Page 16 of Hex and the Kitty

“You harvest it yourself?”

Molly nodded. “There’s a clearing in the woods north of town. The moonshades grow in a perfect circle there.”

“Alone? At night?” His brows drew together slightly.

“The forest knows me,” she said simply.

His eyes studied her with new intensity. “You’re more powerful than you let on, aren’t you?”

The observation hovered between them, unexpectedly perceptive. Most people saw a cheerful baker with minor magical talents, not the depths of her connection to the living world around them.

“I’m exactly as powerful as I need to be,” she answered carefully. “What about you? Three centuries must have taught you more than firefighting.”

A shadow crossed his face. “Age doesn’t always equal wisdom.”

“But it makes for excellent stories,” she countered, leaning forward. “Tell me one. Something from before Whispering Pines.”

Their eyes locked across the table. For a moment, Molly thought he might refuse—retreat behind that carefully constructed wall he maintained. Then his expression softened.

“Paris, 1889,” he said, his voice dropping to a mesmerizing rumble. “The World’s Fair. I worked security for the magical contingent hidden within the human exhibition.”

“The Eiffel Tower inauguration,” Molly breathed.

Warrick nodded. “A perfect cover for one of the largest gatherings of magical beings that century. The energy was... extraordinary. Beings from every continent, every magical tradition.”

“Were there other shifters?”

“Many. Some species I’d never encountered before or since.” His eyes grew distant with memory. “A contingent of snow leopards from Tibet performed a transformation dance under the tower at midnight. Two thousand spectators, and only half could see the true magic happening.”

Molly found herself leaning closer, entranced by his words, by the glimpse into a world she could scarcely imagine. “What was your favorite part?”

“The floating gardens,” he answered without hesitation. “Suspended between worlds, visible only to magical eyes. Flowers that sang when touched by moonlight, trees that whispered secrets in forgotten languages.” His eyes returned to hers. “You would have loved it.”

“I would have,” she agreed softly, touched that he’d thought of her preference.

“Your turn,” Warrick said, surprising her again. “Tell me something not everyone knows about Molly.”

Molly blinked, then smiled. “I can’t dance. Not even a little bit. I have the magical coordination of a drunken pixie.”

His lips quirked. “That can’t be true.”

“Three broken toes and a town festival disaster say otherwise.” She laughed at the memory. “The maypole still hasn’t recovered.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Warrick said, his eyes warm as they swept over her. “You move with natural grace in your bakery.”

“That’s different. Here, I’m in my element.” The compliment made her cheeks warm. “Kitchens make sense to me. Dance floors are baffling war zones.”

“Perhaps you’ve just needed the right partner.”

The suggestion hung in the air between them, ripe with possibility. Molly’s heart thumped painfully against her ribs.

After several more samples, she brought out a small pouch. “Now for the interesting part. You mentioned bringing ingredients from your travels?”

Warrick nodded, reaching into his pocket to produce several small packages wrapped in what appeared to be silk. “Nothing dangerous,” he assured her, “but some might be... temperamental with magic.”

He unwrapped the first package to reveal vibrant red petals that seemed to glow from within.

“Fire Lotus petals,” Molly breathed, leaning closer until their heads nearly touched. “I’ve only read about these! They’re supposed to grow in volcanic springs in?—“

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