Page 30 of Impawssible Magic

“Do your crystals always respond to visitors?”

“No. They’re being weird today. Probably the magical hangover affecting their judgment.” I shove a stack of grimoires off the chair. “Sit. Before you loom any more dramatically.”

He doesn’t sit. Of course, he doesn’t. He moves to examine my crystal collection instead, and I watch as the stones track his movement with an interest I find embarrassing.

“This is unprecedented. And mortifying.” I point at the nearest crystal. “Stop it.”

Something shifts in his expression—the barely-there version of amusement. He pulls a folded paper from his jacket.

“The symbol from your shop. Elio’s sources found a match in old Registry records.”

My stomach clenches. The coffee suddenly tastes bitter.

“What kind of match?”

“The pattern your crystals formed—it’s called the Preserver Mark. We don’t know what it means yet, but it appears in documents dating back centuries.” He hands me the paper—a rough sketch of the same angular pattern I photographed. “And the dead bird was a traditional warning symbol. Used by factions that oppose witch-shifter cooperation.”

Old ways. Traditional symbols. Factions that oppose...

The room tilts. I sit down heavily on the edge of my bed, coffee forgotten in my hand.

“They found me.” The words come out hollow. “I thought—I really thought I’d escaped.”

Aslan is quiet for a moment. Then he moves closer, sits on the floor with his back against my wall so our eyes are almost level. It’s such a human gesture—making himself smaller, less threatening—that it hurts me deep in my chest.

“Tell me.” His voice is low, careful. “Whatever you’re willing to share.”

And I do.

He listens without interrupting. Without judging. Just... listens.

“Two years,” I finish, staring at my hands. “Two years of looking over my shoulder. I came to Mistvale because I heard it was safe.”

“You didn’t escape. They followed you. That’s not the same thing. The Registry has archives,” he continues. “Records going back to Mistvale’s founding. If the Preserver Mark is significant, we’ll find the information.”

“We?”

“Unless you’d rather wait here while I investigate alone. Somehow I don’t think that’s your style.”

“Give me ten minutes to look like a person instead of a disaster.”

“Take twenty.” He’s already moving toward the door. “I’ll wait downstairs.”

The walk to the Familiar Registry takes fifteen minutes and is significantly more entertaining than my hangover deserves.

We pass Thornwick Books, where Berry Thornwick is in the window having what appears to be a heated discussion with her own shelving unit. The books are definitely rearranging themselves. One particularly aggressive tome keeps throwing itself at the floor.

“Literary differences,” Aslan explains. “The mystery section and the romance section have been feuding for decades. Berry’s tried everything. They just really hate each other.”

“The books hate each other.”

“The books have opinions. Strong ones.” He pauses. “Don’t get me started on the poetry corner. It’s insufferable.”

We turn onto the narrow lane leading to the Registry, and he clears his throat.

“Zeph mentioned it. When I stopped by the brewery this morning.”

My heart does complicated flips. “You stopped by the brewery?”