Chapter Twenty
“Piper?”
I dragged my eyes up from the Sun Disk and met his. He had a look of wonder on his face. Wonder and… admiration?
“That happened,” I said. Not a question. A statement trying to become real.
“Yeah.” His voice was soft. “It did.”
I held the Disk so tight in my hands they cramped. It continued to glow, the only light between us as darkness shrouded the forest.
“A ward,” I repeated, testing the word. “So this thing… it can keep them out?”
“For now.” Owen’s expression shifted, something cautious entering his eyes. “But wards aren’t meant to hold forever. They’re meant to buy time.”
Time.
The word settled heavy in my chest.
“How much time?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I don’t know. My father would know better than me. We should go,” he said then. “I’ll take you home.”
He started to turn away and head back to the truck.
“Owen?” My voice warbled.
He paused, looked at me over his shoulder. But it was dark and his eyes were nothing more than black orbs. Not the dove gray.
“I don’t know how to do this.”
He smiled—a soft smile—and offered his hand. “You don’t have to know yet.”
I hesitated, then shook my head. “I do,” I said quietly. “Or at least… I need to start acting like it.”
He studied me a long moment, then nodded. “You are.”
But his agreement wasn’t condescension. It was respect. Like he understood what I had to do and he didn’t—wouldn’t—argue the point. Maybe he didn’t know what I was up against. Maybe I didn’t either. But he acknowledged it for what it was.
My job.
I took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay.”
Only then did I take his hand and let him walk with me from the clearing, through the woods, back to the truck. When we arrived, he opened the door for me and I climbed in, still clutching the warded relic like it might keep my ribs from cracking open.
He got in, started the truck, put it in drive.
As he rolled away, I said, “What do I do with this thing?”
“Keep it tonight,” he said. “We can return it to the shop tomorrow.”
I nodded. “Yes, that’s a good idea.” Then fought off a yawn.
The word tomorrow landed heavy. Tomorrow meant the flower shop. Rylyn. Lights on. Doors open. Responsibility I’d been dodging since Alice died—since Alice handed it to me.
Magic or not, that didn’t go away.
“Tomorrow,” I echoed. “I—” I paused, pressing my lips together as the weight settled in. “I need to open the shop. I own it. I need to act like it.”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel as if he’d forgotten about the shop, too. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Of course.”
When he pulled into my driveway, he cut the engine. I was out before him.
“Night.”
“Wait—” he said as I closed the door.
He was out, rounding the hood of the truck. “I can stay.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll be fine.” I half decided I’d sleep with the Disk under my pillow like a deranged, newly-minted magical homeowner.
I had to stop leaning on him so much. Not because he pushed. But because it was time I stood on my own.
Plus, I owed it to Rylyn and the shop to show up like the owner I was. I had a lot of responsibility now with Alice gone.
“At least let me walk you to the door.”
He was Southern gentleman to the core. I nodded.
At the door, I turned to him, decision steady now.
“About tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll get this back to your father. After work.”
He nodded again. Said nothing.
Because something had shifted—the Crossroads had chosen me and I knew it. I felt it. And it was time to stop pretending otherwise.
I leaned in and kissed his cheek, gentle and deliberate. “Good night.”
Then I went inside, closing the door behind me. I stood in the dark, listening to his footsteps fade. The truck door. The engine. And then he was gone.
With deliberate steps, I moved through the house, flicking on a lamp as I passed by. I set the Sun Disk on the kitchen table as I made my way out the back door. Then to the greenhouse.
My heart fluttered with nerves as I opened the door and stepped inside. There was a soft glow from the string of lights overhead. Inside, it was warm and damp, rich with the loamy scent of dirt and plant life. Flowers in pots stood along the workbench like sentries.
I paused inside the door looking for the telltale sign of pink fairy dust.
There. Pink fairy dust hovered at the end of the table, tucked inside a tiny garden house built her size.
“I owe you an apology.” My voice was loud in the quiet, small space.
Pink dust flickered. Then, Tani’s voice, sharp as glass. “You owe me more than that.”
“I do. I was—it was a shock, that’s all.” How could I make the Queen of the Fae understand learning Alice was my mother from a monster was the worst. “I didn’t know.”
Tani flittered out from her fairy home trailing glittering light. Then she poofed and made herself life size. Her hands were on her hips, her gaze razor sharp. She wasn’t ready to forgive me yet.
“Anyone with two eyes can see you’re her daughter.” Then she dropped her hands to her sides and puffed out a breath. “But… I suppose I can see why that’d knock you sideways.”
“I’m sorry, Tani. Can you forgive me?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and looked out through the panes of glass into the night. “I suppose I’ll have to if I want your help to get Oberon back.”
Which made me grin. “And you have my word. I’ll do what I can to help you.”
Her gaze shifted back to me, narrowed. “Good. You’re in it for good now, girlie.” Then she dropped her arms and scanned the area behind me. “So… where’s Mr. Hottie?”
I laughed. “I sent him home.”
“Spoil sport.” She pouted.
“It’s time I start figuring this out on my own,” I added.
“Sure,” she said, “but you could let him help.” She put air quotes around help and waggled her eyebrows.
I huffed. “Good night, Tani!”
“I’m just saying!” she called as I walked away.
As I turned to leave, laughter bubbled up despite myself. But it didn’t loosen the knot of resolve in my chest.
Tomorrow was coming.
And this time, I would be ready.