Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
DAHLIA
The meeting dragged on for another hour.
Questions from concerned business owners.
Procedural explanations from Hux about how territorial disputes were adjudicated.
Cal challenging every point Magnus made, his voice growing rougher as the minutes ticked by.
Magnus responding with that same measured calm, that same practiced smile, that same absolute certainty that he held all the cards.
Dahlia barely heard any of it.
Her mind was racing, turning over every detail of Magnus’s presentation. The surveys. The maps. The confident way he’d laid out his documentation, as if he had no doubt it would withstand scrutiny.
Too confident, a whisper suggested in the back of her head. Too prepared. He’s had decades to build this case. What has he missed?
She thought about the boundary stones. The ancient markers that had been set by the original settlers, inscribed with wards and territorial magic. Her grandmother had shown them to her once, when Dahlia was young—moss-covered rocks half-buried in the forest floor, humming with residual power.
The stones tell the true story, Hazel had said. Paper can lie. Magic can’t.
If Magnus’s surveys were fraudulent—if someone had altered the historical records—the magical boundary markers would show the discrepancy. They’d been warded to record the true lines, immune to tampering.
All she had to do was find them. Compare them to Magnus’s documentation. Prove that his “historical fact” was nothing but an elaborate lie.
The meeting ended. People began filtering out, voices low and worried. Dahlia stood, stretching muscles that had gone stiff from tension.
“That was brutal.” Junie’s magic had calmed, but her eyes still sparked with fury. “Please tell me we’re going to fight this.”
“We’re going to fight this.” Dahlia’s voice came out steadier than she felt. “But smart. Not reckless.”
“Define ‘smart.’”
“The boundary stones.” Dahlia glanced around, making sure no one was close enough to overhear. “The original markers. They’re warded to show the true territorial lines. If Magnus’s surveys don’t match...”
“Then we have proof he’s lying.” Avine’s eyes brightened. “Dahlia, that’s brilliant.”
“It’s a starting point.” Dahlia squeezed Avine’s hand. “I need to do some research. Find out exactly where the stones are, what kind of magic was used, how to read them properly.”
“I can help with that.” Junie was already pulling out her phone. “Grandmother’s grimoire has a whole section on territorial wards. I’ll dig it out tonight.”
“And I’ll talk to the Elders.” Avine stood, brushing off her skirt. “Sue Tidewell might be difficult, but she knows everything about this town’s magical history. If anyone remembers the original boundary agreements, it’s her.”
Dahlia nodded, grateful beyond words for these women. For their immediate, unconditional support. For the way they’d pivoted from shock to action without missing a beat.
“Go,” she told them. “I’ll catch up. I need to—”
“Ms. Moon.”
Magnus’s voice cut through the noise of the dispersing crowd. Dahlia turned to find him standing three feet away, his Ironwood enforcers flanking him like living walls.
“A moment of your time.”
Junie’s magic flared. Avine stepped closer, protective. Dahlia held up a hand, stopping them both.
“It’s fine. Go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”
They didn’t want to leave. She could see it in their faces, in the rigid set of their shoulders. But they trusted her judgment—or at least trusted her to scream if anything went wrong.
The room emptied around them. Magnus waited, patient as stone, until the last stragglers had filtered out.
Then he smiled.
“You’re a spirited woman, Ms. Moon. I appreciate that.” He gestured for his enforcers to step back, creating an illusion of privacy. “Most people in this town are too afraid to challenge me directly.”
“I’m not most people.”
“No.” That calculating stare tracked over her face, assessing. “You’re not. Which is why I wanted to speak with you privately.”
Dahlia crossed her arms, refusing to be intimidated by his size or his presence or the quiet menace that radiated from him. “I’m listening.”
“You seem like a sensible woman.” Magnus’s tone shifted—less public performance, more private negotiation. “Practical. Someone who understands that sometimes the wisest course is adaptation rather than resistance.”
“If you’re trying to flatter me into surrender, you’re wasting your time.”
“I’m trying to offer you a choice.” He stepped closer, looming over her. Dahlia held her ground, though every instinct screamed at her to back away. “My claim will succeed, Ms. Moon. The documentation is airtight. The Regional Council will validate it within months, if not weeks.”
“You sound very certain.”
“I am certain.” No smile now. Cold, absolute conviction. “And when my claim succeeds, you will have a decision to make. Join Ironwood. Acknowledge our authority over your land. Continue operating your bakery without interruption.”
“And if I refuse?”
Magnus tilted his head, studying her the way a cat studied a mouse it hadn’t yet decided to kill. “Then you will have thirty days to vacate. To find new premises. To rebuild everything your grandmother built, somewhere else.”
The words landed like blows. Dahlia felt them in her stomach, in the cold sweat that broke out along her spine, in the sudden tightness of her lungs.
“That bakery has been in my family for sixty years.”
“And it can remain in your family for sixty more.” Magnus spread his hands, the picture of generosity. “All you have to do is be reasonable.”
“What you’re describing isn’t reason. It’s coercion.”
“What I’m describing is reality.” His voice hardened, enough to remind her what he was—what he was capable of.
“The Ursa sleuth is dying. Their alpha is bedridden. Their heir spent a decade and a half running from his responsibilities. They have no power, no allies, no resources. Who exactly do you think is going to protect you, Ms. Moon?”
“She’s not alone in this.”
Cal’s voice came from behind her. Dahlia felt him before she saw him—felt the heat of his presence, his solid bulk stepping up to her side. His hand found the small of her back, and the touch sent heat radiating through her entire body.
Magnus’s expression didn’t change. “Callum. I was wondering when you’d insert yourself.”
“Dahlia is a member of this community. Her bakery operates under Ursa protection. Any threat to her business is a threat to my sleuth.” Cal’s voice was barely controlled. Dahlia could feel the tension vibrating through him, the bear pressing against his skin.
“How noble.” Magnus’s smile returned—sharper now, edged with cruelty. “The prodigal bear defending a witch he’s known for what? A week? Two?”
“Long enough.”
“The Ursa line.” Magnus shook his head, false pity crossing his features. “You’re so predictable. So protective of things you can’t keep.”
Cal went rigid against her. Dahlia felt his hand flex on her back, felt the barely-leashed violence coiling in his muscles.
“Your father was the same way.” Magnus continued, his tone almost conversational. “Convinced he could hold onto things that were never his to begin with. Look how that ended.”
“My father has nothing to do with this.”
“Doesn’t he?” Magnus stepped back, straightening his jacket. “Think about my offer, Ms. Moon. You have until the Regional Council makes its decision. After that...” He shrugged. “Well. I’m sure you’ll make the right choice.”
He turned and walked away, his enforcers falling into step behind him. The doors swung shut, and they were gone.