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"I don't know yet." The admission tasted bitter after hours of research that had yielded more questions than answers. "But I'm going to find out."

"We're going to find out," Luka corrected, his tone carrying the kind of quiet determination that brooked no argument.

"I work better alone," Leenah said automatically, though the protest felt weaker than usual.

"Maybe," Luka agreed. "But this is bigger than research and ghost tours now. If the founding families made promises to spiritual entities, that affects everyone in Hollow Oak. Including me."

He had a point, much as she hated to admit it. Her independent streak had served her well over the years, but whatever she'd awakened was spreading beyond her ability to contain.

"Fine," she said finally. "But we do this my way. No heroic gestures, no protective posturing, and definitely no trying to shield me from whatever information we uncover."

"Deal." Luka extended his hand, and after a moment's hesitation, she shook it. His skin was warm and callused from years of woodworking, and the simple contact sent an unexpected flutter of awareness through her entire body that caused more warmth than the coffee.

From behind the counter, Twyla's satisfied humming suggested she was entirely too pleased with this development. She had probably orchestrated this entire encounter, fromLuka's perfectly timed entrance to the seating arrangement that put them close enough to share confidences.

Leenah should have been annoyed by the obvious manipulation. Instead, she found herself oddly grateful because as much as she valued her independence, facing down centuries-old supernatural obligations was starting to feel like more than a one person job.

9

LUKA

The Hollow Oak Book Nook smelled like old paper, leather bindings, and the faint vanilla scent of aging glue that held countless stories together. Luka had always found the cramped space comforting with its floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with everything from dime store novels to ancient grimoires, reading nooks tucked into impossible corners, and the kind of organized chaos that spoke to a mind more interested in knowledge than appearances.

Today, watching Leenah navigate the narrow aisles with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where to find what she needed, the bookstore felt different. Smaller, somehow. More intimate.

"Here we go," she said, pulling a leather-bound volume from a shelf he would have sworn was too high for her to reach. "Hollow Oak: A Supernatural History, compiled by the Ladies Historical Society in 1923. Drier than month-old bread, but surprisingly accurate."

"How do you know all this stuff?" Luka asked, genuinely curious. He'd lived in Hollow Oak for twelve years and considered himself reasonably well-informed about the town'sbackground, but Leenah moved through supernatural lore like she'd been born to it.

"Research was my grandmother's obsession," she said, settling into one of the book nook's overstuffed reading chairs and patting the space beside her on the worn loveseat. "She documented everything—family histories, magical practices, local legends that most people dismissed as folklore. I grew up surrounded by her notes."

Luka lowered himself onto the loveseat, trying to ignore how the close quarters put them within easy touching distance. The space had clearly been designed for intimate conversations, all soft lighting and comfortable seating that encouraged people to lean close and share secrets. Perfect for research partners. Dangerous for a man fighting growing attraction to his stubborn, brilliant colleague.

"Must have been interesting, growing up with all that supernatural knowledge," he said, watching her flip through pages with practiced efficiency.

"Interesting is one word for it." Leenah's tone carried a hint of old pain. "My family thought Grandmother was losing her mind, talking to spirits and collecting stories about magical bloodlines. They shipped me off to distant relatives when I started showing the same abilities."

The casual admission hit him harder than it should have. The idea of a young Leenah being treated like a burden, passed around between family members who couldn't understand her gifts, made his bear rumble with protective anger. No wonder she valued her independence so fiercely.

"Their loss," he said simply.

She glanced up from the book, something flickering in her bright blue eyes. "Yeah, well, Hollow Oak's gain, I suppose. Ah, here it is."

The page she'd found contained a hand-drawn map of the town circa 1889, complete with locations marked in careful script. Sacred grove, healing springs, ceremony grounds, spirit crossroads—dozens of sites scattered throughout what was now Hollow Oak's residential and commercial areas.

"Look at this," Leenah said, leaning closer to trace her finger along the map's details. "Every location that's experienced supernatural activity in the past few days corresponds to one of these marked sites."

Her movement brought her shoulder against his arm, and the scent of oranges and bergamot that seemed to follow her everywhere hit him like a physical force. His bear practically growled with contentment at her nearness, and he had to grip the arm of the loveseat to resist the urge to pull her closer. To bury his face in the dark silk of her hair and breathe in that intoxicating combination of citrus and spice.

"Makes sense," he managed, his voice rough. "If the founding families made agreements about these specific locations, the spirits would focus their activity there."

"Exactly." She shifted again, pointing to a symbol near what was now his workshop. "And look at this—protective wards. The original settlers didn't just negotiate with the spirits, they asked them to help guard the town."

Her enthusiasm was infectious. Watching her piece together historical puzzles with intelligence that made him want to see what else that sharp mind could accomplish, Luka found himself more impressed than attracted. Though the attraction was definitely still there, simmering beneath his admiration like banked coals.

"You're brilliant," he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Leenah's finger stilled on the map, and she turned to look at him with an expression he couldn't quite read. "I'm thorough," she corrected. "There's a difference."