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Jag leaned over Ram’s shoulder to peer at his screen. “Where do you get all this cash?”
“Illegal activities,” I said. At the same time, Ram said, “That is confidential.”
He shot me a look, but I ignored him. “He has a whole ass gang stealing shit and funneling him money. Sandra, Brownshill, Ver, Azea. All the ones who keep sending me threatening letters.”
Ram huffed. “I told you, I don’t communicate with them anymore.”
“Yeah, sure you don’t.”
Jag clenched his fists. “They threatened you. Where do they live?” He cracked his knuckles.
“Hell if I know or care. They’re pissed Juniper and I dispersed our old gang.”
“Wait,” Elliot said as he adjusted Beverly in his arms. Her little paws hung limp like a cat who had given up. “Who’s Juniper?”
Telling them my entire history with her would take forever, so I gave them the short version. “My best friend… and sometimes enemy. If you heard a voice while we were in the realm of nothingness, that was her.”
Elliot’s eyes widened. “I thought I hallucinated that. She said some place called—”
“That’s the end of that chapter!” I said and whirled to face the store.
I didn’t want to talk about Free Jinx and the Eclipses. Admitting out loud that they might be gone would make it more real like speaking a spell to bring a physical item into existence.
Instead, I focused on the store’s ward: the way it shimmered in the air, the way it moved like grass in a lazy wind, the streaks of yellow magic from the witch who had cast it and left a piece of their magic behind.
Even after years of not using magic, mimicking the ward was as easy as walking. I wrapped its aura around myself, Beverly, and the men. The ward would think we were part of it and not intruders at all.
Ram whispered a word, causing the shop’s door to swing open. I stepped inside, and the others followed. The store was fully lit, though none of the light had spilled onto the street. Ram’s doing again. I glanced around, and as my gaze feasted on the racks of colorful clothes, I breathed deeply of the smell of new fabrics. Actual fashionable clothes for the first time in years!
Sploooosh.
“When you’re ready to talk, we’ll listen,” Jag said softly before strolling deeper into the shop.
No more sploosh. I knew they would listen, and somehow that was harder to bear than if they would rather not hear about my troubles.
Elliot grunted as he bent to place Beverly on the floor. I crouched and scratched her neck, but my fingers didn’t catch on her collar like usual. She still leaned into my scritches though. “When did you lose the collar?”
“Somewhere in the portal,” Elliot answered for her, stretching his arms after carrying her for so long. “She had it in the bubble dimension but it was gone when we landed in the motel.”
Hmm… the mate spell on the collar must have decided to move on to some other victim. “We’ll get you to a nice river after we change clothes, I promise.”
Beverly chittered happily. It was fall, though, and I wondered if she’d have enough time to build a lodge before winter’s freeze. I’d have to help her with it. Magic down some trees and make her a home that would be the envy of all the beavers in this watershed.
She’d be the only one of us who was safe and comfortable—assuming the cops were looking for a beaver shifter and not a happy beaver in a river. Jag, Elliot, Moe, and I would be on the run for the rest of our lives. Ram, too, not that I cared. Not one bit. Not ever.
“We’ll find the perfect river for the perfect beaver,” Elliot said.
I glanced up to see him smiling fondly at Beverly. It made my stomach flutter and my heart feel like it was being squished in a big bear hug.
Fuck, I was a sap for these guys, and the most disgusting part was that I liked it.
When Elliot saw me looking, he turned away quickly. My heart dropped. He had started pulling away the moment he had learned about the mate spell, and I couldn’t blame him. I should be doing the same, but I already loved Jag, Elliot, and Moe.
Wait, I loved them? Really? This fast? I mean, yes, because of the spell, but also what the fuck?
“This place is too expensive,” Moe said as he frowned at the tag on a winter jacket. “Can’t we go to a garage sale instead?”
I patted Beverly and then stood. “It’s three a.m. We’re not wandering around looking for a vampire yard sale. They always overprice things anyway. A jacket with an H&M label is not vintage, Heather!”
