I hauled out my phone the minute we were outside, but Olivia demanded to know what I was doing.

“I’m calling Jacky.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

With my finger still hovering over the call button, I glanced at Olivia. The edges of her mouth were pulled back in a grumpy frown.

“Is there a reason why?” I probed.

She made another angry tssk sound—no doubt frustrated beyond measure that she’d have to explain things to me using English. Maybe someday my magical eyeballs would be so reliable and effective no one would have to explain anything to me ever again. But I doubted it. And it sure as heck wasn’t going to be that day.

I countered with a raised eyebrow.

She blurted out, “I just—I don’t…I need a break, okay?”

“You need a break from Big Jacky?”

Her frown deepened. A second later, she said, “It’s been a bad morning. We never got breakfast, and I’ve been in—what? Three arguments?”

“Is that unusual for you?”

Olivia glared at me. “Yes!”

I raised both hands and both shoulders in a combination surrender and shrug. “Sorry, but to me you seem a bit…combative.”

Her mouth opened, she shut it and shifted her glare to the sidewalk. We started off toward the park.

While putting my phone in my pocket, I said, “I don’t know if you should call our talk with Nylah an argument. I thought, for the most part, it was a very civil discussion.”

“Yeah,” Olivia grumbled. “Right up until she yelled at me at the end.”

Some persnickety part of my soul—my inner Darius, if you will—noted that Nylah hadn’t actually raised her voice. The rest of me told that one part to be quiet, because we all knew that when someone spoke with that much fury, it felt exactly like being yelled at.

My heart ached. I wanted to say something to make Olivia feel better, but I knew that I didn’t have the power to reach in and heal relationship scars that ran that deep. It’d probably only make her angry if I tried. And I didn’t want her to snap at me.

Most of the frustration that morning hadn’t been directed toward me, but—as Olivia had said—it’d been a bad morning, and my shoulders (if not my soul) always curled up whenever someone around me was mad.

Come to think of it, I could use a break too.

“Do you have any money or a card or something?” I asked.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Ashworth told me about a coffee shop the other day. Do you want to go drink some caffeinated dessert? Your treat.”

Olivia scoffed, but the edge of her lip quirked up in a smile. “Really subtle, Emerra.”

“Hey!” I put my hand to my chest. “On my honor, I’d offer to cover you, but I left my empty wallet back at the house.”

“Uh-huh. Do you know which coffee shop he was talking about?”

I grinned. “Thank you, Miss Oliversen. And if I ever get any money, I promise I’ll pay you back.”

Once I figured out where the front of ARC Hall was, I could point vaguely in the direction that Ashworth had indicated. That was all Olivia needed to figure out which coffee shop he’d meant. I was surprised until she pointed out that Craftborough only had two coffee shops.

During the walk, neither of us felt the need to talk. I figured it was part of the much-needed break we both wanted. Instead, I let my mind nibble around the edges of the case, hoping for a miraculous epiphany—which was a lot to expect from my brain before it’d had any breakfast.

The coffee shop was larger and trendier than I thought it would be. It must have fallen victim to the bizarre vortex that seemed to suck in and collect all the city coffee shops, turning them into weird clones of each other, causing them to shift styles at almost the same time. And, like all those other coffee shops, it was full of people.

We could thank the festival for that. Every booth and chair was taken. There was a line to place our orders, but it was, thankfully, a short one. Apparently, everyone else had shared my bright idea of getting breakfast from the coffee shop, only they'd thought of it ten minutes earlier.

When we got to the front of the line, Olivia—who was swiftly earning my loyalty, if not my affection—not only bought me the junkiest, sugared-up coffee the place offered, but she also ordered me an egg sandwich. I asked if I could kiss her. She swore at me.

Since there was no place to sit, we waited by the counter for our order. Despite the fact we were less than two feet away, the barista insisted on calling our names in her loudest voice.

I blame her for what happened next.

We grabbed our orders and were about to leave but—low and behold!—Owen Ashworth, who’d been sitting in the back corner of the cafe, safely hidden by the crowd, stood up and called out to us.

