Page 29 of Impawssible Magic

Another knock. Three sharp raps, impatient but not aggressive.

“Leire.” The voice is low, unmistakable. “I have coffee.”

I stare at the door. Stare at my hand, still reaching for the tourmaline. Stare at my reflection in the mirror across the room—wild hair, smudged makeup, wearing the same clothes I stumbled home in last night.

The tiger shifter is at my private door with coffee.

“I can hear your heartbeat.” His voice carries through the wood, dry and almost amused. “If you’re planning to attack me with a crystal, I’d suggest the obsidian. Better defensive properties.”

“Stop giving me tactical advice,” I call back. “It’s weird.”

I grab a robe, yank it on over my rumpled clothes, and wrench open the door.

Aslan stands on my tiny landing, filling the cramped space in a way that should be illegal. He’s holding two paper cups from The Crescent Cup—the good coffee, the kind the vampire couple makes that costs twice as much and is worth every copper.

He looks annoyingly perfect. Alert and composed, not a hair out of place, those eyes taking in my disheveled appearance with what might be amusement or might be concern. Hard to tell with him.

“Information exchange.” He holds out one of the cups. “We need to talk.”

“What time is it?”

“Nine.”

“In the morning?”

“That is, traditionally, when nine happens.”

“Did you just make a joke?” I accept the coffee because I’m not an idiot, even when I’m hungover and confused and standing in front of a man who makes my magic do backflips. “I didn’t know you did that.”

“Rarely. Special occasions.”

The first sip is heaven—dark roast with cinnamon and definitely has a mild alertness charm woven in. The vampire couple doesn’t mess around.

“How did you get past my wards?”

“They let me through.”

“They what?”

“Your wards.” He takes a sip of his own coffee, maddeningly casual. “They recognized me. Opened without resistance.”

I’m going to have a very serious conversation with my magical defenses about their standards. Right after the caffeine kicks in and I stop wanting to die.

“You.” I point at the selenite cluster on my windowsill.

The selenite pulses warmly at Aslan.

“Fine.” I step back, gesturing him inside with the hand not clutching coffee. “But if you judge my living space, I will hex you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

My apartment is exactly as chaotic as expected. Clothes draped over the single chair. Books stacked on every available surface. Crystals scattered across the windowsill, the dresser, the floor in one corner where I was experimenting with a new grid pattern and never cleaned up.

“Stop that,” I hiss at it. “Have some dignity.”

Every stone in the room orients toward him like flowers following the sun.

“They’ve lost their minds,” I announce.