Page 15

LINCOLN

I stared at my phone, watching the satellite imagery with growing concern.

The weather patterns over Assjacket weren't just unusual—they were impossible.

Swirling clouds formed perfect geometric shapes, and lightning flashed in colors that belonged in a psychedelic art exhibit, not a weather system.

"Mr. Sands, the board is waiting in conference room three," my assistant called through the intercom.

"Tell them I'll be there in ten minutes." I kept my eyes locked on the screen, zooming in on the area surrounding Chloe's cottage. The magical sensors I'd installed after our last supernatural incident were flashing red.

My phone vibrated with Zelda's name on the caller ID.

"Lincoln, are you seeing this?" Her voice carried none of its usual playful tone.

"The atmospheric anomalies? Yes. What's happening there?"

"It's a Class Four magical disruption. We haven't seen anything like this since—" Static interrupted her words. "—cottage is right in the path—" More static. "—trying to reach her now."

My stomach dropped. "Zelda, is Chloe in danger?" The line went dead.

I immediately dialed Chloe's number, my fingers trembling slightly as I pressed the screen. One ring. Two rings. Three.

"Lincoln?" Her voice sounded small, distant.

"Chloe! Are you alright?"

"Something's happening. Frosty's feathers are standing straight up, and he's running around like a headless—sorry, poor choice of words. The books are rearranging themselves, and I swear my teacups are floating."

Through the phone, I heard Frosty's panicked voice. "The barometric pressure is fluctuating wildly! My delicate constitution cannot handle these supernatural meteorological phenomena!"

"Stay inside," I said firmly. "I'm on my way."

"You're in New York! That's a seven-hour drive!"

"Not if I use the family transportation spell." I was already moving toward my private office, where I kept emergency magical supplies. "It'll drain me, but I can be there in twenty minutes."

"Lincoln, no. That spell is dangerous over long distances. The town's emergency system just activated. Zelda and the others will handle it."

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass of my office window, torn between responsibilities. The board meeting would determine the future of my company, but Chloe might be in actual danger.

"Just... keep talking to me," I said, hating the helplessness in my voice. "Tell me what you see."

I abandoned the board meeting without a second thought.

The future of my company paled in comparison to Chloe's safety.

After performing the emergency transportation spell—and experiencing the nauseating sensation of having my molecules scattered across state lines—I materialized at the edge of Assjacket, my legs buckling beneath me.

The sky looked even worse in person. Fractal patterns of violet and green light rippled across storm clouds that moved against the wind. The air tasted metallic, charged with magical residue.

I steadied myself against a lamppost, trying to regain my equilibrium as townsfolk hurried past me toward the community center. My grandfather's voice echoed in my memory: "Long-distance transportation spells are for emergencies only, Lincoln. They take more than they give."

He wasn't wrong. My vision blurred at the edges, and my limbs felt like they were filled with sand instead of blood. But I was here.

Inside the community center, chaos reigned.

Witches, warlocks, and various magical beings crowded the main hall, their voices a cacophony of fear and speculation.

I scanned the room for Chloe, finally spotting her auburn hair near the front.

Frosty stood on a chair beside her, his feathers still at attention like tiny lightning rods.

I pushed through the crowd, ignoring the whispers that followed.

"—that's Lincoln Sands?—"

"—Chloe's fancy New York boyfriend?—"

"—heard he's just playing warlock while running his company?—"

Zelda stood at the front, her usually playful demeanor replaced with grim determination. She'd unfurled a large magical map that hovered in the air, displaying a three-dimensional representation of Assjacket. A swirling vortex of energy pulsed above the town, growing larger by the minute.

"What we're dealing with," Zelda announced, "is a dimensional rift. Something—or someone—is tearing the barrier between our reality and another."

Chloe spotted me and her eyes widened. "Lincoln! You actually came."

"I told you I would." I reached for her hand, feeling the familiar spark of our magic connecting.

"You look terrible," she whispered.

"Cross-country magical travel isn't exactly first-class."

Zelda pointed to the center of the vortex. "The rift is growing exponentially. We need to establish a containment field immediately, which will require significant magical power."

She looked around the room. "I need volunteers willing to channel raw energy. It's dangerous, and I won't lie—it will hurt."

