Page 25 of Strings Attached
The protection pendant I’d spent half the night crafting as I waited out the storm shifts in my pocket, clinking softly against the old coin I always carry. Its magic hums against my leg, a quiet reminder of everything I’m supposed to protect. The idea had come to me after I’d returned home and started thinking about Missy, and the way she kisses like she plays, and how her music and touch steadies my magic and made it more manageable. More… alive.
Traditional wards fight against a magic being’s unpredictable power, trying to contain it. But what if, like Missy’s music, they could work with it instead? I’d infused the pendant with elements of harmony rather than control. I still hadn’t decided if I’d give it to Emma yet, though.
Experimental magic should be documented, tested, and approved through proper channels. Not cobbled together in my study at midnight because a beautiful, passionate woman made me question everything I thought I knew about how my world works.
“The council has protocols,” I manage, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears.
“The council,”—Grammie Rae pronounces each syllable like they offend her—“needs to get its collective head out of their musty books and remember that magic isn’t just formulas and wards.” She pats my arm. “It’s alive, Dean. And right now, it’s trying to tell you something. Maybe you should listen.”
She bustles off toward Tom before I can formulate a response, leaving me with uncomfortable truths and cooling coffee. The worst part is, I’m starting to worry she might be right.
I find myself ignoring the controlled voice in my head and walking over to Missy and Emma, anyway.
“A good luck charm,” I say, holding up the necklace, “for the Cove’s star performer.”
Emma’s brow furrows at first. She reaches for the necklace, then pauses. But when she meets my gaze, she releases a breath and accepts the jewel, apparently understanding. She smooths a thumb over it as she turns to Missy. “Would you help me put it on?”
I hold my breath as Missy’s fingers work the clasp. The stone glows subtly against Emma’s skin, exactly as I’d expected. Perhaps thosedusty old bookshad some benefit after all.
Emma twirls with her violin and drags the bow across the string. The note sings as she finds her seat for rehearsal. But Missy turns to face me.
“The stone was warm,” she murmurs, looking up at me through long lashes.
I fight a groan. I can feel Grammie Rae’s knowing gaze burning into my back. Despite her romantic ideals, I can’t give Missy the truth. But I no longer wish to lie to her, either. “Sometimes things aren’t what they seem.”
Because the truth isn’t safe in the hands of someone destined to leave. Missy’s a performer—brilliant, bold, made for grand stages and faraway cities. She’s not like her sister, who put down roots here and earned the right to carry the weight of our secrets. If Missy knew, really knew, it could put everyone at risk. Not because she’s unkind or careless—but because her life isn’t meant to stay contained. And magic this old, this hidden? It doesn’t survive exposure.
Curiosity flashes across her eyes, darkening them. It’s the same look her sister dons when she gets stubborn and fixed on an idea. But where Alex would push, Missy just shrugs. “Okay, then.”
She takes a drink of her coffee and walks toward Rachel. Missy’s lips curl around the lid, her throat bobbing as she swallows. The sight sends heat crawling up my neck. I force my attention back to ward lines, to duty, to anything but thinking about those lips and how they tasted against mine.
Later, as afternoon fades, the crowd disperses. I pretend to review the decorations once more while actually watching Missy say goodbye to Rachel. I expect her to leave next, but instead she walks over to me.
“So what exactly are you checking for the festival that takes you all day?”
“The grounds need special… preparations.” The magic humming beneath our feet is nearly warm, stronger than I’ve ever felt it. “After the storm damage.”
She frowns, a V-shaped furrow forming between her brows. “You were more honest with me last night.”
The way she whispers the words, like a confession, cracks through me. “Missy, I wish I could… it’s complicated.”
“And at the Hoopla?” Her chin lifts stubbornly. “Will there be complicated things there I’ll need to dance around as well?”
“If you want my honest opinion, then you should stay away from the festival.” I step closer, betraying my own words. The air crackles between us like contained lightning. The more Missy tangles into our world, the more likely it is she’ll start seeing the inevitable. And that would be bad for everyone involved.
And if that happens—if she glimpses something she isn’t meant to—I’ll be the one forced to wipe it away. I’ve used memory magic before. I’ve seen what it does to people when it’s not well controlled, the fractures it leaves behind. I’d ratherdrain every last drop of power from my body than ever risk doing that to her.
“Is that what you want?” Her voice drops lower. “For me to stay away?”
The question hangs heavy with double meaning. We’re alone on the festival grounds, magic pulsing beneath our feet, and the sunset painting everything in fire and shadow.
I can’t lie to her any longer. I can’t continue to pretend that everything in me doesn’t long to capture her mouth with mine again, press her against me until she’s fully aware of how much I want her to stay.
“No,” I growl. “That’s not what I want.”
She closes the space between us in a moment. This kiss differs from our first—less hesitant. Her fingers curl into my shirt as mine trace the line of her jaw. When we finally break apart, reality crashes back.
“Missy, I…” I struggle to find the words, but they feel too heavy, too tangled. “This is also complicated.”
