Page 7 of Impawssible Magic

And Veren, who I could have sworn left with the others but has somehow materialized against the doorframe with a bottle of very good whiskey.

“So.” He starts pouring without asking. “Who wants to discuss how Caius just assigned half the leadership council to babysit witches? And how none of us are going to admit we’re delighted about it?”

Rhodes makes a sound of disgust. “We were not assigned to⁠—”

“You weren’t.” Veren’s grin widens as he pours five glasses. “But our dear tiger and teddy bear certainly were.”

“Don’t call me that.” Torin’s voice holds no real heat. He’s heard worse from Veren, and will again.

“Would you prefer honey bear? Sugar bear? Snuggle⁠—”

“I would prefer you stop talking.”

Veren places a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”

We’ve migrated to a rough cluster, glasses in hand, the fire crackling warmth across the room.

“To another month of not dying.” Torin raises his glass.

“Your optimism is inspiring.” I take a sip. The whiskey burns going down, warm and sharp.

“Someone has to balance out your brooding.” The bear grins, and despite myself, I do too. Torin has that effect on people. It’s annoying.

“Speaking of brooding—Aslan, you’ve been quiet. More than usual. Care to share with the class?”

“No.”

“Excellent. I’ll speculate wildly instead.” He swirls his whiskey. “The charm witch. Leire Firesinger. Arrived a few weeks ago. Registered three days later. Opened a crystal shop on Moonthread Square.” His sharp gaze finds mine.

“You’ve been watching her.”

“I watch everyone. It’s my job.” He takes a sip. “Also my hobby. Also my calling. I’m very good at it.”

“Humble, too,” Rhodes mutters.

“False modesty is for people who aren’t as talented as I am.” Veren waves a dismissive hand. “But we’re getting off topic. The witch. What’s your assessment, oh fearless one?”

“I’m looking into it.”

“That’s not an answer. That’s a dodge.” Veren leans forward, eyes glinting with the particular light of someone who’s caught an interesting scent. “Come on. First impressions. Is she dangerous? Boring? Secretly a chaos demon wearing a very convincing human suit?”

“She makes protection charms.”

“Riveting. Truly. I’m on the edge of my seat.”

“Coincidence.” Rhodes’s tone suggests he doesn’t believe in coincidences.

“Nothing about the Registry is coincidental.” Elio sets down his glass. “Grandmother Peach doesn’t flag witches for monitoring unless she has reason.”

“She also doesn’t explain her reasons.” I lean back in my stone chair, ignoring the way it digs into my shoulders. “Ever.”

“The mysteries of the matchmaker witch.” Torin shakes his head. “My grandmother used to tell stories about her. Said she’s been running that Registry since before Mistvale was founded.”

“That would make her⁠—”

“Old.” Torin grins. “Very old. And very good at not answering questions.”

Veren snorts. “I tried to get information out of her once. She smiled, gave me peach cobbler, and I somehow ended up telling her about my first crush, my worst fear, and a deeply embarrassing incident involving a chicken and a minor explosion.” He shudders. “I still don’t know how it happened. The woman is a menace.”