Chapter 23
Honey
“The Kettle?” Honey tilted her head as she looked through the windshield, surprised by their destination.
The little café was nestled between the market and the post office, its painted sign swinging slightly in the breeze.
Honey had passed it when she was in town that first day, thinking it was a breakfast place, maybe the kind with loose leaf tea and some vaguely magical scones.
Not exactly the destination she’d imagined when Ethan had said their plans weren’t strictly legal.
“Why did you let me think it was something more nefarious than caffeine after dark?”
Ethan rounded the front of the truck and opened the passenger door for her, grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Who says it isn’t?”
The words shouldn’t have sent a shiver down her spine, but they did.
From the outside, The Kettle looked closed for the night.
The moon’s glow reflected in the glass of the darkened windows.
But as she stepped out of the truck, Honey noticed subtle signs of life: a light flickering faintly at the very back, the faint hum of something, and the soft scent of sugar drifting on the air.
Ethan ignored the closed sign and pushed the front door open.
“Breaking and entering?” Honey asked. “Is this what you do on your nights off?”
“The door was open.”
“I’m pretty sure it still counts.”
But she followed him anyway.
Inside, the café was cozy and eerie all at once.
The main lights were off, but a trail of what looked like homemade candles flickered along the counter.
Mismatched chairs surrounded each table.
The walls were painted in deep sage green.
On one shelf near the register sat a row of labeled jars—dandelion honey, whipped cinnamon clover, hot pepper bee balm—like a display equal parts apothecary and bakery.
She followed Ethan across to the far back corner where a bookshelf leaned against the wall, sagging slightly under the weight of stacked novels, potted succulents, and a precariously placed candle or two that set Honey’s anxiety twitching.
Just as she was about to point out the fire hazard, Ethan reached up and knocked twice on the edge of the top shelf.
With a mechanical click, the bookcase creaked, and then swung open.
Her mouth dropped. “You’re kidding.”
But he just looked over his shoulder and smiled. “After you.”
A hum of voices drifted up from the secret doorway, and the earthy scent of magic grew stronger.
As he descended the stairs, he reached back and took her hand.
It might have thrilled her, if her heart hadn’t already been racing for entirely different reasons. Her instincts warred with each other—half of her wanted to lean into the mystery. The other half was half-convinced she was about to violate enough statutes to make her head spin.
The staircase was steep and narrow, lit by soft string lights woven through dried herbs. The air grew warmer as they descended, and the hum of conversation grew louder and clearer.
At the bottom of the stairs stood Clover. She’d swapped out the sweater for a slinky dress in that same bewitching green but kept the combat boots. A few rebellious tendrils of hair had slipped free from her buns and framed her face.
“Welcome to the Dark Leaf,” she said with a crooked smile. “Where the tea’s strong, the stakes are high, and nothing tastes as sweet as a little risk.”
Honey opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She hadn’t known what to expect, but it hadn’t been this.
“You playing tonight?” Clover asked, her eyes already flicking to the way Ethan still held onto Honey’s hand.
“Just watching,” Ethan said, voice low and smooth, his hand staying exactly where it was. “For now.”
Clover’s grin widened. “Suit yourself. Drinks are at the bar. Flint’s mixing tonight. And watch your hand near the table. Someone’s running a hot streak.”
Honey turned, taking in the rest of the room.
It was like someone had hollowed out the earth and built a tavern in its heart.
The ceiling was low, and glowing lanterns dotted the dark walls.
A long bar ran the length of one wall, stacked with curious bottles and labeled jars.
In the center of the room were several worn tables, each surrounded by players hunched over a game of tiles.
A flickering fire in a sunken hearth cast dancing shadows across the stone floor.
She couldn’t look away.
The game was like nothing she’d ever seen—part dominoes and part magic.
The tiles shimmered faintly under the lantern light, each carved from stone and inlaid with glowing dots.
At the center of the table, a circular track shifted and rearranged itself, sliding with a whisper of magic as players set their pieces down.
