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The fine hairs on Jaylie’s arms stand to attention at once. The sound is like clawed nails on metal to her ears.

“ I’d be very pleased to share one with you all sometime, if you would care to listen. ”

“He’s an excellent cook, too,” Kain continues.

He lifts the pan from the flames and holds it out to the party for approval, leaving Maglorbizel’s face on full display.

Jaylie can’t help but appreciate just how perfectly the breakfast is done.

It’s even shaped into two eggy eyes and a porky smile. “He taught me how to make these.”

“From the stories I’ve heard,” Loren says, his voice tight with fear, “devils are deceivers and tricksters. Give them room to talk and you’ll find yourself unwittingly wrapped up in a deal with your soul sold and your dreams crushed, all for granting what you thought was your greatest desire.”

“That’s true in many cases,” Kain admits as the flames hiss, “ Yesss… ” The tiefling shakes his head, his great horns swaying from side to side as he dismisses his party’s protests. “But he’s still my father. And so far he has done right by me.”

“How did your mother get wrapped up with the likes of him?” Morgana asks eventually. By the way everyone but Kain shares a glance, it’s a question on all of their minds. Morgana is just the only one brave enough to ask.

Kain’s lips curl back into another one of his unsettling grins. “He wanted to sire a child. And Mother wanted to say that she’d survived a night with a devil.”

Jaylie puts her palm to her face. Loren can’t help but nod with grudging understanding and respect.

“Well, then,” Jaylie says after clearing her throat several times. “I wouldn’t want to come between you and your family. So long as he’s not poisoning our food or whispering into our dreams at night, I suppose he is welcome.”

“ Your approval is appreciated, priestess, ” the flames hiss, dripping with sarcasm and bacon fat.

Jaylie swallows. “Let’s get back on the road as soon as breakfast is finished,” she says tightly, even though she’s lost her appetite.

“ Go on—EAT, ” Maglorbizel crows, and the fire suddenly surges upward. “ You may need your energy yet. ”

The second day of traveling does not pass as uneventfully as the first.

While her party pauses for a short rest, Jaylie offers to scout ahead with Morgana, though they soon split up to cover more ground. Jaylie has traveled for the span of only five minutes when she hears a rustle.

“Wot’s a pretty thing like you travelin’ through our forest for, eh?” a voice calls from the trees.

A group of dirty humans appears from out of the forest. Their cloaks are ragged and gray-green, blending effortlessly into the foliage around them. Even their boots shuffle quietly over the earth, and Jaylie curses herself for not having sensed them earlier.

She knows Morgana is nearby, but she doesn’t want to give her presence away by looking for her.

The leader speaks again, lifting his knife to pick at his yellowing teeth. “Cat got yer tongue, priestess?” The group look young, barely adults. The speaker seems to be the oldest of them, around Jaylie’s age, with wiry ginger hair that falls messily to his shoulders.

“I wasn’t aware that these woods belonged to anyone in particular,” Jaylie says airily.

Red scowls. “Well, they belong to us, earned fair an’ square. And anyone passin’ through, priestess or not, gotta pay the donation. For forest upkeep, y’see?”

“You don’t look like druids to me.”

“Wot, we’ve gotta be druids to love our land?” The woman who speaks has her hay-colored hair braided into twin tails down her back.

“I’m not going to pay your toll. I’ll just go back the way I came.”

“?’Fraid that’s not gonna be an option, dove. Everyone pays the toll, and if you’re not gonna give it willingly, well—then we’ll just have to take our due.” Red finishes fishing out whatever gristle was stuck between his teeth and spits noisily to the side.

He does, however, keep his knife out.

Jaylie prays that her luck is strong. Pink sparkles gather in her hands as she prepares to fling a spell of light into the face of whichever ugly bandit approaches her first.

A piercing howl rings out as a black-cloaked figure dives from above.

There’s a clatter of breaking branches and rustling leaves as Morgana crashes through the trees, cushioning her fall by landing right on top of Red.

Jaylie catches a glimpse of Morgana’s bared white teeth gleaming through the depths of her beard as she wraps her legs around the man’s middle from behind and buries two daggers into his shoulders.

If Morgana’s battle cry isn’t enough to summon their friends, then Red’s screech of pain certainly is.

As Jaylie shoots a bolt of light into the face of the bandit with the braids, Kain rushes through the trees, axe lofted over one shoulder. The jaunty tune of a tavern song starts up behind him as the bard struts into the small clearing, unconcerned as you please.

