Page 32 of Kings of Sherwood

She drinks again. I try to read her face. It’s got that glazed-over quality of someone too in their own head. Legs bouncing now, like she’s got a jackrabbit under her skin.

“Maren?”

She looks up like she just came back to herself.

“Any preference?” I ask, gesturing at the cheese.

“Sorry,” she says, rubbing her forehead. “Um, no.” Her eyes flick toward the window. “Did they say when they’d be back?”

“I, ah...” I glance at the empty doorway like the answer might be hanging there. “No. But probably not for a while. Like... a long while.”

Her mouth twists. She mutters something that sounds like “Sorry,” and I hate this—hate that she’s stuck here and feeling like she has to apologize for being worried.

“I just need a distraction,” she finishes. “Is all.”

“More than just cheese?” I ask, handing her a chunk of baguette spread with brie.

She nods, accepting the food anyway. “Probably.”

“Well,” I exhale, rubbing my palms on my jeans. “I think I felt something... coming today. Almost.”

She nearly chokes on her wine. “You...did?”

I nod, scratching the back of my head. “I think we all did. Didn’t you?”

She closes her eyes and shakes her head.

“Pretty sure Will did, anyway,” I say. “He mentioned it when they were suiting up just before they left.” I glance down. “Everything okay?”

“I...” She grips her glass like it might anchor her. “Just a lot of pent-up energy. I guess training with LJ got me wired.”

I nod slowly. “I see.”

“You were saying?” she prompts. “To distract me?”

“Oh, right.” I grin, trying not to look too overeager. “Wanna hear about what I learned today?”

She nods. I catch the faintest flicker of amusement in her eyes. It makes my chest unclench.

“Okay,” I say, sitting forward, energized. “So at first I was thinking maybe Guy was full of shit. Because he lied about, well—”

“Fucking everything?”

“Exactly.” I laugh. “But then I realized... well, you can’t just make that up out of thin air—ley lines, that kind of thing.”

“Hang on.” She lifts a hand. “You know what those are?”

“Ididn’t,” I say, “until a little while ago. I mean, I’d heard the term, but I had to do some digging...”

I gesture to the desk, now stacked high with hardcover books, post-it flags, and a few ancient-looking tomes that smell like a wizard’s basement and have made their way to my personal collection after the occasional museum job. But what I’m really looking for is—

The map. I grab it, roll it out beside the cheese board.

“Basically, they’re these kinds of”—I draw lines in the air—“channels of power that run around the world. Wherever they overlap, there’s more power. So the more of them overlap”—I layer my fingers over each other—“the stronger the connection, and the more powerful the vibes of that place become.”

“Vibes?” she echoes, arching a brow. “Is that the technical term?”

“Well... no,” I admit. “The Latin term ispotentia loci. The power of a place,” I translate. “The more nodes in the network, the better the... signal.”

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