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I winced. I hadn’t planned to do it any of the times it happened. Wrong place, wrong time…six different times.

Coincidences did exist, it turned out.

“No. It’s one of the reasons I don’t use my magic.”

“It took you six times to figure that out?”

I tried to determine his tone. Angry? Bitter? Bewilderment? Pretty sure it was bewilderment, although any of the above was entirely justified.

“I, uh, actually tried to stop using magic before I ever saw you. But it’s really hard to be a witch without using magic.”

“And using it to stalk and repeatedly kill a phoenix is in the witch’s handbook?”

“I understand your sarcasm⁠—”

“No, I don’t think you do.” He turned slightly in his seat and faced me. Wyldfire moved to perch on the console, like she was worried she might have to mediate.

“While regenerating is not a big deal⁠—”

“You said it doesn’t hurt. I hated myself each time because I assumed it hurt.” I probably should not have interrupted, but that was one of about a million things I’d been curious about after I’d seen him on that trolley and then proceeded to never be able to get him off my mind for more than a few moments at a time.

I had a rudimentary understanding of phoenixes, just like I had a basic understanding about most supernatural creatures. Just call me the liberal arts of witches.

But nowhere in any of the textbooks I’d read had it mentioned whether he actually felt like he was dying and then felt like he was being born during regeneration.

“I doesn’t hurt, but that doesn’t mean I like it when it happens.” He sounded like he was scolding me.

“I understand.” I didn’t like the fact that I couldn’t use my magic, either. I didn’t like the fact that I’d accidentally killed him off. Six times.

“I didn’t mean to do it.”

“Six times?”

“I know that seems excessive, but⁠—”

The GPS robot voice interrupted to let me know that my exit was one mile away. I focused on moving into the right lane and exiting the freeway. The coffee supply wholesaler was less than half a mile down this road.

“I don’t know why it kept happening,” I finally admitted while keeping my hands at ten and two and my eyes on the asphalt ahead of me. “I know this won’t matter, but I really didn’t want to kill you. I would have much rather gotten to know you and maybe become friends.”

Or lovers.

Crap, did this confession mean I’d never again have the opportunity to experience the glory that was River’s corkscrew penis? Not to mention his mouth. His fingers.

His personality.

How sweet he was with Wyldfire.

“Then why didn’t you stop after the first time? Or at least the second? Hell, I’ll give you the third!” He was practically shouting by the time I turned into the parking lot.

I didn’t take it personally. I’d been yelled at plenty for my wonky magic and the damage it had inadvertently inflicted. This was nothing new.

I parked the truck and killed the engine. Oof. Poor choice of words.

It was overcast on this October day, but this was still Texas, which meant this vehicle was going to get hot as hell pretty quickly. “Wyldfire, we can’t leave you here. But I doubt we are supposed to take you inside.”

I glanced into the extended cab, spotted a reusable grocery bag—the goddess bless monsters who believed in saving the environment—and grabbed it. “Are you willing to hang out in this bag?” I asked the cat.

She climbed in without coercion, which, now that I thought about it, should be unsurprising. Had any cat ever met a bag it didn’t like?