Chapter 17 #2
She dropped into the chair with more force than necessary and crossed her legs like it might help. It didn’t.
“Thank you!” she chirped, far too bright, snatching up the pen in front of her and gripping it like a lifeline.
I can do this. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.
“Of course.” Jonah leaned in slightly, voice pitched low and steady. “I heard you were the one who… found him. Are you okay?”
It was the kind of concern that felt practical and grounding, like someone asking if your boots were warm enough before a snowstorm. His kindness was a quiet anchor.
And it was that very kindness that made a jolt of feral heat shoot straight to her core, making her spine arch almost imperceptibly in her seat.
What the fuck? Get it together, Flynn.
“I—yeah,” she stammered, trying to arrange her face into something that didn't look horny and flustered. “I mean. No. But… you know.”
Jonah glanced at her, his brow creased with the slightest hint of concern. “Do you need anything?”
Yes. I need to be fucked good and hard into next Tuesday. Please, take me now.
Sharp, golden sunlight caught the edge of his jaw, and for a second she imagined trailing her tongue down that line, licking into the hollow of his throat, sinking into his lap as she—
Goldie inhaled sharply through her nose and immediately regretted it. He smelled like cedar and clean linen and something warm, worn-in, and quietly devastating. Her body reacted like she had just booked a private cabin in the woods with him and was mentally packing the edible body glitter.
This is not the time. There was a crime. There was literally a corpse. Down, girl.
Jonah looked at her with such open, guileless kindness, completely unaware of the absolute chaos of want currently short-circuiting her brain.
She offered a strained smile that felt like it might crack her face. “I’m okay. Really.”
Liar. Her panties were soaked. Her pulse was a frantic drumbeat in her ears. And she was one more decent, thoughtful question away from combusting in her seat in a fit of lust.
The doors swung open and Tamsin swept in, late and visibly flustered. Her usually effortless caftan was slightly rumpled, and a smear of lipstick feathered unevenly at one corner of her mouth. The low murmur of conversation in the room didn’t so much stop as it curdled.
“As you all know, Beltane has been canceled, and there’s nothing we can do.
The Grove Core is an active crime scene.
” She let the words hang, a clinical confirmation of what everyone was already whispering.
“We don’t know how long the investigation will take, but we must prepare contingency plans for Solstice, in case the Green Holdings remain off-limits. ”
“Surely it won’t come to that,” Councilwoman Idris called from the far side of the room. She huffed, crossing her arms. “If we cancel both Beltane and Solstice, we may as well prepare for a riot.”
“For gods’ sake, Alma,” snapped Beck, of Beck’s Enchanted Audio. “A man was murdered. Do you hear yourself?”
Idris’s chin lifted, unrepentant. “I hear the sound of thousands of constituents whose livelihoods depend on those festivals. If you’d prefer they riot in the streets, be my guest.”
Priya Mishra leaned forward. “Yes, Truckenham was murdered, but that’s no reason for everything to screech to a halt. We cannot let our beloved festivals fall to the wayside.”
“Beloved festivals?” Beck muttered, his black hoodie pulsing faintly with light in a frazzled, staccato rhythm. “That’s rich. Let’s not pretend this is about tradition—it’s about the Land Trust losing their holiday windfall.”
The room fractured into layered murmurs: outrage, calculation, veiled accusations. The air itself seemed to buzz, half fury, half opportunism.
Goldie’s gaze flicked to Tamsin. For the first time since she’d known her, her coven leader looked genuinely unsettled. She sharply clapped her hands, cutting through the noise that had started to build.
“Let’s stay focused,” she said, her voice brittle.
“Our task is salvaging what we can. With any luck, we can combine Beltane with Solstice and position it as a community-healing double celebration.” She offered a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Think: midsummer fusion event. Maybe even branding.”
The meeting lurched into brainstorm-and-disaster-mitigation mode, but Goldie could barely follow. She just kept her head down, gripping her pen, and prayed no one could hear the frantic, hungry drumbeat of her own pulse.
“Can we reuse the ribbon charms?” Carmen Renfroe asked.
“Only the ones that haven’t absorbed any grief resonance,” Simone Mirth replied, not looking up from her scroll. “So… maybe three.”
