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“Are you?”

“No.” She frowned. “This is a ridiculous conversation.”

“Is it?” He still had her pressed to the wall. “I didn’t realize we were having a conversation. I thought you were trying to throw me off the scent.” He leaned a little closer, dragging his nose up her throat. “Won’t work. I’ve caught it now.”

She swallowed, nervous, tingling in places she had no time to address. Heat kindled in her ribcage. “I’m not doing anything.”

His lips moved gently against her skin but his voice was hard again. “Aren’t you?”

He stepped back, and it was a struggle to breathe normally when it suddenly felt as though she had run a race. She wanted to blame it on the lingering effects of the sleeping spell, the anxiety of a visit from two Keepers, the shields dropping. Her sister.

But she already knew that wasn’t it.

Sometimes people were drawn to each other even when it made no sense.

It didn’t mean anything.

And it was Midsummer. Everything burned a little brighter at the solstice. It was always the ones you’d least expect who had to be fished out of the mermaid fountain in the square. Naked.

“I should make sure Sorcha has not murdered my customers,” Briar murmured.

He let her pass when she knew very well he could have kept her pinned to the wall. A jug of water on the counter had cracked into pieces. The moonstones embedded in the wooden windowsill had exploded, crushed to chalky dust on her floor, next to crescent-shaped sugar biscuits. Even the clock, painted with the phases of the moon, had fallen off the wall.

All of it related to moon magic in some way.

That could not be a coincidence.

Was it only here at the cottage? Was it because Petal was upstairs, even if the moon charm was not? Were more Keepers on the way even now? How was she supposed to protect her sister?

“Your hands are shaking,” Ethan said.

She curled her fingers into her palm. “It’s nothing.”

“Hmm.”

She hurried out to the garden, suddenly wanting to feel the sun on her face, to smell the comforting lushness of earth and lilies and wild mint. The statue of a woman in the center of the night-blooming moon garden had also been affected. One arm had been shorn clean off, and her moon crown lay in a clump of night-blooming jasmine.

The Asters were on their feet, eyes wide. Charles was clearly shaken, his mother furious. The contents of the teapot stained his complicated cravat and Mrs. Aster’s silvery capelet. The Asters did not care to be disheveled.

“Is he still here?” Ethan asked evenly. Right before the sky cracked, full of rain and shaking thunder and the searing flash of lightning. Mrs. Aster squeaked, pulling her bonnet lower over her head. Charles instantly resembled nothing so much as a wet goat. His toad familiar was perched on his toe, looking hopeful. Poor thing.

Sorcha grinned, rain dripping off her nose. “Have a currant roll,” she said to Ethan as the Asters hurried away. The rain followed them. “My treat.”

Briar leaned against the nearest chair. Ethan’s gaze sharpened on her and she straightened, aching hip be damned. A lamb did not limp in front of a wolf. “Mr. Swansea was just leaving.”

“Was I now?” He was amused again, though his eyes suggested he was taking her apart to seek out her weaknesses, her secrets. As though there was more to her than met the eye. No one had ever looked at her like that. He inclined his head. “Careful,” he said. “Weather is unpredictable today.”

And then he walked away as if nothing at all untoward had happened. Briar watched him because she could not help herself. Sorcha turned to her, eyebrows raised so high she was likely to strain a forehead muscle. “What was that, then?”

“What was what?”

“Briar Foxglove, you are not going to stand there and pretend that the air did not nearly catch on fire between the two of you.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Had it? Had it really? It wasn’t her imagination after all? “Oh, all right,” Briar relented before her friend launched herself bodily at her in frustration. “He has a…presence.”

“I have seen actual giant dire wolves on the moor with less presence. And he could not take his eyes off you.”

Well, that was simple enough to explain: he did not trust her. He was hunting her sister, like everyone else.

“And he scared Charles away, which I will cherish forever.”

That was harder to explain. Why should he have bothered? For her? It must be part of his plans somehow. It was obvious he wanted to be anywhere but on the island. The Dragon sipping tea from porcelain cups painted with hedgehogs. Eating pink petit fours shaped like swans and almonds rubbed with gold leaf. Drinking champagne at the assembly rooms in polished boots. Absurd.

Briar scrubbed at her face, exhausted.

Sorcha slipped her arm through hers. “What can I do?”

“You can help, as it happens. I need to know that Petal is not in any physical, mortal danger before I figure out how to get her out of this mess.” Grow the plant, pick the plant, dry the plants, make the tea. Everything could be broken down into manageable steps.

Even saving her sister.