Page 4 of Summertime Hexy
“It totally is. Callie said it made two interns break up last week and now they only communicate in passive-aggressive notes.”
“Not our concern,” I say flatly.
Hazel makes a noise that might be a snort. “You’re fun.”
I ignore it and open the gate with a whispered passphrase. The barrier sizzles as it recognizes my energy signature. Hazel watches with narrowed eyes.
“Cool trick.”
“Basic security,” I say.
“Still,” she murmurs. “My barrier spells just hiss and melt lately.”
I glance at her, but she waves it off.
“Nothing. Never mind. Where’s the murder bird?”
We hike up the ridge near the ropes course, and there it is—perched like a demonic peacock, red eyes gleaming. A cockatrice in full preen. Its tail feathers twitch like it’s composing an opera of murder.
Hazel whistles. “I love her already.”
“Don’t antagonize it.”
Hazel immediately reaches into her bag. “Relax. I brought crickets.”
The cockatrice’s head snaps in our direction.
“Hazel—”
Too late.
She tosses a handful of crickets, and the beast lunges—not for the snack, but forher.
I move fast. Preternatural speed. Hazel hits the dirt with a shriek as I intercept the cockatrice mid-air, shoving it back with a burst of pressure from my palm.
It skids across the dirt, feathers ruffled, and flaps angrily back toward the underbrush.
Hazel’s on her back, blinking up at me.
“Derek,” she breathes. “Did you justvampire-judoa cockatrice?”
“I told you not to antagonize it.”
She grins, breathless. “You’re kind of hot when you’re terrifying.”
I extend a hand. She takes it, and for a moment, her skin is too warm against mine. Not physically—magically. Her power buzzes under her skin like trapped lightning.
“You need to be more careful,” I say, letting go too quickly. “Next time, it won’t be a cockatrice. It’ll be something worse.”
“Noted,” she says, brushing dirt off her jeans. “I’ll hold off on the cricket diplomacy.”
We spend the rest of patrol in relative silence. She stops trying to provoke me, which is a mercy. I’m hyper-aware of her the entire time—her too-loud laugh, the quick glances she thinks I don’t see, the flickers of raw energy that spike every time she feels something too hard and tries to pretend she doesn’t.
As the sun begins to dip, we reach the edge of the Grove. I stop, because the humming is louder here.
Hazel follows my gaze. “What?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
