Page 34 of Roaring Spell

“Is that what we’re doing now? Dealing directly?”

“Yes.”

We continue on past the early-morning bustle of shops preparing for the day. Marcus is visible through the Crescent Cup window, polishing glasses with vampiric precision. He catches my eye and raises a glass in silent toast.

“The vampires are very invested in my love life,” I mutter.

“The vampires are very invested in everyone’s love life.” Torin sounds amused. “Centuries of marriage gives them certain... opinions.”

“About me specifically?”

“About patterns. They recognize courtship when they see it.”

Before I can ask what that means—before I can demand clarification on whether he just admitted to courting me—we pass Berry’s bookshop.

Berry spots us through the window. Waves frantically. Then holds up a book with both hands, pressing it against the glass so we can see the cover clearly.

“Bearing It All” by Milly Taiden. The cover features a woman in the arms of a very shirtless, very muscular bear shifter. They appear to be embracing in a forest clearing while lightning crackles romantically in the background.

My face heats. I pretend not to see it. Keep walking with my gaze fixed firmly ahead.

Beside me, Torin makes a sound. Might be a cough. Might be suppressed laughter.

“Not a word.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your silence is very loud.”

He looks straight ahead, expression neutral, but there’s a gleam in his eyes that suggests he’s enjoying this far more than he should.

“The shop picks books for people,” I feel compelled to explain. “Berry says it’s semi-sentient. It chose those novels for me. I didn’t ask for them.”

“Of course.”

“I haven’t even read them.”

“Naturally.”

“Stop agreeing in that tone.”

“What tone?” Now he does look at me, and there’s definitely amusement there. “I’m simply acknowledging your statements.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I prefer ‘persistent.’”

This feels like a date. Walking through misty streets, trading barbs, hyper-aware of every brush of shoulders. I notice, distantly, that I haven’t checked the sky once. No phantom clouds gathering at the corners of my vision. No restless electricity at my fingertips. I tell myself it’s the fresh air.

“Here.” I stop in front of the warehouse. Stone walls stained with age, windows boarded over, door hanging askew on its hinges. “This is where I had the first major episode. Two weeks after I arrived.”

Torin studies the building with professional assessment. “What were you doing here?”

“Exploring. I walk when I’m anxious—burns off energy before it manifests as weather.” I swallow, remembering the sudden surge of wrongness, the way my power had erupted without warning. “I felt drawn here. Couldn’t explain why. And then...”

“Lost control?”

“Lost two hours. When I came back, there was a crater in the cobblestones outside.”