Honey paused mid-step, her eyes following a tile as it slotted itself into place and made an entire track vanish in a ripple of light.
“I—” she started, then stopped. “What is this place?”
Ethan leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. “Somewhere that can’t make its way into any report.”
She turned her head slightly toward him, lips parted, and for a moment the room, the people, the whole world, narrowed to just the space between them. “Of course not.”
His gaze flicked down to her mouth. “Thank you,” he said, so softly she wasn’t sure she heard it at all.
Somewhere across the room, someone laughed sharply, and the spell broke.
Ethan finally released her hand and turned to the bar while Honey stood there, trying to shake off the way her skin still tingled where he’d touched her.
The bartender was tall and rail-thin, with wiry blond hair pulled into a low knot and arms covered in swirling ink that seemed to shift slightly when the lantern light hit it just right. His eyes flicked up, and then he nodded once at Ethan.
“Two of my usual,” he said.
Without a word, the man reached beneath the bar and pulled out two mugs. He poured the drinks from a narrow-necked bottle etched with runes, the liquid inside a deep amber that shimmered faintly, like it had caught starlight.
Ethan handed one to Honey, his fingers brushing hers again. “Here. Try this.”
She eyed it skeptically. “What is it?”
“Tea,” he said, too quickly. Then with a grin, added, “Sort of.”
Cautiously, she took a sip, and immediately blinked in surprise. The flavor was warm and rich, like spiced honey and toasted almonds, followed by a slow, creeping warmth that bloomed on her tongue. A heat spread down her throat. Definitely enchanted.
“This is enchanted,” she said accusingly. “What does it do?”
“Nothing. I promise. It’s just delicious.”
She turned in a slow circle, eyeing the space more critically now.
A couple in the far corner were playing a private game of dominoes where the tiles rearranged themselves when they weren’t looking. A man in a suit lit a candle with a snap of his fingers. One woman blew a kiss across the room, and a man three tables away startled as if slapped.
Honey stiffened.
“Three violations of the Conjuration Code in under two minutes,” she murmured to herself.
“Hey! Ethan!” a broad-shouldered man with a mustache called out. “You’re late.”
The man strolled over, and he and Ethan clapped each other on the back in a hug. “And who’s this radiant creature you’ve bamboozled into coming on a date with you?”
“Honey Baxter,” she said, startled into a laugh.
His brow furrowed. “Why do I know that name?”
“She’s the auditor I told you about,” Ethan said, taking a sip of his drink.
“Oh! Right, we spoke when you were on your way into town. Sorry I forgot to call you back.”
It clicked for Honey then.
“Officer Theodore Nolan?” she asked, rearing back. “You’re the community liaison to the bureau.”
“That’s me,” he said, not the least bit abashed.
She gestured broadly to the illegal spellwork, the glamour-imbued drinks, the very existence of this underground speakeasy. “And this doesn’t bother you?”
He shrugged. “What’s the point of being the liaison if you don’t know where the fun happens?”
Honey clamped her lips shut. She supposed she wasn’t one to talk since she was a member of the bureau and not planning on including any of this in her report.
Ethan took a sip of his drink then leaned closer to Theo. “Anything new pop up?”
His gaze flicked to Honey and back. “You sure you want to do this on your date?”
Before Ethan could respond, or Honey could ask what they were talking about, Clover sidled up. “I may know something.”
“What?” Ethan said, taking half a step toward her.
“Are you playing or not?” Clover asked. There was a clink as she moved tiles around in her hand.
“We’ll play,” Ethan said.
“I didn’t bring any money,” Honey cut in, though she was also thinking that Ethan shouldn’t be gambling.
“No worries,” Clover said, eyes gleaming. “Tonight, we’re bartering in secrets, and I have a feeling that man of yours has many questions.”
Before Honey could tell her that she’d gotten it wrong, Clover was slinking away to a table. They followed her to where a couple sat alone, and then the table shifted to make space, literally. Honey watched the chairs rearrange themselves with a lazy scrape of wood on stone.
