Page 63 of Impawssible Magic

Thornveil Apothecary has been transformed into a ritual space. Anouk cleared the back room sometime before midnight, pushing aside shelves of ingredients and creating a circle of protection that hums with steady power.

Anouk looks exhausted. She’s been working since midnight, layer by layer peeling back the control magic that’s bound Shadow for years—his controlled stillness at the center of her circle the only sign he’s still fighting from inside. Her hands are steady despite the fatigue, her movements precise as she traces sigils in the air above his still form. The coven leader doesn’t do anything by halves.

“The outer bindings are weakening.” Her voice is hoarse from hours of chanting. “He should be able to communicate now. Fragmentary. Painful. But possible.”

I reach for Shadow. My hand hovers over his head—wanting to believe, not daring to yet. His fur is cleaner—I’ve been grooming him obsessively whenever I visit, trying to undo years of neglect one brush stroke at a time.

His voice in my mind is fractured. Wrong. Like hearing someone speak through broken glass, each word edged with pain. I tried. Couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t warn you.

“I know.” The words catch in my throat. “I know you tried.”

Each thought seems to cost him enormous effort. His body trembles on the table, muscles spasming against invisible restraints. Anouk’s wards flare brighter, containing whatever energy he’s expending to reach me.

“The betrayal.” My voice is barely a whisper. “They made you do it.”

The words carry centuries of anguish, echoing through my skull like a bell tolling. Forced me to testify. To say things I never believed. To drive you away from everyone who loved you. I fought, Leire. Every day for two years, I fought. Tried to break free. Tried to warn you. Tried to find you.

Something in my chest cracks open and spills before I can stop it. Not the ugly, gasping sobs from the mill—something quieter. Deeper. The release of two years of hatred I’d been carrying for someone who never deserved it.

All of it a lie.

“I’m sorry.” I press my forehead to his fur, feeling the fragile flutter of his heartbeat beneath the matted coat. “I’m so sorry I believed them. I’m sorry I hated you. I’m sorry I didn’t look harder, didn’t question⁠—”

His voice is fading, the effort of communication draining what little strength he has. Not your fault. Their design. All of it. They’re good at what they do. Centuries of practice.

“Rest now.” Anouk’s hand settles on my shoulder, surprisingly gentle for someone so formal. “The communication took too much. He needs time to recover before I can remove the deeper bindings.”

Shadow’s eyes close. His breathing evens out, settling into something closer to natural sleep than the magical coma he’s been trapped in.

The bell above my door chimes.

Iskra Sable walks in.

She looks the same as always—warm smile, kind eyes, that aura of helpful neighbor she’s cultivated so carefully. She carries a paper bag that smells like Moonpetal’s scones, a detail she’s probably calculated for maximum neighborly effect.

“Leire.” Her voice is gentle. Concerned. “I heard about your familiar. How is he doing?”

I don’t move from behind my workbench. My hand rests casually on the smoky quartz—the stubborn one, heavy enough to crack a skull if thrown with enough force.

My eye catches the corner of Iskra’s commission notes, still tucked under the edge of my workbench trays. Real name. Real address in Lakeside. Two weeks of correspondence and a signed deposit receipt I kept out of professional habit.

I photograph every page and text him. Her home address is on the commission paperwork. Real one—she paid by check.

Caius already has people there. Good catch.

The protection charm I’d been crafting for her. The bitter irony of it settles like a stone.

“Recovering.” I keep my voice neutral. Careful. “Anouk’s been helping.”

“That’s wonderful.” Iskra sets the bag on my counter with practiced casualness. “I brought something to keep your strength up. You must be exhausted.”

“How did you know about Shadow?”

She blinks. The perfect picture of innocent confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t tell anyone I found him. The only people who knew were Aslan, Anouk, and the Protection Network.” I let the words hang in the air between us. “So how did you know?”

Flicker. There and gone, fast as a heartbeat. But I catch it—the same wrongness I sensed during her first visits, the off-ness I’d attributed to paranoia. The mask slipping, just for a moment, revealing something cold and calculating underneath.