Page 17

CHLOE

I stared at the paragraph in front of me, red pen hovering over a particularly convoluted sentence about dragon mating rituals.

Lincoln sat across from me at my kitchen table, his golden-brown eyes focused on his own stack of papers.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, catching the silver at his temples.

"This author clearly thinks semicolons are magical punctuation marks that grant wishes," I muttered, slashing through the offending sentence. "I've counted seventeen in one paragraph."

Lincoln glanced up with a half-smile. "Wait until you get to page forty-three. I believe the record is twenty-three semicolons in two sentences."

"Sweet merciful goddess." I reached for my coffee mug. "Is this what our magical imprint is going to be? Crimes against grammar disguised as literature about horny dragons?"

"The content is solid. The execution is..." Lincoln diplomatically trailed off.

"A dumpster fire of commas and run-on sentences?"

Before Lincoln could respond, a high-pitched wail cut through the cottage. The sound came from everywhere and nowhere, a magical alert that made my skin prickle with goosebumps. The crystal orb on my bookshelf flashed urgent red, pulsing in time with the alarm.

"That's an emergency code." Lincoln was instantly on his feet, manuscripts forgotten.

The air in the center of my living room shimmered and distorted. A tall figure in charcoal gray robes materialized, the silver badge of the Supernatural Security Division gleaming on his chest. Agent Bartholomew Hayes – I recognized him from previous magical incidents in town.

"Miss Woolsworth, Mr. Sands." His voice was clipped, professional. "I apologize for the intrusion, but we have a situation that concerns you directly."

My stomach dropped. Nothing good ever followed those words.

Hayes flicked his wrist, and a shimmering image appeared in the air between us. Blonde curls wild around a face I knew all too well. Purple eyes – my eyes, but colder, harder – glowing with malevolent energy.

"Jenny," I whispered, my voice catching.

"Your sister escaped the Magical Pokey at 0300 hours this morning," Hayes confirmed. "She overpowered two guards and disabled the containment wards. We have reason to believe she's headed this way."

A streak of white and red feathers shot across the room as Frosty positioned himself between me and the floating image. His normally sleek feathers stood on end, crackling with protective magic.

"That psychotic blonde nightmare isn't getting within ten feet of Chloe," Frosty declared, his wings spread in a defensive posture I recognized from his martial arts practice. "Not while I'm breathing."

Lincoln moved to my side, his hand finding mine. "What's being done to recapture her?"

I stared at Jenny's image hovering in the air, those familiar purple eyes—my eyes—glaring with malice. My hands trembled so badly I had to set down my coffee mug before I dropped it.

"We've increased patrols around Assjacket's perimeter," Agent Hayes continued. "But given your sister's... unique abilities, we recommend additional personal protection."

"How?" My voice cracked. "Last time she got through every ward I had."

Lincoln squeezed my hand. "We'll strengthen your protections. Together."

After Hayes departed with promises of regular updates, Lincoln and I moved methodically through my cottage. I pulled my grimoire from its hidden shelf while Lincoln retrieved a worn leather pouch from his jacket.

"Family protection powders," he explained, sprinkling silvery dust along my windowsills. "Been in the Sands grimoire for twelve generations."

I traced protection sigils beside my doorframe, the memory of Jenny's last attack flooding back unbidden.

"She made a voodoo doll of me," I whispered, my fingers faltering on a complex symbol. "Used my hair, blood she stole while I slept."

Lincoln paused, his hand suspended mid-spell. "She what?"

The memory played like a horror film behind my eyes. "I woke up one night feeling like my insides were on fire. Found her in the basement with a doll that had my face. She'd stuck pins—" I swallowed hard. "She said she was just trying to make me stronger through pain."

I moved to the kitchen window, avoiding Lincoln's gaze. "Then last year, she came to Assjacket. Impersonated me. Used black magic on townspeople who were kind to me."

"That's why everyone was so wary when you first introduced me," Lincoln said softly.

I nodded, shame burning my cheeks. "They thought I might be Jenny again. Or that you might be another of her tricks."

"Chloe, look at me."

I turned reluctantly, expecting disgust or worse—pity.

Instead, Lincoln's eyes blazed with protective intensity. He pulled a small, ancient-looking book from his pocket.

"These are the Sands family blood wards. They're only used for family and those we—" he paused, a flush spreading across his cheeks, "—those we consider our heart's chosen."

