Page 59 of Roaring Spell

“We’ll find out.”

I believe him absolutely. Not because he’s making a promise—because he’s stating a fact. We will find out. And whoever did this will wish they hadn’t.

He moves through the space with careful precision, examining the damage without disturbing it. His bear is close to the surface—I can see it in the way he moves, the way his nostrils flare as he scents the air.

“The wards were bypassed.” His voice is low. Controlled. “Not broken—bypassed. Someone knew the signature.”

“How is that possible?”

“Official coven access. The wards were registered when you opened the studio.” He straightens, and his eyes are cold in a way I’ve never seen before. “Someone with authority used that registration to walk right through your protections.”

Valesh.

The name surfaces unbidden. The councilor who’s always so helpful. Always asking questions. Always appearing at exactly the right moment.

“The Preservers,” I say quietly.

“The Preservers.” He nods once. “This isn’t random vandalism. This is a message.”

“Leave or else.”

“You’re not leaving.”

It’s not a question. He doesn’t ask if I want to stay, if I’m scared, if maybe it would be safer to find another town. He just states it as fact.

“No.” My voice is steady. Cold. “I’m not leaving.”

His expression flickers—approval, pride, and underneath it all, a fierce protectiveness that makes my eyes sting.

“Then we make them regret this.”

The town arrives in waves.

Sunny Clearwater appears first, carrying a basket of pastries that seems far too large for the situation. “I heard. The mist told me. Also, Anouk sent a group message, but mostly the mist.” She surveys the destruction with the pragmatic assessment of someone who’s seen worse. “Lavender scones for the shock. Chocolate croissants for the anger. Emergency lemon bars for the fury—the acidity, you know. Very clarifying for the emotions.”

“Thank you.” My voice sounds strange. Hollow.

“Don’t thank me yet. I’m also here to help clean.” She sets down the basket and rolls up her sleeves. “Biscuit will supervise.”

Her familiar toad emerges from her apron pocket, regards the destruction with deep disapproval, and croaks once. It sounds like judgment.

Berry Thornwick arrives next, arms full of cleaning supplies. She sets them down without a word and starts sweeping broken crystal into a pile, her expression full of quiet, determined sympathy.

Ember stopped by from Eternal Flame Candles with a box of handmade candles, keeping careful distance from the wreckage this time. She’d learned. The lavender scent drifted through the studio—calming, probably on purpose.

More people arrive. The vampires send blood-free snacks with a note: “We’ve had our shop vandalized too. It’s very rude. Solidarity in commercial trauma. - M&T” The basket includes cookies shaped like bats and a bottle of wine with a label that reads “For Processing Feelings (Vampire Approved).”

A pair of younger bears from Torin’s sleuth appear with toolboxes. “Elder Torin sent word. We’re here to secure the perimeter.” One of them surveys the damage, winces. “Also to help clean up. Our moms sent cleaning supplies.”

They’re barely adults—nineteen, maybe twenty—and they look at Torin with the kind of respect that borders on worship. When they catch me watching, they both duck their heads shyly.

“The whole sleuth knows,” Torin says quietly, appearing at my side. “About you. About us. They’re... invested.”

“Invested how?”

“The cubs have started asking me for romance advice.” His voice is dry. “Apparently I’m now an expert because I ‘finally found a mate.’ Their words. Very enthusiastic words.”

“You haven’t—we haven’t⁠—”