“Miss Oliversen, Miss Cole, good morning!”

Olivia and I both came to a halt as the whole coffee shop paused what they were doing to watch us. Some of them turned in their seats to get a better view. Owen Ashworth had that effect on people. So did the name Oliversen, and, thanks to Olivia's bright red hair, people knew immediately which one of us that was.

Which was why it felt so unfair to me when I noticed how many glances were still aimed at me.

Oh. Right. The baldness.

Only Conrad Bauer walking in the shop at that exact moment would’ve distracted the crowd from their gawking.

Since Ashworth was walking over to us, Olivia and I met him halfway.

“Good morning,” Olivia said.

I was happy to let her be the calmer, more articulate face of our duo. She was bred for the part.

Ashworth glanced at our full hands. “Forgive me if I’m interrupting breakfast. I heard your names and wanted to say hello.”

“It’s not a problem,” Olivia assured him.

Ashworth hooked his thumbs into his pants pockets, oozing out a gallon of cool in the process. “Are you here for the street fair?”

“At the moment, we’re looking for a place to sit—”

The words had barely cleared Olivia’s lips before Ashworth took a step back and motioned to the corner of the shop. “Would you like to come join us? Dr. Misserly and I got here early, so we were able to claim one of the larger booths.”

I stared at the back of Olivia’s head in the desperate hope that the Eyes of the Sphinx included a heretofore unknown telepathic ability, and I could brand my thoughts into her skull.

Make up an excuse!

No such luck.

“Are you sure we wouldn’t be imposing?” Olivia asked.

Ashworth smiled at her, and I saw a faint pink color rise in her cheeks.

“We’d be delighted to have you,” he said.

As we walked over to the booth I tried to look on the bright side. There was a possibility that if I spent enough time with Owen Ashworth, I might stop turning into a gibbering idiot every time I saw him. Then all the energy I wasted trying not to stammer could be used to help me avoid his questions.

Cameron Misserly smiled when he saw us coming and scooted over without having to be asked. He wasn’t wearing a suit, but he managed to make his T-shirt, jacket, and slacks look rumpled. It had to be some kind of talent. His smile and rumpled nature made me feel welcome, so I claimed the seat next to him. Olivia could sit next to Ashworth.

I took off my coat while sitting down. Olivia remained standing as she took off her cape and found a place for her witch’s hat. Ashworth didn’t even wait for her to finish before drawing us into the conversation.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “Misserly and I were continuing our conversation from last night. Now, you have to tell us, Miss Oliversen, how do you know so much about runes? Without exception, you’re the most knowledgeable witch I’ve ever met when it comes to the topic.”

Olivia’s hesitation wouldn’t have registered on an Olympic stopwatch. The only reason I noticed it was because I had a feeling it was coming. By the time she slid into the booth next to Ashworth, her manner was casual.

“I use them as part of my magic,” she said.

Both of Ashworth’s eyebrows rose. Misserly’s eyes widened, and he leaned back. I relaxed into my seat and unwrapped my sandwich. Sure. They were surprised. Good for them. The magicians could talk shop, and I could eat.

Part of Ashworth’s specialty centered around runes, so he and Olivia had a lot to talk about. The conversation wandered from their general use to how Misserly was able to create the same effect without them—and you can bet Olivia had a ton of questions for him. I tried to follow along, but it didn't take much time for me to get lost in the mist of technical jargon.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

We’d finished our sandwiches and were sipping at our rapidly cooling coffees, when Misserly asked Olivia, “But what do you do when you need to store magic?”

Olivia smiled at him. “I don’t.”

I smiled too when I saw a faint red creep into Misserly’s cheeks. He rubbed his forehead with the back of his thumb.

“Ah, that’s right,” he said. “You’re a witch. Forgive me.”

Ashworth said to Olivia, “You never store magic?”

“Only in spells,” she said. “Otherwise I haven’t had to.”

The alchemist and the sorcerer looked at each other with mutual sympathy.