He knelt on my kitchen floor, opening the book to reveal symbols I'd never seen before.

"Your sister's cruelty doesn't change how I feel about you, Chloe. It only makes me more determined to protect what we're building together."

Frosty made a suspicious sniffling sound from across the room. "Damn magical dust in the air," he muttered, wiping his eyes with a wing tip.

I stood in the town hall, fighting the urge to shrink into the corner as dozens of eyes flickered between me and the magical projection of Jenny hovering above the central table.

The resemblance between us was unmistakable—same lavender eyes, similar bone structure—though her wild blonde curls contrasted sharply with my straight brown hair.

"I want to make something perfectly clear," Zelda announced, her auburn curls practically crackling with magical energy as she addressed the packed room. "This is Chloe. That—" she jabbed a finger at Jenny's image, "—is the threat."

Lincoln stood beside me, his shoulder pressed reassuringly against mine. I focused on his warmth instead of the whispers rippling through the crowd.

"Last time she was here," DeeDee from the diner spoke up, "she ordered blueberry pancakes with extra whipped cream." She looked at me apologetically. "That's how I knew something was wrong when the real Chloe came in later. You're allergic to blueberries."

"She borrowed my pruning shears," Old Man Wilkins added, "returned them with a thank-you pie. Should've known something was fishy—real Chloe would sooner eat glass than bake."

"Thanks for the character assessment," I muttered.

Zelda rapped her knuckles on the table. "Jenny Woolsworth used blood magic to impersonate Chloe and manipulate several of you. Standard magical barriers won't stop her."

Security Officer Martinez stepped forward, his uniform adorned with mystical symbols. "Blood magic creates a biological passkey. She can essentially walk through any protection tied to Chloe's magical signature."

The room erupted in panicked murmurs.

"Not if we implement a Sands Reflection Ward," Lincoln's voice cut through the noise. All eyes turned to him. "It's an ancient warlock technique. Instead of keeping specific people out, it creates a mirror effect—reflecting the caster's intentions back upon them."

"So if Jenny comes with harmful intent..." Zelda began.

"She'll feel whatever she attempts to inflict," Lincoln finished. "But it requires coordinated casting from at least twelve magical anchors positioned around town."

"I've seen your work during the rift crisis," Zelda nodded. "Let's do it."

The room organized into teams with surprising efficiency. I found myself assigned to the town square with Lincoln, Zelda, and Marigold.

"Don't worry, honey," Marigold squeezed my hand. "We won't let Crazy Curls get to you this time."

"Last time she convinced half the town I was the evil twin," I said quietly. "Some people still look at me sideways."

"Well," Frosty piped up from his perch on my shoulder, "you are rather prickly. It's not entirely implausible."

I shot him a glare.

"What? Just providing some levity in these trying times."

I stood frozen as the town hall lights flickered, plunging us momentarily into darkness before surging back with an unnatural brightness. The magical maps and projections on the walls distorted, warping into twisted shapes.

"That's not supposed to happen," I whispered to Lincoln, whose expression had shifted from strategic to alarmed.

Blood-red energy crackled across the ceiling, forming spiderweb patterns that pulsed with malevolent intent. The temperature dropped twenty degrees in seconds, my breath fogging in the suddenly frigid air.

"Everyone, defensive positions!" Zelda shouted, raising her hands to form a protective barrier.

Too late.

The center of the room erupted in a column of crimson light that forced everyone to shield their eyes.

When the blinding flash subsided, my sister stood there, looking like she'd stuck her finger in a magical socket.

Her blonde curls floated around her head as though underwater, crackling with static electricity.

Her purple eyes—identical to mine in color but nothing else—glowed with an unnatural luminescence.

"Hello, sister dear," Jenny said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Did you miss me?"

Frosty's feathers bristled against my neck. "Sweet merciful poultry gods," he muttered.

Lincoln moved slightly in front of me, his stance protective but not possessive. I appreciated the gesture but stepped forward to stand beside him instead.

"Jenny," I said flatly. "Prison orange would have suited you better than whatever this electrical hazard aesthetic is."

She laughed, the sound like wind chimes made of icicles. "Always the comedian, Chloe. Is that any way to greet your only sister?"

"You tried to murder me with a voodoo doll," I reminded her.