15. Leire
FIFTEEN
LEIRE
While the alphas sort out the fate of the magical world, I mind my shop.
The amethyst on my workbench has been agitated all morning, rearranging herself every few minutes like she can’t get comfortable. Even the usually cheerful selenite has dimmed to a worried glow.
“I know.” I stroke the amethyst’s surface, feeling the anxious vibration beneath my palm. “I don’t like it either. But if you could stop vibrating off the edge of the table, that would be great. You’re making me nervous.”
She pulses indignantly.
A young witch—barely more than a teenager, with bright eyes and an eager smile—browses the charm bracelets near the window.
“These are so pretty.” She holds up a bracelet with tiny moonstone beads. “Did you make all of these yourself?”
“Every single one. That particular design is good for intuition and emotional balance. The moonstone likes to be charged under a full moon, but you probably knew that.”
She beams. “My grandmother taught me. She says moonstone is a witch’s best friend.”
“Your grandmother sounds wise.” I wrap the bracelet carefully, adding a small sachet of dried lavender. “A gift. For good luck.”
Her smile could light the entire shop. “Thank you! My friends are going to be so jealous.”
She practically skips out the door, and I’m smiling despite everything.
Small test: I reach for my magic to reseal a hairline crack in the display case nearest the door—an automatic working, the kind I do without thinking.
It comes. And it doesn’t flicker.
Not the thin, unreliable thread I’ve been managing since the exile, the magic that guttered like a candle in a draft and made every working a careful negotiation. This is full. Steady. A river at proper depth.
Whatever this bond is—not yet named, not yet claimed, but no less real for that—it’s already rewriting what my magic thinks it’s allowed to be.
I stand there with both hands around a piece of malachite, power flowing through me the way it was always supposed to, and I cry for approximately thirty seconds. Not from sadness. Just from the sudden absence of an ache I’d gotten so used to I’d stopped noticing it.
Then I dry my face and get back to work.
Small moments. Normal interactions. The everyday magic of a town that doesn’t know it’s about to become a battlefield.
Through it all, I feel Aslan. Not his thoughts, not his emotions—just his presence, somewhere across town.
Watching. Waiting. Ready. That awareness that’s become as natural as breathing over the past week.
I know he’s close without looking. Know he’s alert.
Know he’s working, and that he’ll be back.
The afternoon drags. Customers come and go, each one making me tense until I confirm they’re not Preservers in disguise.
The mist thickens as the sun moves across the sky, pooling in the streets like liquid gold.
Through my window, Mistvale shifts into its evening routine, oblivious to what’s coming.
I stay in the shop. I wait.
I’m getting very good at waiting.