16. Caroline #2
Why this data? What is the Council planning?
Amara’s words about the TrueBond app come back to me, her warning about how it could be used to control people, to take away their choices. Is this the first step? A census. A way to identify the “problem” before they offer their “solution.”
I walk over to the counter, my movements feeling stiff, unnatural. “Are you okay, Tessa?” I ask gently.
She looks at me, her eyes wide and frightened. “I… I don’t understand. Why would they want my name? What did I do?”
“You didn’t do anything,” June says firmly, leaving no room for argument. “This isn’t about you, sweetheart. This is about them. About their fear and their need to control everything they don’t understand.”
“But what if they don’t stop at just wanting our names?” Tessa asks, her voice trembling. “What if they try to… to force us to do something?”
“They won’t,” August says, his voice filled with a quiet confidence that I find reassuring. “We won’t let them. This town has a way of taking care of its own.”
I want to believe him. I really do. But as I look at Tessa’s frightened face, at June’s simmering anger, at the spilled herbs on the floor—a symbol of the disruption that has just been thrown into our lives—I can’t shake the feeling that this is just the beginning.
That the storm that’s been brewing on the horizon is finally about to break.
And I have no idea if any of us are prepared for what’s coming.
The bell above the door doesn’t stop ringing.
It’s a constant, frantic chime that sets my teeth on edge, a soundtrack to the panic that has gripped Willowbrook.
The apothecary is a madhouse. The line snakes out the door and down the cobblestone street, a queue of worried faces and jittery hands.
Everyone wants something. Calming draughts.
Warding salts. Tinctures to soothe frayed nerves.
Potions to help them sleep through the night.
The air is thick with the scent of burnt sage, desperation, and fear.
I work at the counter with a mechanical efficiency I didn’t know I possessed, my hands moving on their own, measuring and grinding and bottling. My mind is a whirlwind, but my body is calm, focused. It’s the only way to survive the onslaught.
“Did you hear?” a woman whispers to her friend as I hand her a small bottle of a lavender-infused tincture. “They’re making a list. A list of all of us.”
“I heard it’s worse than that,” her friend replies. “They’re bringing in Alphas from Chicago. A matching program. They’re going to pair us off whether we like it or not.”
My stomach clenches, but I keep my expression neutral. “That’ll be twelve dollars.”
The rumor mill is working overtime, spinning tales of Council-enforced bonds, of forced matings, of Omegas being shipped off to Chicago like livestock.
Some of it is probably exaggeration, but the kernel of truth at the center of it all—the directive, the list—is real.
I saw it in Deputy Simon’s face this morning.
I felt it in the tension that crackled in the air long before the first customer even walked through the door.
Around nine, Thistle appears, a sleek shadow weaving through the forest of legs.
He hops onto the counter, his tail twitching with disdain at the chaos.
He rubs against my arm, a silent demand for attention, then promptly knocks over a small, unlabeled vial I had just finished brewing for a special order.
It’s a Scent Revealer, a tricky little concoction designed to amplify and make plain the wearer’s true magical signature. It shatters on the counter, the liquid inside shimmering for a moment before evaporating into a fine, glittering mist.
For a second, nothing happens. Then a wave of scent, not just my usual cinnamon and honey, but something deeper, richer, blooms in the air.
The unmistakable, intoxicating aroma of an Omega in heat.
It’s not real, not a true heat, but the potion has mimicked the scent, amplified it, broadcast it to the entire room.
The effect is instantaneous. The chatter dies.
Every head turns in my direction. The air crackles with a new kind of tension, a primal, predatory awareness.
I can feel their eyes on me, their gazes a physical weight.
An older Beta in the back actually takes a step back, his eyes wide.
A young Alpha near the door stiffens, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
“Everyone out!” June commands. “Now! The shop is closed!”
She appears from the back room, her face like thunder. August is right behind her, his expression grim. They move as a unit, creating a human barrier between the staring crowd and me.
“You heard her!” August says, leaving no room for argument. “Out!”
The customers shuffle out, their movements slow, reluctant, their eyes still fixed on me. I can feel my face burning with shame. The lie I’ve told for three years, the secret I’ve so carefully guarded, is hanging in the air for everyone to see.
When the last person is gone and the door is locked, June turns to me, her expression softening. “Are you okay, Caroline?”
I can only shake my head, my throat too tight to speak.
“Are you in heat?”
“No,” I gasp. “Maybe my scent hasn’t gone back to normal yet. I was in heat just a few days ago, but that passed. I swear.”
August clicks his tongue. “It’s that damn rift. It’s messed with everyone’s cycle. Good thing your Alpha is in town. I could smell him on you this morning, you know.”
Fucking great! My boss knows I got laid last night.
“Something like that,” I say, avoiding their faces.
“Good. Good.” June says. “In case you need anything, let me know. We can brew something for you.”
Oh, this is embarrassing. “Thanks.”
“Good, now we need to focus,” she says firmly.
“You’re one of us, so I wouldn’t want you to think that I don’t care, but we have a bigger fish to fry at the moment.
You’re family, but so is our apprentice.
Tessa is scared. She’s in the back room, and she needs you to be strong for her right now.
Can you do that? We need all hands on deck right now. Can you do that for me?”
I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat.
They think I’m scared for Tessa, and I am.
I’m terrified for her. But they have no idea.
They have no idea that the lie I told to protect myself is the very thing that’s put a target on my back, that the name on that list they’re so afraid of will be mine.
“I’ll go check on her,” I tell my bosses.
“Okay. In the meantime, I need to figure out something,” June says, already turning to her ingredients.
I find Tessa in the back room, sitting on a stool, her face pale, her hands trembling. I sit down next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“It’s okay,” I say, even though it’s not. “We’ll figure this out. We’ll handle it.”
She leans into me, her body shaking with silent sobs. I hold her, stroking her hair, murmuring reassurances I don’t fully believe myself. I’m a fraud, comforting another victim of a lie I created.
June appears a few minutes later, holding a small, steaming cauldron. The liquid inside is a deep, shimmering blue, and it smells of rain and clean earth.
“What is that?” I ask.
“Something I haven’t had to make in a long time,” she says, her expression distant. “Pearl Whitlow taught me this. Before she decided corralling festival idiots was easier than being a circle witch. She always said the best magic wasn’t about grand gestures, but about quiet protections.”
She begins ladling the liquid into small vials, her movements precise and sure.
“This isn’t a blocking spell,” she explains.
“It won’t keep anyone out. But it will make the threshold know who is welcome.
It’s a mimicry of a circle witch’s charm.
A request. The door itself will know who is invited.
Anyone else won’t be able to pass. They’ll find themselves… inexplicably turned around.”
By one o’clock, the shop is filled with people again. But the mood is different. The fear is still there, but it’s been channeled into something else, something more proactive. They’re not just buying calming draughts anymore. They’re buying June’s new potion.
The “Threshold Ward,” they’re calling it. They’re buying it for their homes, their businesses, for their children’s dorm rooms at the academy. It’s a frenzy of a different kind, a desperate grab for control in a situation that feels dangerously out of control.
I work until my arms ache, until the scent of rain and clean earth has seeped into my skin, until I can no longer tell if the trembling in my hands is from exhaustion or fear.
At four o’clock, there’s an announcement all around town.
“There will be a town meeting tonight at seven o’clock at the Town Hall,” he says, his voice leaving no room for discussion. “All residents are required to attend. I repeat, all residents.”
Well, shit.