A Roar for Magic (Mystic Hollow #2)

Chapter 18

EIGHTEEN

C lover’s fingers traced the blackened marks outside Spellbound Lights, the residual magic prickling against her skin like static electricity. Her magic recoiled at the dark energy woven into the scorch pattern – something corrupt and twisted lurked beneath the surface.

“What’s the verdict?” Poe hopped closer, his head tilting to examine the marks. “More aspiring pyromancers with too much time on their hands?”

“No.” Clover frowned, recognizing the faint signature of tiger magic. “This is deliberate. Targeted.” She pulled out her phone to document the pattern, adding to her growing collection of similar marks from the past week.

“Maybe they hate your autumn spice candles?” Poe suggested helpfully. “I mean, pumpkin everything is a bit much?—”

“Your commentary, as always, is invaluable.” Clover snapped another photo. “If you don’t behave, I’ll change your food to that brand you don’t like. Why don’t you go annoy some neighborhood kids?”

“And miss your brooding detective routine? Never.” The crow preened his feathers.

“Oh great, more paranormal graffiti.” Halle crouched beside Clover, her amber eyes narrowed at the blackened marks marring the sidewalk. “Though I have to admit, the spiral pattern shows artistic flair. Should we add it to our shop’s aesthetic?”

“Yes, because nothing says ‘buy our relaxation candles’ like mysterious scorched concrete,” Poe chimed in from his perch on the shop’s sign. “We could call it our new ‘Definitely Not Cursed’ collection.”

Clover ignored them both, focusing on the residual magic that made her skin prickle. The tiger energy signature twisted through the marks like dark lightning, corrupted and wrong. But she forced herself to examine it closer.

“At least, it’s not as bad as the time you tried to enhance those protection candles and turned everything in the shop temporarily invisible,” Halle mused, pulling out her phone to document the marks. “Including me. Do you know how hard it is to serve customers when they can’t see you?”

“That only lasted an hour,” Clover protested.

“An hour during which three people thought they were having conversations with a ghost.” Halle’s grin turned wicked. “Though watching Mrs. Pembroke scream and throw her purse through my head was pretty entertaining.”

“That wasn’t—” Clover started, but her protest died as Rook’s SUV pulled into the parking lot. So far she’d seen him in four different vehicles. He clearly had a thing for cars. Her magic surged in recognition before she could suppress it, remembering all too well how it had sparked when he kissed her at the picnic. The way his tiger energy had wrapped around her, warm and electric...

“Speaking of distracting tigers.” Halle waggled her eyebrows. “Want me to make myself scarce? Give you two some alone time to examine the, uh, scorch marks?”

“You’re fired.”

“You say that at least twice a week.”

“And yet somehow you’re still here.”

“Because you’d miss my sparkling wit and incredible candle-arranging skills.”

“I’d miss the peace and quiet more,” Clover muttered, but she couldn’t help smiling. Her apprentice’s irreverent humor always lightened even the darkest moments.

Rook approached with that fluid grace that drew her eye despite her best efforts to focus on the task at hand. He’d forgone his usual suit for dark jeans and a button-down that did nothing to hide his powerful build. The man had a body that gave her wet dreams. Way too frequently. The morning sun caught golden highlights in his hair, and his hazel eyes held that intensity that made her pulse skip. How could a man be so hot?

Not that she was noticing any of that. She had mysterious magical vandalism to investigate.

“More marks?” He crouched beside her, close enough that his warmth seeped into her side. The spicy notes of his cologne mixed with his natural musk, and her magic hummed in response.

“Third set this week.” She gestured to the distinctive spiral pattern, trying to ignore how his proximity scattered her thoughts. “Same corrupted tiger energy as before.”

His expression darkened. “It has to be Hudson.”

“Probably. But we need proof before we can take it before the council.” She brushed her fingers over the marks again, and a spark of electricity jumped between them when his hand covered hers.

“Be careful,” he murmured. “That magic could be dangerous.”

The genuine concern in his voice made her heart flutter. She caught Halle and Poe exchanging knowing looks and cleared her throat. “We should consult Otis. If anyone knows about obscure magical attacks, it’s him and that massive collection of tomes in the archives.”

“I’ll hold down the fort here,” Halle offered with exaggerated innocence. “You two kids have fun at the archives.”

“Keep an eye out for any suspicious activity,” Rook told her, his protective alpha nature showing through. “And call immediately if?—”

“If I see anything weird, call you, Clover, Banner, the Enforcers, and possibly the ghost of Elvis, got it.” Halle mock-saluted. “Though honestly, the most suspicious activity around here lately is how often you find excuses to visit our little shop.”

Clover groaned. “Halle...”

“What? I’m just saying, for someone who supposedly needed one sleep-aid candle last week, you sure bought an awful lot of inventory.”

“I’ll add insubordination to the reasons you’re fired,” Clover informed her as Rook guided her toward his car with a warm hand at the small of her back.

