Page 50 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
“I don’t think you understand,” Zora said, leaning forward.
“Trust me, I understand,” Nia said, brushing off the tension with a shrug. She’d spent most of her life hidden from the people who wanted her father dead—the same ones who ran his car off the road and killed her mother while she was still in the womb. The Anti-Glamour Coalition believed magic should rule and humans should kneel. They saw her father’s rise as a betrayal. After the crash, he’d told everyone she had died, too. But the threats never stopped. And Nia? The moment she’d gotten a taste of freedom, she ran straight toward danger. Again and again.
Nothing had ever happened that she couldn’t handle.
“Been there, done that. I’ll be fine.”
Zora’s expression darkened. “Not now. Not when you have so much to lose.”
Before Nia could respond, a chime cut through the tension. Zora pulled out her phone and flipped it over, sighing as she silenced the alarm.
“Time’s up,” she said briskly, the edge in her tone softening to something closer to detachment. “That’ll be fifty for the both of you.”
Nia rose to her feet, frowning skeptically at Zora before pulling out the cash.
“I like your brother better,” Nia said flatly.
Zora didn’t flinch. She looked at Nia with a faintly curious expression and said, “You’re pretty powerful. I didn’t feel your magic.”
Nia smiled, cool and humorless. “I didn’t use magic. You just confirmed what I already suspected.”
As she turned to leave, her magic caught a flicker of regret curling in the shadows of the tent, a tangible weight that tugged at the air around Zora. Nia’s magic stirred instinctively, coiling at the edges of her awareness, itching to probe those regrets and wield them like a weapon. But she didn’t.
Before Nia could push through the tent flaps, Zora called after her. “Don’t let Lochlan get hurt. He’s one of the good ones.”
Freaking seers.
Nia stepped out into the crisp night air, letting the briny breeze chase away the scent of incense and candle wax.
Lochlan stood just outside, his face brightening the moment he saw her. Without hesitation, she went to him, and his arms opened to catch her.
“Everything okay?” he murmured against her hair.
She let herself lean into him, drawing strength from the way he held her. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Good.”
That was one of the things she loved about him—he didn’t press, not because he didn’t care, but because he chose to trust her.
Love.
What a silly word.
“Let’s find Becket and Ivy.” He pulled back just enough to look down at her, though he didn’t let go. “I’m worried he’s spending all his money trying to win her a bear. The man has horrible timing and worse coordination.”
They strolled toward the row of game booths, and sure enough, Becket was at one of them, winding up for another throw. A baseball flew from his hand, veering wildly off course and missing the metal milk jugs by a mile.
The booth attendant, a wiry glamoured vampire with a red-and-white striped vest and an exaggerated mustache, smirked. “Ladies and gentlemen, behold! The rare and mystical curveball of disappointment!” He waved his hand theatrically toward the fallen ball.
Ivy doubled over, tears streaming from her eyes as she laughed uncontrollably. Becket, unfazed, slapped more money onto the counter.
“This time,” Becket muttered, narrowing his eyes at the milk jugs.
When he threw again, the ball wavered in the air, teetering off course before righting itself and smashing into the jugs with a satisfying clatter. The booth attendant raised an eyebrow, but Ivy squealed with delight, jumping up and down as the man reluctantly handed her a large purple teddy bear.
“You did it!” Ivy exclaimed, hugging the bear.
Becket blinked, clearly as shocked as the booth attendant. “Of course I did it,” he said, recovering quickly. “Pure skill.”
