Page 39 of Impawssible Magic

Something hardens behind his eyes. “Yet.”

“You should go home. Get some actual sleep.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve been awake for—what, twenty hours? More?”

“Tiger.” He lifts one shoulder. “We don’t need as much sleep as humans.”

“Convenient.”

“Sometimes.” The tension across his shoulders eases, barely perceptible—the closest he comes to relaxing. “I’ll leave when you’re ready to open. Check in later.”

I should argue. Tell him I don’t need a babysitter. But honestly? I’m glad he’s checking in. Which means I’m in more trouble than I thought.

The shop opens at nine. By eleven, I’ve had three customers—a wolf picking up his daughter’s comfort charm (he tears up when he tests the warming feature, which is unexpectedly sweet), a brownie looking for cleansing crystals (very particular about the energy, makes me test seven different specimens before finding one that “feels right”), and a vampire couple searching for jet lag remedies.

Direct sun is still a problem for them, but Mistvale’s permanent mist filters enough of it that most of the town’s vampires move through their days same as anyone—old habits about parasols and midnight schedules die harder than the sun ever could.

“Crossing time zones is absolute hell on the undead metabolism.” The wife adjusts her parasol out of pure habit, even though we’re indoors and the mist outside is doing most of the work already. “We were in Tokyo last week and I’m still not right.”

“Marcus keeps trying to sleep at noon.” Her husband rubs his temples. “It’s throwing off our entire routine. Centuries of keeping a schedule, and now this.”

I sell them matching moonstone pendants charmed for circadian regulation. They leave holding hands, which is adorable for creatures of the night. Love eternal takes many forms, apparently.

The morning rush fades into midday quiet. I’m reorganizing the display case near the window—the rose quartz keeps edging closer to the front, the absolute flirt—when the bell above the door chimes.

Iskra Sable walks in.

She’s dressed casually today—soft sweater, dark jeans, hair pulled back in a way that looks effortless but probably isn’t. Her smile is warm as ever, and she carries a small paper bag that smells like Moonpetal Bakery’s cinnamon scones.

“Leire! I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by.” She holds up the bag. “Peace offering for dropping in unannounced.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” I take the bag anyway because I’m not stupid—Sunny’s scones are incredible. The woman once ended a three-generation family feud with a single batch of her rosemary-lemon shortbread. Her cinnamon scones have been known to make grown shifters weep with joy.

“How are you doing?” Iskra’s voice is warm, concerned, solicitous. “I heard you had some trouble with your wards last night.”

I go still.

The ward alarm happened after midnight. I didn’t tell anyone. Aslan didn’t leave until after dawn. So how the hell does Iskra know?

“Where did you hear that?”

She waves a hand, casual. “Oh, you know how it is.”

Mistvale is small. Someone could have noticed Aslan leaving at dawn. But my gut doesn’t buy it. The way she said it—trouble with your wards—like she already knew exactly what happened. Not “I heard there was some commotion” or “Is everything okay?” She knew it was the wards. Not just a noise. The wards, specifically.

“I’m fine.” I force a smile. “False alarm. The wards have been a little sensitive since I strengthened them last week. New enchantments need time to settle.”

“Oh good. That’s such a relief.” She buys a small citrine point and leaves with another warm smile.

I stand behind the counter, watching her disappear across Moonthread Square. The scone bag sits unopened on the counter. Suddenly I’m not hungry.

Why does the hair on the back of my neck feel like it’s trying to escape?

“What do you think?” I glance at the amethyst. She pulses once—skeptical, cautious. “Yeah. Me too.”

I text him. Iskra was just here. She knew about the ward alarm.