“We’ve still got half a crate of those lemon poppyseed muffins in stasis,” Beck offered. “They technically don’t expire until mid-June.”
“We can probably re-charm the maypole, though I’ll need the binding cord cleared,” muttered Nadia from the Garden Society. “Last I checked, it had picked up something that reads as resentment-adjacent.”
Goldie sipped her lukewarm tea, letting her pen scratch steadily across the page.
A low muttering across the table made her look up.
Councilwoman Priya Mishra was leaning close to Councilman Darren Swale.
“…should’ve defaulted to the rest of us,” she muttered.
“That’s how we set it up. He agreed. No heirs, no holdup. ”
“Exactly,” Swale whispered back, his tone thin and reedy. “It’s cut and dry. So why the hell are we being called into a closed-door meeting on Friday if it’s just procedural?”
Goldie set her tea down with practiced slowness, leaning forward just enough to appear absorbed in the broader, louder chatter across the table.
She nudged Jonah’s elbow, ignoring the sizzle of lust that it sent ratcheting down her spine.
When he glanced over, she flicked her eyes meaningfully toward Priya and Swale.
He followed her gaze, his own brow furrowing as he caught the tail end of their furtive exchange.
“You’re sure the will didn’t change?” Priya pressed, her voice sharp with suspicion.
“I’m sure of nothing,” Swale hissed. “Not anymore.”
A moment later, Priya’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing as if she’d felt the shift of their attention. Goldie looked away just in time, suddenly fascinated by the notes she was supposed to be taking. Her heart thudded once, high and hot in her throat.
“We cannot hang flame-warded banners next to reflective sigilcloth,” Simone snapped, her voice ringing with the trauma of past failures. “Not after what happened during the Equinox Equine Incident.”
“That was one horse,” Dwayne Quist protested wearily.
“It was three horses and a peacock!” Simone shot back. “The town barely recovered.”
“All right, all right,” Tamsin snapped. “Let’s table the banner discussions until we’ve all had a snack and a nap.”
A few people chuckled, the tension breaking slightly.
Tamsin surveyed the room, her expression a careful mask of weary leadership.
“Unless anyone has additional business, I suggest we adjourn. I know this is frustrating, but please remember, we’re navigating grief, civic tension, and magical ethics all at once. Be kind to one another.”
Councilmembers Priya and Swale rose together, their heads bent close as they swept toward the door, whispers darting like minnows between them. Others filed out more slowly. Carmen lingered just long enough to squeeze Goldie’s shoulder, murmuring something soft, before hurrying after the rest.
Jonah rose, slow and unhurried, sliding his notebook into his messenger bag. He offered Goldie a small, genuine smile, the kind that made her want to both relax and climb him like a tree.
“Glad to see you’re holding up,” he said gently.
“I know what you walked into yesterday… that’s not easy.
Trauma isn’t something you should keep bottled up.
If you ever need a friendly ear, I’m no therapist, but I have been told I’m a good listener.
” He hesitated, then added, “Would you like to grab a coffee with me sometime? Just to talk it out.”
Goldie’s body responded instantly. Yes, coffee. Coffee in bed. Coffee on top of a desk. Coffee with your shirt off and your belt somewhere on the floor.
“That would be… lovely,” she managed, her tone just this side of strangled. “How about tomorrow? I’ll probably still have a good cry left in me by then.”
His smile warmed, spreading slow and easy. “Four o’clock? Brimstone and Butter? I’ll text to confirm.”
“Perfect,” she said, a little too fast.
“Looking forward to it,” he said, and then he was gone, walking out the door with the steady confidence of a man who had no idea he’d just detonated a hormonal bomb between her thighs.
Goldie’s eyes betrayed her, greedily studying to his retreating form. His broad shoulders, the easy sway of his stride, the way his ass filled out those slacks—gods above. She snapped her notebook closed a little too hard and pushed to her feet.
At the far end of the room, Tamsin was deep in conversation with Congresswoman Idris. Idris’s rings caught the light as her hand sliced the air in emphasis, while Tamsin listened with her head tipped, expression unreadable.
“Goldie, wait a minute,” Tamsin called absently.