“Oh, to be one of the lucky,” Ashworth said with a sigh.

“How do you store magic?” I asked.

When his eyes moved over to me, I mentally cursed myself. The food had done a good job of keeping my mouth busy, but now it was free to cause trouble, and it’d already forgotten my orders to remain silent.

Ashworth smiled. I was relieved to find my heart rate only accelerated a little bit. Maybe the exposure therapy was working.

“I use my sigils and diagrams to contain it in the nil.” He turned to Misserly. “What about you, Doctor?”

Misserly hummed. “If we’re talking about long-term, I favor some kind of metal. Iron, usually. Or some kind of iron alloy.”

“Not blessed silver?” I asked.

Misserly and Ashworth looked amused.

“No,” Misserly said. “That would be ridiculously expensive, and silver has properties that make it too useful to be wasted as a battery.”

When Olivia and I looked at each other, I could see the slight tension hiding in her eyes, and I knew she saw it in mine.

With an extra dose of nonchalance, I put my coffee down on the table. “Do all magicians use blessed silver?”

“Yes,” Ashworth said. “Although we all use it differently.”

“How do you use it?”

“Primarily as a weight to help balance a spell. Every once in a while, we’ll use it to receive an enchantment—but that’s rare.”

“Why so rare?”

Olivia said, “Because the properties of silver make it hard to enchant. It”—she hesitated, trying to find the right words—“sheds magic. It slides right off it.”

Ashworth took over: “Which makes it a beast to work the magic into it, but if you can manage it, then you have a tool that works faster than any other with very little loss of power.”

I looked at Misserly. “How do you use it?”

“I primarily use its slickness property—if that’s what we’re calling it,” he said. “It can act as a channel, a connection, a parer—”

“So if I handed you a chunk of blessed silver, you couldn’t tell me how someone would use it?”

The doctor’s smile twitched onto his face. “I could certainly tell you what I’d use it for—which is roughly a million things.”

I frowned. It was no good asking about the silver. Jacky was right; there were too many uses for it. Thankfully, we had a few other things we could investigate.

I slapped my fingers on the edge of the table. “All right, gentlemen, pop quiz time!”

My announcement had been nice and loud, meant to catch the attention of any self-confident or highly educated males within a one-booth radius. Ashworth tilted his head, and the edge of his lips rose. Misserly’s smile expanded.

I’d always found it wise to lead with a compliment. I said, “You two seem very knowledgeable.”

Ashworth crossed one arm over his chest and raised his other hand to his face. His eyes sparkled as he watched me.

I went on, “How about I give you a list of items, and you tell me how they could be used—magically speaking.”

“I don’t know, Miss Cole,” Misserly said, still grinning. “I always hated quizzes in school, and I haven’t been in school for years.”

Ashworth added, “You noticed she said we only seemed knowledgeable.”

“I did notice that,” Misserly said.

I flipped my hands over in a shrug, and arranged my face to show both sympathy and resignation—displaying an attitude of I’m-sorry-but-there-you-have-it.

Ashworth moved the hand from his face and let it fall to the table. “And what do we get if we pass this pop quiz of yours?”

Ah. Yes. That was problematic. It wasn’t like I could offer to buy them coffee. I’d hoped their egos would provide the motivation.

But Ashworth’s eyes had changed from sparkling to glinting. I had to think of something fast, before he proposed something ludicrous and horrifying—like a fair exchange of information.

“I’ll retract the ‘seems,’” I said.

“All right, I’m in,” Misserly said. “What about you, Ashworth?”

“I suppose it’s better than a rumor going around that I’m a sham. Let’s have this list of yours, Miss Cole.”

I said to Olivia, “Can I borrow your notepad and pen?”

The notepad and compact pen went with her everywhere. She wrote her runes on them when she had to cast an impromptu spell.

Olivia pulled them out of her dress pocket while saying, “One moment.”

She opened the pad and carelessly dashed off a line of writing, as if she was testing the pen. Then she closed the pad and passed both of them over to me. When I opened the pad, written at the top was Don’t mention ARC Hall.

I tore off the page, stuffed it in my pocket, and started writing. When I was done, I dropped the notepad on the table, pushed it toward the center, and returned the pen to Olivia.

Ashworth turned the notepad sideways so that he and Misserly could read it. It wasn’t more than a second before they were frowning.

Ashworth’s eyebrows pulled together. “What’s this?”

“That’s the list,” I said.

“But where did you get it?”

I raised a finger and ticked it back and forth. “Ah-uh! No hints.”

“Plant, unknown—hardware store, unknown,” he looked up. “Miss Cole, this is hardly fair!”

“Are pop quizzes ever fair?” I asked.

That might have satisfied Misserly, who, having spent so much time in academia, must have been intimately aware of its many injustices, but the torrman wasn’t having it.

“This is more unfair than most,” Ashworth said.

I tried out my encouraging voice. “Come on, guys! It’s only four items.”

“It’s two items and two intimations. How are we supposed to tell you the magical properties of an unknown object?”

“Have you ever gone into a hardware store to do some magical shopping?”

The torrman hesitated. “Well, yes. I have.”

“What did you buy there?”

“Tools for helping me draw my diagrams—chalk, plumb line, carpenter’s squares, rulers. I bought my beam compass somewhere else, but you could probably find one there.”

“What the heck is a beam compass?”

He smirked. “It’s a drawing tool. One that helps you draw circles.”

My cheeks flushed. Good thing I hadn’t mentioned the north-pointing laser I’d been envisioning; Ashworth was enjoying my ignorance enough as it was.

I turned. “What about you, Misserly?”

The alchemist was still frowning at the list. When he heard his name, he leaned back and crossed his arms.

“You’re asking about the hardware store?” he said.

I nodded.

“Depending on the project, sometimes I think I live there.”

Olivia sat up. “Can you explain that a little?”

Misserly said, “There are all kinds of things at a hardware store that could be useful to an alchemist. Wire, tubes, glue—you have to remember, we’re building things all the time. Any alchemist that’s dabbled in mekhanos magic knows how to solder. Most of us know how to weld, and all of us have to know at least the basics of electricity. We work with glass, acrylic, metal, rubber…” He shrugged.

I said, “How many of those tools are for the actual magic?”

Misserly tilted his head. “All of them?”

“No, I—” I let out a grunt. How could I explain? I motioned with both hands—because we all know that blathering makes more sense if accompanied by meaningless gestures. “If I build a music box, there’s the music—that’s the result—there’s the bumpy cylinder that turns, there’s the little plinky bits of metal that make the notes, there’s the gears and the spring, and even the crank—and you need all of those to make the music.”

The doctor’s eyes had narrowed as he listened to my rambling. “I follow you. Go on.”

“But there’s also a box, and it has nothing to do with the music.”

“Oh. I understand.” Misserly relaxed. “To use your metaphor, only a few pieces of a device ever interact directly with the power to produce the result—that would be your bumpy cylinder and the comb—the ‘plinky bits of metal.’”

Right. A comb. That made sense.

He went on, “A large portion of the device is made up of components that act like the spring and the gears. They’re necessary for the device to work, even if they don’t interact directly with the magic. Very few components are like the box. We avoid using frames. Every component affects the device, so we try to put in as few extraneous items as possible.”

“Is there any way to tell, at a glance, what role a component might play?” Olivia asked.

“Easily,” Misserly said.

“Even if the device was all busted up and spread across a table?” I said.

“That would make it harder,” Misserly said. “But if it was an alchemical device, I could make a good guess. An object’s shape matters, so their magical signature is almost always in line with their mundane use—”

I held up my hand. “Sorry. Dumb it down. What does that mean?”

Ashworth said, “He means that how a mundane would use the object is often related to how a magician would use it.” He tapped the notepad. “Take this five-gallon glass jug, for instance. A mundane would use it to store something. A magician would use it to store magic.”

I turned back to Misserly. “I thought you said you used metal for storage.”