The game was called Witches’ Track, and Clover explained it while shuffling the tiles in a small circle, her fingers deft.
“You start with seven. The goal is to build two lines from the center and complete a loop before the others do. But…” She tapped the glowing circle in the center.
“…the board moves. The tracks shift based on what we’re hiding in our hands. ”
Honey picked up her tiles and arranged them in order. Beside her, Ethan fanned his tiles against his chest, a look of unguarded hunger on his face. Not for money. Not even for winning.
For secrets.
And Honey, who’d spent her whole life locking truth away in vaults, felt something flutter in her chest like a key turning in an old lock.
Let the game begin.
By the fourth round, the couple at the end of the table had grown tired of losing and wandered off to flirt at the bar.
Theo slipped away to referee a game of darts.
The lanterns seemed to burn lower, and Clover gathered the tiles into a neat circle in the center of the table.
Now it was just the three of them—Clover, Ethan, and Honey.
“You sure you’re still in?” Clover asked, one brow arching over eyes that sparkled with mischief. She leaned forward, her elbow resting on the table, and her smile predatory. “You lose the next round, Hale, and you’ll owe me another secret. Not sure Honey’s ready to hear the next one.”
“Ethan—” Honey started, but before she could say more, Ethan slid his hand under the table, and rested it gently on her thigh.
Her brain short-circuited, the words on her tongue crumbling to ash. She looked at him—expecting maybe a smirk, a warning, anything—but he was watching Clover with total, infuriating calm.
“I’m sure,” Ethan said simply.
Each round he lost, she expected Ethan to get wound tighter and tighter. Instead, he leaned back in his seat, resting his other arm loosely on the empty chair on his other side. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was completely unaffected.
Clover sent the tiles spinning with a flick of her fingers. They clattered against each other, then rose into the air and floated into each player’s hands, seven pieces each. The candle beside her flickered, its light dancing over the worn wood and the glint of her silver rings.
Honey looked at hers, two doublets, four strongly positioned tiles, and a wild tile that shimmered between numbers. A strong opening set. She’d picked up the rules quickly—longer tracks scored better, holding a wild made the tracks shift, and doublet tiles could shift if placed at the right time.
Maybe she could win this for Ethan.
Honey tried to focus, but Ethan’s fingers tapped lightly on her thigh. Once. Pause. Twice in quick succession. Then again.
She nearly missed her turn.
Clover played aggressively, dropping a tile that locked two tracks and forced Honey to change direction. Ethan kept his moves subtle—quietly advancing, never revealing just how close he was to the hub.
Honey laid each tile down slowly. Her heart thudded in her ears.
Then Ethan started winning.
A flawless Wild bridge. A matching loop that should have collapsed but didn’t. Honey’s own moves became little more than ways to keep from blocking him.
Then, he placed a one doublet in a dead-end slot. A mistake.
He let out a soft sound of disappointment.
“Well, damn,” an onlooker said under his breath.
She placed her hand on top of his, intending to tell him she was sorry.
But when he caught her eye…
Ethan Hale winked.
And that’s when she realized what he was doing. The taps on her leg weren’t nerves. They’d been counts. Track counts. He’d been mapping the entire shifting layout in his head.
She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. It was wrong, technically. And gods help her, she found it maddeningly attractive.
Ethan’s last move slid into place, a perfect run into the hub.
Clover blinked once, slowly. “Well. Look at you.”
“Guess I had a good run,” he said mildly.
Clover narrowed her eyes. “You sure you want to know?” she asked, directing the question to Ethan but looking at Honey.
“I do,” he said immediately.
After scrutinizing him for a beat, Clover stood from her seat and leaned across the table to whisper something into Ethan’s ear.
He didn’t flinch.
Just gave a single nod, like he’d been expecting it.
Before Honey could ask what it was—or anything else at all—Ethan pushed his chair back and rose smoothly. He downed the rest of his tea in a single swallow, then stepped behind her.
He took her hand in his.
“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured.