Page 37 of Fat Forced Mate

"It's not witchcraft,” I find myself carrying on, mouth moving without my permission. “It's herbalism. Wild yam root, ginger, and juniper berry, lavender. Simple ingredients, nothing magical."

Her eyes narrow. "And why would you help me?"

"Because I need a token," I admit honestly. "And because regardless of how you feel about me, you shouldn't be in pain."

Something shifts in her expression—not exactly softening, but perhaps a slight crack in the wall of hostility. She studies me for a long moment, then sighs heavily.

"Fine. But you'll work before you make this miracle cure. Those display cases need cleaning."

I hide my relief. "Deal."

For the next hour, I clean glass cases until they gleam while simultaneously preparing her salve at the small worktable in the back. My fingers work with practiced ease, crushing dried herbs, mixing them with beeswax and olive oil, my movements efficient from years of similar work.

Marjorie watches me with undisguised suspicion, but when I finally offer her the small jar of green-tinted salve, she takes it.

"Apply it twice daily," I instruct. "Morning and night."

She dips a finger in, sniffs cautiously, then applies a small amount to her swollen knuckles. After a moment, her eyebrows lift slightly.

"It... tingles."

"That's the juniper. It improves circulation."

She flexes her fingers experimentally. "Huh."

I wait, not wanting to push my luck by asking directly for what I need. Finally, she reaches beneath the counter and produces a small wooden disk, carved with the pack symbol and the word "Unity."

"I suppose you've earned this," she says grudgingly, placing it in my palm. "Don't expect charity from me, though, girl.”

"I wouldn't dream of it," I respond, but there's no bite to my words.

As I leave the bakery, token secured in my pocket, I feel a small surge of triumph. One down, eleven to go.

***

By midday, I've secured four more tokens. Old Marcus Howland gave me one for clearing his overgrown herb garden and identifying three rare medicinal plants he didn't know he had. The Thompson twins, who run the community center, awarded me a token for organizing their chaotic supply closet. And Sarah Kinley, the pack's historian, reluctantly handed over a token after I helped her translate a page of ancient text with my (admittedly rusty) knowledge of old magic symbols.

I stand on the edge of the town green, counting the wooden disks in my palm, when a wave of dizziness washes over me. I quickly sit on a nearby bench, closing my eyes until the sensation passes. When I open them again, I notice a flowering weed at my feet that definitely wasn't blooming a moment ago.

My magic, reacting to the pregnancy. I take a deep breath, trying to center myself the way my mother taught me years ago.Focus, Luna. Control.

"You don't look so good."

I glance up to find James watching me, concern etched on his face. My brother always could read me too well.

"I'm fine," I say automatically. "Just taking a quick break."

He sits beside me, his warmth a familiar comfort. "Five tokens already? That's impressive."

"How do you know?"

He grins. "Small town. Word travels fast."

"Especially when it's about the pack's favorite outcast?" I can't keep the bitterness from my voice.

James sighs. "You know, not everyone hates you, Luna."

"Could have fooled me."

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