“The jug would be for short-term storage,” Misserly said. “It’s a place to hold the magic while it’s being shaped or transferred.”

“What about the needle?” Olivia asked.

Misserly thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t know. The shape seems to indicate that it’d be used to jab, but I’ve never used them in a project and I can’t imagine why someone would want that effect in a device. What about you Ashworth?”

The torrman shook his head. “I’ve never heard of someone using a needle in their spellwork. I suppose if they needed blood, it’s a less barbaric way to get some than using a knife.”

Misserly shook his finger at Ashworth. “That. I didn’t think of that.”

“Spellwork uses blood?” I asked.

“Sometimes. More often with witchcraft.”

We turned to Olivia. She was glaring at the table, her lips pressed so tight together, they were nothing more than a thin pink line.

“Olivia?” I said.

She looked up at me. “Sorry?”

“We were wondering about the needle. Could it be used to get blood for a witchcraft spell?”

“Yes, but most witches avoid the spells that call for blood.” Olivia pushed the list closer to the two men. “What about the plant?”

Ashworth and Misserly looked down at the paper again.

“Are we assuming that all these items are going into the same project?” Ashworth asked.

I glanced at Olivia. Were we? I mean, I had assumed that, but something about the sorcerer’s question made me hesitate.

“Is there a reason we wouldn’t?” I asked.

Owen Ashworth peered at me, silently, for a full second. I would’ve paid good money—or, at least, written a really big IOU—to have seen even a smidge of what he was thinking or feeling.

Sadly, all I could see was the handsome.

Stupid eyeballs.

Ashworth leaned back and said, “The plant seems out of place. All the rest of this list is made up of simple inanimate materials, but plant matter is alive.”

“And that changes its properties?” I asked.

“It does,” Olivia said.

Misserly tapped his finger on the table. “You’re forgetting the blood. I don’t know how they’re classified in your college, but blood and plants are both bios.”

Ashworth hummed. “That’s true.” He looked at me. “And you can’t tell us which plant it is?”

“Sorry.”

“Then that’s the end of my contributions. The jug would probably be used for storage. Everything else?” He raised his hands in a shrug.

Misserly nodded his agreement, then pushed the notepad my way.

Ashworth smiled at me. “What do you say, Miss Cole? Is one out of four good enough to pass?”

I tore off the paper and passed the notepad to Olivia. “You both know a thousand times more than I do. I retract the ‘seems.’”

Then I pulled a trick I thought I'd never, ever use, not in a million years. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, frowned at it, said ‘excuse me,’ then stood up from the table and walked away while pretending to take a call.

I went far enough that none of my table-mates could overhear my fake conversation, but I kept an eye on Olivia. If she dove into some kind of conversation with the two men, I’d have to abandon my plot, but she seemed minimally involved.

I fake hung-up and wandered back to the table.

“Sorry about that,” I said. “I’m afraid Olivia and I have to go.”

Olivia blinked, but rose to her feet, cape in hand, and retrieved her hat.

As I picked up my coat, Ashworth said, “So soon?”

I tried to sound tragic. “I’m afraid so.”

Misserly slid toward the end of the booth. “It’s all right. I should be getting back to work.”

“And you’re still working?” Ashworth asked.

“Always,” the alchemist admitted.

“Thank you for letting us join you,” I said.

Ashworth’s voice was friendly. “Of course.” Then he looked in my eyes. “And someday you’ll tell me what all this was about, Miss Cole.”

My heart had gone on a brief hiatus when our eyes locked. When it resumed working, the first beat felt like a kettle-ball slamming into my chest.

I looked away, then forced a shaky smile to my lips and hummed to acknowledge he’d spoken.

“Ready?” Olivia asked.

“Yeah.”

As we walked through the coffee shop, I had to balance my pace between wanting to appear casual and wanting to get the heck out of there.

After the doors fell shut behind us, Olivia said under her breath, “Who called?”

“No one.”

“Huh?”

“Did it look realistic to you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, good.”