Kain stops in front of the party, his long whiplike tail flicking with anticipation.

The muscles of his back ripple under his purple skin as he hefts his axe over his head, and the damn thing is at least as tall as Jaylie.

Morgana stands to his side, daggers dripping with poison and fresh blood.

Jaylie and Loren situate themselves at the very back, with Jaylie on hand to heal as needed and Loren ready to do—well, whatever it is that he does.

He seems confident, at least, and he winks to Jaylie before his fingers fly across the strings, striking up what she can only describe as a battle march.

Let’s fucking go.

It happens so fast that Jaylie almost misses it.

There’s a rush of colors and screams and devilish laughter and the buzz of spellcasting and the wail of bandits and then, within the span of twenty-four seconds, it’s over.

The scavengers lie scattered around them, writhing as they clutch at their wounds.

Morgana has one hand fisted in Red’s tangled hair, holding the poor boy up as he weeps for mercy.

As the rogue taps the corner of her mouth, debating Red’s fate, Jaylie casts her gaze around for the others.

Kain is the first she sees, laid out on the ground under a tree.

“Are you all right?” Jaylie asks as she hovers over his prone form.

Kain is so doused in blood that Jaylie briefly considers whether he might be dead. But he coughs once, spits into the dirt, and lets out a boisterous laugh that rattles his whole frame.

“Do not worry for me, priestess,” he says, fangs bared in his usual grin. “None of it is mine.”

Jaylie swallows down bile and makes her way over to Morgana, who’s knocked the boy out with a swift thunk of her dagger’s pommel to his temple. Jaylie gently lays a hand on her shoulder. “Thanks for having my back,” she says.

The dwarf woman relaxes as healing magic flows through her, and she stretches and groans like a cat in the sun. “And thank you for having mine.” She surprises Jaylie with a hug. Feeling the woman’s bristly beard brush against her cheek, Jaylie warmly returns the embrace.

“Jay!” There’s panic in the voice. It’s an octave higher than usual. “Jaylie, please !”

“You weren’t even in the melee,” Jaylie mutters to herself.

She turns around to find Loren lying on the ground, curled into the fetal position. He clutches at his ribs with one hand while the other is pressed dramatically to his forehead.

“Oh, my savior, you’ve arrived just in time,” he gasps through clenched teeth. His breathing is labored, and little beads of sweat gather at his temples, making his red curls hang limply around his face.

It’s not a bad look for him, Jaylie notes, admiring the effort he must have put into the fight—or into his dramatics. I’m impressed he managed to break a sweat at all.

“What ails you?” Jaylie asks. Her painted lips are pressed into what she hopes is a pout but probably looks a lot more like a playful smirk.

“I’ve been struck!” With exaggerated difficulty, the bard pulls back the fabric of his billowy teal undershirt, revealing his grievous wound. The thin red cut is so shallow, so easy to miss, that Jaylie turns her attention to admiring his toned abdomen instead, his skin warm and lightly freckled.

“Caught in a thornbush, more like,” Jaylie muses.

“Caught by an arrow that streamed past, more like!” He’s got the gall to sound offended.

“And I suppose you’re in need of my services, then?”

A flash of mischief lights his eyes. “Kiss it and make it better?”

“Great try, but no. Let’s see if my Lady favors your health…

” Jaylie fishes in her pocket for one of the stray coins of Marlana that she always keeps on hand.

With a practiced flick of her thumb, she sends it spiraling into the air, and it falls to land face up with the goddess’s winking face on full display. “Good for you, Loren. You’re in luck.”

Jaylie bends down. She’s hardly about to reward his whiny behavior with a kiss, but she wouldn’t mind teasing him a little.

Concentrating the healing magic of a prayer on the very tip of her pointer finger, she slowly traces down the length of the shallow cut, from where it begins at the top of his ribs to where it curves down along the V-shaped line of muscle that disappears into his pants.

The wound knits up easily, and the sparkling gold of the spell fades to reveal smooth, unmarred skin.

By the way he inhales sharply, she knows the magic burns. But by the way he regards her with heat in his half-lidded eyes, she knows he likes it.

Her work done, she crooks her finger under the waistband of his pants, deliberately tugs once, then stands.

“All better. Now, on your feet. We’ve got a long way to travel yet.”