Without hesitation, I stepped forward. "I'll do it."

A hush fell over the crowd. Chloe's grip on my hand tightened.

"Lincoln," Zelda said, surprise evident in her voice, "are you sure? This isn't publishing contracts or fancy spellwork. This is old magic."

"I'm aware." I straightened my shoulders, feeling the weight of every eye in the room. "My grandfather didn't just teach me business, Zelda."

The whispers started again, but different this time.

"—didn't know he was that kind of Sands?—"

"—thought he was just some city warlock playing at magic?—"

Zelda studied me with new appreciation. "Well then, Mr. Sands. Let's see what you're made of."

I knelt beside my travel case, feeling the weight of expectant stares. The leather-bound case—appearing to mortal eyes like an ordinary briefcase—had accompanied me to every board meeting for decades. Only now, in this crisis, would its true contents be revealed.

"Lincoln, what are you doing?" Chloe's voice carried a note of confusion I'd never heard before.

"What I should have done months ago." I flipped the brass latches and lifted the lid.

Inside, nestled in velvet compartments, lay an array of magical tools that would make any practicing warlock envious—silver athame with runes etched along the blade, crystalline vials of rare essences, and a collection of chalk made from materials most witches only read about.

Frosty let out a low whistle. "Holy mother of egg-laying hens. That's not your average city-slicker magic kit."

I selected a piece of chalk infused with ground meteorite and dragon bone ash, then moved to the center of the room.

With practiced precision, I began drawing a complex series of interlocking symbols on the floor.

My hand moved with the muscle memory of thousands of hours of training, creating patterns that pulsed with blue light as they connected.

"Those are Macedonian protection sigils," Chloe whispered, recognition dawning in her eyes. "Those are master-level workings."

I didn't pause my work. "My grandfather insisted on classical training. Four hours daily, from age seven."

The final symbol completed the circuit. I placed my palm at the center and murmured an incantation in ancient Greek. The entire pattern lifted from the floor, expanding outward in a three-dimensional lattice of light that reached toward the ceiling.

"That should stabilize the immediate area," I said, standing and brushing chalk dust from my hands. "But it's temporary."

Zelda approached, her expression a mixture of surprise and newfound respect. "Well, Master Warlock Sands, it seems you've been holding out on us." She circled the floating spell structure. "This is eighth-level containment work."

"Ninth," I corrected automatically, then winced at how pretentious it sounded.

Chloe stared at me, her lavender eyes wide. "All this time... I thought you were just a?—"

"Publishing executive who dabbles in magic?" I finished with a wry smile. "That was easier to explain than... this." I gestured to the complex magical construct hovering above us.

"Why hide it?" she asked, hurt evident in her voice.

I took her hand. "Because people treat you differently when they know. The Sands name carries expectations I wasn't ready to bring into what we have."

"We need more than this to close the rift," Zelda interrupted, all business. "Impressive as your party trick is."

"I know." I looked toward the windows where the unnatural storm continued to intensify. "I need to access my family's grimoire. There's a sealing ritual that might work, but I need the original text."

I hurried through the crowded community center, Chloe close behind me.

Zelda had divided us into teams with ruthless efficiency, assigning positions around Assjacket's perimeter.

Our station: the town square with its infamous half-headless bear statue—a bronze monstrosity that had lost the top portion of its head to a lightning strike decades ago.

"Do you think we have enough time?" Chloe asked, her voice tight with worry as we jogged past the empty diner.

"Depends on your definition of 'enough.'" I glanced at the sky where violet and green energy ribbons twisted unnaturally. "We need to establish a containment field before I can attempt anything from the grimoire."

When we reached the square, I set my case down beside the bear statue and pulled out a small leather-bound journal.

"Another secret magical item?" Chloe's tone was sharp.

"Family protection spells. Been passed down for twelve generations." I flipped through pages covered in cramped handwriting. "These were designed specifically for dimensional anomalies."

"Convenient," she muttered.

I looked up from the book. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you everything. It's not exactly first-date material—'Hi, I'm Lincoln, I run a publishing house and I'm also from one of the oldest warlock lineages in North America.'"

"You could have mentioned it by the third date," she said, but the edge in her voice had softened.