My heart thunders in my chest. She’s not here? She’s not in the library shelving books? My mouth is dry, and I turn to the mass of candles covering every inch of the massive wooden table. I crafted each one specifically for the spell, and once it’s been lit, it can’t be reused. It’ll mean starting over again.
I consider for a moment, eyeing the hours and hours of work down the drain. But Reggie wouldn’t ask for help unless she was in trouble.
I text her quickly.
B. MAGNUS: What’s wrong?
B. MAGNUS: Where are you?
There’s no answer. I wait impatiently, watching my candles sputter, the specially made wicks of twine woven with my hair and rubbed with marjoram cut with dirt unearthed under a full moon to nullify luck. If I leave now . . .
My phone is silent, taunting me.
Shit.
I grab a heavy blanket from the nearby laundry room and toss it over the myriad candles, using my weight to smother the flames quickly. I head over to the cellar door, but Aunt Dru has music on to drown out sounds. She does this when she wants privacy, as casting can sometimes get loud, and some spells are personal. I check my phone again, but there’s no reply from Reggie.
I race across the kitchen to find a knife, stab my finger, and offer blood to Mercury in my offering bowl, even as I drag my phone forward. “Show me Reggie,” I demand. “I’ll do a complete offering later,” I bargain. “Just show me the girl. It’s urgent.”
At first I think the gods won’t answer. They’re prickly and capricious at best, and more often than not, how well your spell is received depends on the quality of your offering. To my relief, though, my phone’s map app opens up and zooms in on a particular street.
Livia’s street.
“Fuck,” I snarl. Is Aunt Dru having Reggie do something dangerous? And Reggie would fall right into danger because she doesn’t believe any of this is real. With a growl of frustration, I lick the blood off my finger and say a silent thanks to Mercury. I’m going to give him the best offering possible in thanks the moment I return home.
I grab the keys to my car—the one I keep here for when I’m in town—and race through the streets as quickly as possible, throwing charms and amulets of nondetection on the dashboard so no cops will pull me over for speeding. Luckily, Livia is not too far across town, so it doesn’t take long to careen through the streets and make my way into her neighborhood. In the distance, I see James in front of her house with a flashlight, so I drive to the next street over and park, looking around.
“Reggie?” I check my phone again, but there hasn’t been another text. “Reggie?” I hiss again, taking a few steps forward. “I can’t help you if you don’t answer.”
Frustrated, I open the map app again and check it one more time. It’s zoomed in a few houses away from Livia’s austere palace, so I head in that direction after shoving a charm of nondetection in my pocket. I jog through the neighborhood, looking for a slim figure, and I’m just about to give up hope when I hear a choked sob.
“Reggie?” I slow my steps, moving toward what looks like the pool house for some rich person. I circle around the building, and huddled in one corner, next to a rosebush, I spot my aunt’s missing familiar.
She’s naked. Completely naked. Reggie’s hair is a tousled mess that hangs around her wan cheeks and she clutches her clothing and shoes to her chest, her legs sprawled out in front of her. She’s weeping and shaking so hard that her entire form trembles as she looks up at me.
“D-dog,” she manages to choke out.
My chest aches at the sight of her. She looks so damned vulnerable and fragile. I shrug off my black sweater and carefully lay it over her, determined not to look at her naked body. “Are you all right, Reggie?” I keep my tone gentle as I crouch next to her. “Can you stand up?”
She blinks up at me, her eyes huge. “C-can’t stop sh-shaking.”
I lean in, peering, and her pupils are dilated. They’re enormous, dark rings in her too-pale face. I touch her hand and it’s clammy, her skin ice cold. They’re all the signs of a familiar’s body going into shock after a particularly harrowing spell. “It’s all right,” I murmur, my voice soothing. “I’ve got you now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“J-James—”
I shake my head. “He won’t dare approach me. Come on. My car is parked around the corner.”
Reggie nods jerkily and tries to stand up, only to collapse at my feet like a newborn fawn. I should have guessed. Awkwardly, I pick up my sweater and tug it over her head until it hangs over her like a sack. “Put your arms through the sleeves,” I guide, and with my help, she does so. The moment I release her, she lists to one side, about to collapse again. “Here,” I say, and hand her the shoes and clothing she was clutching, and then I heft her into my arms. “Your system is stressed. You’ll be fine in a little bit. You just need some hot food.”
She whimpers and tucks her face into my neck, as if seeking comfort.
It throws me, that small gesture of trust. For centuries, I’ve been one of those “untrustworthy warlocks from House Magnus,” a dark spellcaster from a line of questionable history. I have many enemies and few friends, and no one has ever nuzzled up against me like Reggie is right now. It makes my body react in uncomfortable ways, ways that are completely unsuitable considering the girl in my arms is shaking with shock and half-naked. I can dwell on those emotions later, I decide, in private.
For now, I won’t notice how her cold nose is pressed against my neck, or how her breath tickles at my collar. I won’t notice how perfectly she fits in my arms or how long her legs are.
That would be inappropriate.
“Sorry,” she breathes against my skin, making my very inappropriate cock react.
“There’s nothing to be sorry over,” I say, my tone a little more brusque than it probably should be. “You’re in shock because of whatever my aunt cast. It’s her fault, not yours. You’ll be fine once we get some coffee and food into you. I’m going to drive you to a nearby all-night diner, all right? We’ll get you something hot to eat. Do you think you can dress in the car?”
She manages to nod. “Thank you, Ben. Sorry I’m being . . . such a baby.”
“Again, this is all perfectly natural,” I say, but I’m a little mystified by her shame at needing help. Has no one ever helped her before? Does no one look after her? The thought sends my protective instincts roaring. “Your system can’t handle magic of that intensity, so it struggles to right itself after a big shock. We’ll get you some food and you’ll feel better, I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Reggie swallows, giving another jerky nod.
I start the car, pulling out into the street. As I do, a half dozen amulets fall from the dashboard and pour into Reggie’s lap. She makes a small sound of surprise.
“Sorry,” I say. “Those are to ward off speeding tickets.”
“I didn’t think you were the type to have a messy car,” she manages, and her tone sounds better than it did. She picks one up and studies it before putting it back onto the dashboard. “Thank you,” she says. “You didn’t have to come. I know it’s late . . .”
“If you apologize one more time,” I warn, “I’m going to stop the car.”
I don’t mean it, of course. The protective side I didn’t know I had is roaring at the thought of Reggie alone and untried, finding herself at the mercy of a powerful spell and not sure how to progress. Aunt Dru is a very big fan of the sink-or-swim mentality when it comes to learning, so I can only imagine how terrified Reggie must have felt . . . and it gnaws at me. I can’t change what she went through, but at least I can help her recover.