Page 52 of A Roar for Magic

Purple-black veins of corruption threaded beneath Clover’s skin like dark lightning, a perversion of her natural magic that made Rook’s tiger howl in helpless rage. The sickly energy pulsed in time with her heartbeat, spreading further with each passing minute.

He paced her bedroom, bare feet silent on wooden floors worn smooth by generations of witches. Each circuit took him past the window where the moon hung fat and accusing in the sky.

His phone buzzed again – Banner, updating him on Hudson’s movements. They could track the physical location of the formula vial, but without Clover’s magic to activate the deeper tracking spells woven into the liquid itself, they couldn’t prove who had possession of it.

Hudson would know that. Would use the time to cover his tracks, create alibis, distance himself from the theft.

The sound of Clover’s pained breathing cut through his spiraling thoughts.

“Rook.” Madame Zephyrine’s voice cracked like a whip. “If you don’t stop prowling, I will turn you into a houseplant. A small, decorative one.”

“You’re disturbing the healing energies,” Neve added without looking up from her mortar and pestle. Dried herbs released sharp, medicinal scents with each careful grind. “Sit down before your agitation makes things worse.”

He forced himself to settle in the armchair beside Clover’s bed, though his tiger energy continued to crackle restlessly. “How much longer?”

“Healing takes time.” Madame Zephyrine’s hands glowed as she worked, drawing corruption from Clover’s wounds. “Dark magic like this can’t be rushed.”

“Hudson’s getting away.”

“Hudson is exactly where we want him.” Neve added something that smelled like midnight and moss to her mixture. “With a formula designed to trap him. But only if Clover is strong enough to trace it when the time comes.”

Logic. Reason. His tiger snarled at both, wanting only to hunt down those who had hurt their mate. The memory of Clover falling, corruption eating through her magic like acid through steel...

A sharp crack made him jump. He’d splintered the chair’s wooden armrest.

“That’s mahogany,” an outraged voice announced from the doorway. “Do you know how hard it is to find magically-reinforced mahogany?”

Romi bustled in, arms full of supplies, Sabine right behind her with even more bags. The scent of fresh pastries and healing herbs filled the room.

“I brought everything.” Romi began unloading crystals, charms, and what appeared to be half a bakery’s worth of goods. “Protection amulets, healing stones, special tea blends, three different types of magical coffee?—”

“No coffee near my patient,” Madame Zephyrine interrupted.

“The coffee is for him.” Romi jerked her thumb at Rook. “Before he destroys more furniture with his bare hands. Though that’s still better than what he did to Clover’s shop.”

“I didn’t?—”

“The security footage suggests otherwise.” Sabine arranged crystals in a careful pattern around the bed. “I particularly enjoyed the part where you roared dramatically and body-slammed through the front door.”

“Hudson—”

“Was nowhere near that display of rare Peruvian orchids you demolished.”

“The orchids were already?—”

“The orchids were fine until someone decided to redecorate via tiger.”

A weak laugh from the bed cut through their bickering. Rook moved instantly to Clover’s side as her eyes fluttered open, glazed with pain but alert.

“My hero,” she whispered. “Defender of helpless plant life everywhere.”

“The orchids started it.” He brushed sweat-damp hair from her forehead, cataloging every sign of pain or distress. “How do you feel?”

“Like I picked a fight with a shadow and lost.” She tried to sit up but fell back with a gasp. “Did we at least get what we needed?”

THIRTY-TWO

“Banner’s tracking the vial.” Rook stroked her cheek, needing the contact to ground himself. “But we need your magic to prove Hudson has it.”

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