The drive to the archives passed in charged silence. Clover caught herself sneaking glances at Rook’s profile, admiring the strong line of his jaw and the way his hands gripped the steering wheel with casual confidence.

Every time they slowed, she noticed his gaze sliding to her, dark and intent. She really wanted to kiss him again. The air between them crackled with unspoken tension, memories of their kiss at the picnic making her magic dance beneath her skin.

The Mystic Hollow Archives rose before them like a cathedral of knowledge, its enchanted timber walls shifting through subtle color variations in the morning light. Inside, the familiar scent of old books and magical ink wrapped around them like a comfortable blanket. Towering shelves stretched toward the vaulted ceiling where floating orbs of light drifted between the stacks like curious fireflies.

“I never get tired of this place,” Clover murmured, trailing her fingers along a shelf of ancient grimoires. The books hummed in response to her magic, their pages rustling gently.

“I used to hide here during pride meetings,” Rook admitted, ducking under a particularly enthusiastic tome that tried to float down to him. “The quiet helped me think.”

“You? Hiding from responsibilities?” She raised an eyebrow. “I thought you came out of the womb running board meetings.”

His laugh echoed through the stacks, rich and genuine in a way that made her heart skip. “Hardly. After my father died, I...” He paused, vulnerability flickering across his face. “I spent a lot of time here, reading everything I could about business management. Trying to figure out how to be what everyone needed me to be.”

The confession tugged at something in Clover’s chest. She reached for his hand without thinking, threading their fingers together. “How old were you?”

“Eleven.” His thumb traced circles on her palm, sending shivers up her arm. “Too young to run a company, but old enough to know I couldn’t let my father’s legacy fall apart.”

Before she could respond, a familiar voice called from above. “Young Clover! And Alpha Katz – how intriguing.”

Otis Quill perched on his rolling ladder twenty feet up, peering down at them through enchanted spectacles that magnified his owl-like eyes. With surprising agility for someone who appeared to be in his late eighties, he descended to greet them.

“We need your help.” Clover pulled out her phone, showing him the documented scorch marks. “These keep appearing around my shops. There’s corrupted tiger magic involved, but something else too – something darker.”

Otis adjusted his spectacles, studying the images with such intensity that the magical lenses began to smoke slightly. “Oh dear. Oh dear indeed.” He disappeared into the stacks, muttering to himself.

“Is he always so...”

“Dramatic?” Clover smiled. “You should see him during the annual book reorganization. Last year he spent three hours arguing with a medical text about proper alphabetization.”

“The book started it,” Otis announced, returning with an ancient grimoire bound in what appeared to be dragon scales. “Now then, look here.”

The page he opened showed an illustration of marks identical to those outside her shop. The ink still swirled with residual magic after centuries, forming intricate patterns that made Clover’s magic recoil.

“These are remnants of an ancient ritual,” Otis explained, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Designed to sever the bond between fated mates.”

Clover’s heart stuttered. She darted a glance at Rook, whose expression had turned thunderous. Their joined hands tightened unconsciously.

“Fated mates?” Her voice emerged smaller than intended.

“Indeed.” Otis peered at them over his spectacles, eyes twinkling. “Surely, you’ve noticed? The way your magics reach for each other? The natural synchronicity of your movements?” He chuckled at their stunned expressions. “The signs are quite obvious to those who know where to look.”

“But that would mean...” Clover trailed off, mind racing. The instant spark of connection when they’d met. The way her magic constantly sought his. How perfectly they’d fit together when he kissed her...

“Someone’s trying to break our bond before it fully forms,” Rook growled, his tiger energy rippling through the air. Several nearby books shuddered in response.

“Precisely.” Otis nodded gravely. “And they’re using very old, very dark magic to do it. You’ll want to consult Madame Zephyrine about this. Such bonds, once targeted, require special protection.” He hesitated, then added, “And perhaps avoid any prolonged separation. The ritual’s power grows stronger when fated pairs are apart.”

“So what you’re saying is...” Clover tried to steady her racing pulse.

“You’ll need to spend more time together,” Otis confirmed, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “For purely protective purposes, of course.”

Rook’s thumb hadn’t stopped tracing patterns on her palm, each touch sending sparks of awareness through her body. “We’ll do it anyway. We’ll have to work closely on those spa formulations,” he murmured, his voice carrying that tiger-deep rumble.

“I guess,” Clover agreed weakly.

“Oh yes, very sensible.” Otis beamed at them. “Though you might want to put up a shield before any more books try to dive-bomb Alpha Katz. They’re quite romantic, you see. Always trying to play matchmaker.”

Sure enough, a small contingent of poetry volumes had begun inching their way off the highest shelf, apparently intent on raining down literary inspiration.

“Time to go,” Clover decided, tugging Rook toward the exit before the entire Romance section decided to get involved. “Thank you, Otis.”

“Young love,” they heard him sigh happily as they escaped. “Makes the whole archive glow.”