Page 12 of Magic Unleashed

Of course, he knew Maeve. Everybody who knew anything about the supernatural underbelly knew Maeve; she was infamous in New Orleans—a powerful fae whose knowledge of old magic rivaled even the most seasoned of the supernatural community. She lived with her nieces in the Garden District and few dared to visit unless they received an invitation or had no other options. Griff had met her once or twice but had never gotten involved with her directly. Phoenix’s side-eye reactions whenever the aunt came up weren’t exactly a ringing endorsement, either.

"She’s... unconventional," Geneva continued, tapping her fingers against the rim of her cup. "But she knows things—old magic, ancient symbols, rituals most of us have never even heard of. If anyone can tell you what that residue really is, it’s her."

Griff stared into his coffee for a moment, weighing the options. "Can we trust her? She isn’t overly fond of cops.”

“Oh, she likes cops well enough; it’s you she has issues with,” Geneva teased.

Griff groaned. “The last thing I need is more chaos thrown into the mix."

Geneva smirked, though there was a glint of something in her eyes—an old family history too deep to explain over beignets. "Maeve walks a fine line, but she gave up her place in the fae realm to follow my mother and then to raise me and my sisters. I not only love her, but I also believe her knowledge of this city and its supernatural past is second to none. She’s every bit a guardian of this city as you, me, or my sisters. She won’t cause trouble. Besides, if this residue is as dangerous as I think it is, we can’t afford to leave any stone unturned."

Griff exhaled slowly, considering the risks. Bringing in Maeve would likely stir up things they weren’t ready for, but they were already neck-deep in dark magic. Waiting and hoping for a clean solution wasn’t going to cut it.

"All right," he finally said. "Go ahead and show it to her. But be careful. I don’t want to make this mess worse."

Geneva’s shoulders relaxed, a relieved smile tugging at her lips. "You’ve got it. I’ll let you know what she says as soon as I have something."

They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the hum of conversation and the occasional clink of dishes. Griff’s mind was already moving a mile a minute, thinking about the next steps, about how deep this conspiracy went.

"So," Geneva said after a while, breaking the quiet. "How’s Phoenix?"

Griff stiffened at the mention of her name. He didn’t want to think about the mess of feelings tangled up in that question. Not here. Not now. "As far as I know, she’s fine. She’s your sister; you live in the same house; I would think you know better than me."

Geneva raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push. "You know, I’ve never seen her like this before. She doesn’t let many people get close, but it seems like…"

"Geneva," Griff interrupted, his voice firm. "Not now."

She shrugged, clearly unimpressed with his attempt to dodge the topic, but let it drop. "Fine. For now."

Their conversation drifted back to lighter topics, but Griff’s mind remained distracted. He was inching closer to the truth, but with every step forward, the shadows around him grew deeper, more dangerous. He just hoped that whatever Maeve uncovered would be worth the risk.

As they finished their coffee and Griff prepared to head out, Geneva placed a hand on his arm. "Griff, be careful. The deeper you go into this, the more dangerous it’s going to get."

He gave her a half-smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I’m already in. Not much I can do about it now."

She laughed, but it was soft, almost bittersweet. "Fair point. Just… watch your back, okay?"

"I always do," Griff said, nodding to her as he left the café and stepped back into the bustling streets. But as he walked away, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the real storm was still on the horizon. And when it hit, nothing would be the same.

Later that evening, Griff found himself parked outside The Thorny Rose, his eyes scanning the darkened streets as he waited. He hadn’t been surprised when Fontaine’s car had pulled up outside the bar, the councilman slipping inside under the cover of night. What did surprise him, however, were the other figures that followed—men and women dressed in odd, ceremonial garb, their faces hidden beneath hoods.

Griff’s dragon instincts flared, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Something was going down inside that bar, and he needed to find out what. He pushed open the door to The Thorny Rose, the familiar scent of smoke and whiskey filling the air as he stepped into the dimly lit space. Neutral ground for supernatural beings, the tavern was a hotbed of magical activity, and tonight was no different.

His eyes swept the room, searching for Fontaine and the others, but his gaze snagged on something else—someone else.

Phoenix.

She stood near the bar, her eyes scanning the crowd with the same intensity that burned in him.

Griff’s heart skipped a beat as he took her in—the way her hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, the sharp curveof her jaw, and the lethal grace in the way she held herself. The memory of their kiss flashed through his mind, and the desire that had been simmering beneath the surface all day threatened to boil over.

She spotted him almost immediately, her eyes narrowing as she crossed the room toward him. “Griff. What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he shot back, his voice low.

“Following up on a lead,” she said, her tone clipped. “You?”

“Same.”

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