“Great.” She took a step back.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m clearing the blast zone.”

He gritted his teeth together and closed his eyes. The little elephant. It looked like the one in front of the . . .

23

Boom. The house shook.

“Goddess.” Emma’s insides were shaking. A two-foot jagged hole separated her and Flint. Dust floated around the room. “Flint, are you okay?” Emma flicked her wrist and fixed the hole and the structural damage to the floor and ceiling below. It drained her completely to empty, and she wobbled forward.

Flint grabbed her and held her head to his chest. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good, no damage to me. Are you okay?”

He held her out away from him. “I’m sorry. I could have killed you.”

“I would hope not. But yeah. What exactly happened?” Emma leaned around to the side of the bed where the jade statue still sat. Weird, she thought, he must have enlarged it. “What were you thinking about?”

“The statue, like you told me to.”

“Well, the statue is there, so what is downstairs?” They stared at each other for a second before they raced down to the kitchen below.

There next to her table was a five-foot-tall green-painted cement statue of a dragon, not an elephant.

“Any chance this is what you were thinking of a minute ago?” Emma patted the five-foot-tall statue on the nose.

“Fuck.”

“I’m guessing you’ve seen my new kitchen table before?”

“Double fuck.” The legs of what used to be Emma’s table jutted out from under the concrete mass. “I’ll get you a new table.”

She shook her head. “It’s fine, Flint. I was the one who tried to get you to use your magic. We’ll work it out.” She stared back at the green-painted statue. “Where is this from?”

“New York. Outside of a restaurant my brother likes.”

“Flint. Sit down.” She took his hand, but there was nowhere to sit in the kitchen anymore. The entire dinette she’d bought at the thrift store was firewood now. Even a day’s worth of magic wasn’t going to put it back together. She tugged him out of the kitchen to the living room. “Sit.” How was he even standing, bringing that kind of weight as far as he had?

“I think you should sit, Emma. You look pale.”

“Pale? You think I’m pale. Flint, how far is New York City?”

“Depends if you take the Turnpike or route 80. I prefer⁠—”

“Not by car, Flint. Like, miles?”

“I don’t know . . . around 300 miles or so, I guess. Maybe more.”

“How much power do you have? How are you getting rid of your power?”

Flint wandered out of the kitchen and sat on the edge of her new leather sofa, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, and looked down at the ground. “I use orbs, power orbs.

Things were coming together for her. Power had pulsated around his cabin. “Like, a lot of orbs?”

“I don’t know, but yeah, I guess. My brother ships them to me.”

“Because most witches, if they tried to do that, well, it would have killed them, and I’m being literal. Like really, it would kill them. And that wouldn’t only be if they dropped it on themselves. Goddess, Flint.” Emma perched on the coffee table between Flint’s legs.

“My mother is a powerful witch. Powerful enough that it spilled over into us when we should have been only shifters.” Flint pinched his nose. “Honestly, Emma, I’m tired. But I think that has more to do with us being in a hospital bed for days and then only getting a few hours of rest before my nightmares started.”

“Nightmares?” Chills swept over Emma’s bare legs.

“Yeah, I’ve been having nightmares about fires. It’s not uncommon in firefighters.” He glanced away.

“What else did you dream about?” Because she’d been having visions of fire for a while.

“Well, you were there.”

“It’s just a dream . . .” She shook her head, eyes wide. For most people they were dreams, but Flint was a witch and she didn’t know what his gifts were.

“It’s not . . . It’s not just a dream. It feels more real. You’re in it.” He grabbed her knees and pulled her to him on the sofa.

She repositioned herself, lining herself up with him so they touched along their sides. “Silly, it has to be a dream. Granted, I don’t know what of the three types of magic is your strongest gift. But if it was the gift of sight, then you wouldn’t have any visions about me. See, you don’t have visions about those close to you. And while . . . well . . . we’ve certainly been close . . . You know. If I’m in it, it’s not a vision. It’s not going to come true. Just a bad nightmare.”

His breath shook as he exhaled, and he held her head to his chest. “We do need to get some sleep, but not here. It’s a little dirty. I’ll help you clean it up tomorrow.” Flint kissed her cheek. “How’s your car?”

She lifted her head. “You want to go back to your place?”

He gave a quick nod.

She changed, then handed him the T-shirt he’d fetched with his magic. He held her thick winter coat while she found her car keys and then helped her into the garment. Outside, Emma used a bit of power to replace her wards, then threw a small backpack of supplies onto the backseat of her rusted hatchback.

“You sure you want to drive?” Flint buckled the passenger’s side seatbelt.

“I’m sure you know all the cops around here. But if we do get pulled over, how are you going to explain to them driving without shoes or . . .” She flicked her eyes to his bare legs. “Or pants. Flint, you’re not wearing any pants.”

“Trust me, they’ve seen worse. A whole heck of a lot worse.”

“I’m sure.” She backed out of the driveway and hoped her car would make it down Flint’s long shared driveway. The little red beast tried its hardest to get down the road, but 100 yards from Flint’s cabin, it got stuck in the mud. The road clutched her tires, and the back one spun. Flint didn’t comment. He sat facing forward. If she hadn’t fixed her floor-ceiling back at her apartment, she would use magic to move the mud away from the car or dehydrate it to make it easier to drive on. Neither were options because her power had bottomed out.

“Want me to push?”

“Yes, please.” She closed her eyes.

Flint stood at the bumper. “Ease it over to the side of the road and we can get it out the rest of the way tomorrow. You need to sleep.”