Page 125 of Love & Heart Braking

I was already in it. “Here’s the thing. I’m about to see Mistress Cineres. Who needs me. What she doesn’t need, despite your puffed-up sense of importance that believes otherwise, is you. You’re going to open one of these boxes. I’m going to take a little of whatever is in there. And you’re not going to say a word about it, or not ten minutes from now, you’ll be burned to a crisp.”

They had my best friend in jail. The gloves were fucking off.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he scoffed.

The healer met my gaze, and whatever he saw there convinced him otherwise. He looked around the garage. A truck must load up and leave right from the back of the lab. “You’ll never breathe a word.”

“Deal,” I said easily.

Grabbing a retractable knife from a cupboard, he opened a box and tossed a small pack my way. He resealed the box. “There. Now hurry. She doesn’t tolerate tardiness.”

“Are the contents of the packet dangerous?”

“You don’t want to swallow it whole,” he answered sarcastically.

Without another word, and hardly believing what I just pulled off, I followed him, shoving the packet under the waistband of my jeans.

We left the garden and entered the hall. We began to climb a tower, trailing up the circling stairs.

I puffed my way up.

And up.

Of course the glorified chicken was at the very top.

A heavy wooden door eventually stopped us going farther. Thank Venus. The healer regarded my sweating forehead, and I nearly mentioned my tote weight regime before rethinking whether this was the time or place.

“Enter,” a thin voice called.

The healer glared. A warning not to blab?

I pushed past him into the chamber.

“Miss Concordia,” the stately woman inside said. She sat behind a heavy oak desk, a massive quill in hand.

“Mistress Cineres,” I replied.

The healer entered behind me. “She wouldn’t—”

“That will be all, Mr. Churnt.”

He had a name.

The healer bowed. “As you command, Mistress.”

Gross. Total butt kisser.

“Take a seat, Miss Concordia,” she said.

I did so, coughing to cover the slight crinkle of plastic under my waistband. “How can I help you?”

She raised her glacial blue gaze—a trademark of her type—to pierce me. “My top healing elemental has informed me you refuse to show a display of your anti-love magic.”

“Hard to do that when I have none.” The words weren’t dishonest. I really didn’t know a thing about summoning anything of the kind, except the arrow.

“Might I remind you that you are contractually obliged to allow the full testing of your magic.”

I dipped my head. “Which I’m doing.”

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