Goldie nodded and gave the shawl a theatrical flick, as if she’d meant to pause there all along, like a diva staging her own entrance. A little gesture, a little drama, just enough to make her feel less like a forgotten prop.
Her gaze drifted to Karen Vesuvius. The woman sat very still, a tissue crumpled between her fingers. Her eyes were rimmed red, her shoulders rigid. Guilt tugged at Goldie’s chest. Poor thing.
On impulse, Goldie crossed to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Hey. I just… I’m sorry about Mr. Truckenham. You must feel awful. Are you okay?”
Karen straightened, fixing her with a flat, unreadable look. “You’re the one who found him, aren’t you?”
Goldie blinked. “Well… yes.”
Karen’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Then you’ve done your part. Don’t expect me to commiserate. Some of us still have to clean up the mess.”
She swung her bag onto her shoulder with brisk finality and brushed past, leaving behind the faint trace of sharp perfume and chill disapproval.
Goldie froze, heat creeping up her neck. Well. Fine. Fuck me for trying to be nice.
The room had thinned into clumps of departing committee members and scattered magical paperwork. Tamsin finally broke from Idris and crossed the floor toward Goldie. Her normally effortless glide looked heavier than usual, but there was still something regal in the way she carried herself.
“I’m glad you came today,” Tamsin said with a tired smile, her hand settling warmly on Goldie’s shoulder. “I know it couldn’t have been easy, after… what you saw. It must have been dreadful.”
Goldie exhaled slowly. “It was. I’m trying not to replay it too much, but you can imagine how well that’s going.”
“Of course, darling.” Tamsin’s fingers squeezed gently, her tone smooth, compassionate. “Don’t push yourself. Just know I’m here for you, however you need. Do you want to step back for a bit?”
Goldie gave a small, tinkling laugh. “No, that would be the worst. Right now I just want to keep busy, so I’m not… spiraling.”
Tamsin studied her for a moment, the intensity in her gaze both flattering and faintly unsettling. Then she nodded, brisk but kind. “Very well. I hate to pile more onto you while you’re still processing, but… what’s your bandwidth like for helping with Solstice prep?”
Goldie’s smile turned crooked. “Oh, I can definitely find the time. I thrive in chaos.”
A genuine, tired smile touched Tamsin’s lips.
She slipped a slim folder from her leather bag and set it in Goldie’s hands.
“Here. Some background material I’d like you to review.
” She lowered her voice, the public performance of leadership giving way to something more intimate.
“I’m wondering if the destabilization of the Grove Core could complicate everything we’re building for Solstice, and I’d love your eyes on it. ”
Goldie flipped the folder open. Inside were old Green Holdings maps, accounts of past Solstice rites, and a page of handwritten notes in looping green ink.
She tapped a finger against one of the maps, her mind already racing. “Has anyone tried triangulating with the old limestone markers? Depending on the cause, we could…”
She trailed off, flushing as she caught the amused curve of Tamsin’s mouth. “Right. Of course you’ve thought of all this. Coven leader. Civic goddess. You’ve probably got binders.”
Tamsin chuckled softly and squeezed her arm. “Binders I have in spades. But you see things others don’t, Goldie. That’s why I asked you. If anything strikes you, even the smallest anomaly, bring it to me first, yes?”
Her hand lingered a second before slipping away, the weight of trust left in its wake. She leaned in, pressing a cool, dry kiss to Goldie’s cheeks. “Blessings be, darling. I hope you know how much I value you.”
Goldie gave a shrug that felt heavier than it should. “Thank you, Tamsin.”
With a final, meaningful squeeze of her shoulder, Tamsin turned and swept from the room, leaving a faint trail of citrus-and-clove perfume in her wake.
Silence followed, thick and echoing. Goldie stood alone, the folder tucked under her arm like a shield. She could still feel the ghost of Tamsin’s hand on her shoulder, the weight of Jonah’s voice in her ear, and the insistent thrum of her own body reminding her she was not, in fact, okay.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” she muttered to the empty room, tossing her scarf over one shoulder in a defiant flick. “But I’m going to find out. And then I’m going to put sequins on it, right after I figure out what’s going on with my libido.”
Her laugh came out brittle, sharp at the edges. The sound bounced back at her from the high chamber walls, mingling with the faint sighs of the potted plants along the windowsill.