Red.

"I'm glad you're here because we could use the help," Rap says, quieter now, but no less intense. "But it's not safe. Not for anyone here."

Red’s knife stills for half a second, then resumes its quick, efficient rhythm. "Then why don't you shut down entirely?"

A tense silence hangs between the three of us.

"How about I tell you why," Red answers her own question. "Because staying separate is worse. Because magic-kind needs a place to join together. Because there is solidarity and safety in numbers."

Rap exhales, tension still coiled tight in her shoulders, but she doesn’t argue further. She just grabs a bottle from the well and starts pouring like she’s been doing it her whole life.

Red continues cutting limes into wedges with quick, efficient strokes. "Besides, I survived tax season and can use a change of pace. The twins are with Brexley’s dad for the week, out playing in the wilderness. Apparently, they’re in a biting nature phase, which Brexley says is healthy, and I say it’s how we end up banned from a national park."

A laugh almost makes it out of me.

Almost.

"Red," I say again.

Her knife stills.