“And that’s where we’re going to end today’s session,” Liam announces as he laces his fingers and stretches his arms out in front of him, eliciting a satisfying crack from his knuckles.

I glance down at my notes—if you can call them that. Instead of jotting down helpful information, I’d doodled a grumpy Jaylie, a frolicking Kain, and the horrifying fiery grin of Maglorbizel.

Under the table, Noah’s booted foot knocks against my sneaker. When I look up, I’m met with his wide, shit-eating grin. “Really saved my ass there,” he says.

“More like a waste of a spell slot,” I say with a sniff, but his expression begs for a smile in return, so I give it.

As the others move to pack up their things, Morgan leans over to check out my latest work. As always, her fancy journal is filled with her gorgeously loopy handwriting and meticulous notes. She juts one sparkly fingernail into the binding of my old notebook; it’s nearly falling apart.

“Its days are numbered,” she teases. “How many pages do you have left? Four?”

It’s a good guess. I check.

It’s an accurate guess.

“It’s got one more session, tops.”

“Come to the bookstore sometime this week,” she offers. “We have a lot of journals to choose from, and I can give you my manager discount. Maybe Saturday?”

I’m touched. “Are you working then?”

“No, but he is.” She bounces her chin in the direction of Liam, who’s too distracted gathering up his own notes to notice. “We can get coffee and talk shit,” Morgan says with a laugh.

“My favorite hobby. I’d love to.”

As the boys file into the kitchen and Morgan packs her bags, Jules stands at the end of the table, humming idly to herself and tucking leftover cookies into bins. Morgan and I lock gazes, sharing a brief moment of telepathy. Morgan gives me a tiny, encouraging nod.

“Do you want to come, too, Jules?” I ask.

“You know where Bluebonnet Books is, right?” Morgan adds. “I feel like I’ve seen you there with your little ones for story time.”

Kids? I had no idea Jules is a mom, or that Morgan is the bookstore’s manager. There’s so much I don’t know about either of them, and it only makes me want to get coffee with them more.

“Oh!” Jules straightens. “I’d love to!” She beams, and then her expression falls. “We’ve got piano lessons Saturday. But maybe—maybe after? Late afternoon, if I can get away?” Her tone is hopeful.

“That’s perfect,” I say.

Morgan flashes us a smile, her teeth bright against her dark lipstick. “Great. See you two then.”

I follow everyone outside. Liam always keeps his house at arctic-cold temperatures, so the sun feels good on my arms, thawing me out.

But in the midafternoon heat, I can already feel sweat begin to pool under my bra and at my temples.

After our goodbyes and more of Jules surreptitiously sneaking baked goods into everyone’s bags, the gang all pile into their cars and drive off.

Even Liam follows them out, heading to his shift at the bookstore.

Noah rolls out his bike and comes to stand next to me in the driveway.

I linger by his side, eager to put off chores for a little more time together.

“Shop got her back in good shape, then?” I ask, gesturing with my chin toward his bike.

“Sure did,” he says cheerily, squeezing the brake.

“As much as I enjoyed being chauffeured around by you, I’m glad to have an excuse to stretch my legs and get all this energy out before work.

” Casually and without warning, he peels his T-shirt off and stuffs it into his backpack.

At my alarmed expression, he grins. “I can’t show up to work with my shirt all soaked through. ” He tsks.

I worry that my glasses will fog up from the heat rising from my cheeks.

Part of me wishes that they would, just so that they could conceal the way my eyes linger on Noah’s skin.

He doesn’t look like Loren, I think, and I can’t believe that’s my first thought, but it’s true.

Noah looks like he could swing a sword or break a tree in half with his hands.

He’s not willowy and graceful like an elf—like Loren.

Instead, he’s all broad shoulders, big arms, and thick muscles bunching up underneath a layer of softness that makes him look incredibly huggable.

Of course he’s always towered over me, and I’ve seen hints of his bulk in the way his clothes tighten across his shoulders, but—it’s entirely different to witness him in all his shirtless glory.

“Great timing,” I say dryly. I try to say it sarcastically, but my mouth is literally dry.

“Oh, you think this show is for you ?” He flexes playfully, and I almost pass out. I keep my eyes on the tangle of his beard instead of the trail of curly hair running down his chest.

“Any more of this and you’re going to be late.”

“Are you planning to delay me much longer?” he drawls, but when he glances at his watch, he jumps a little. “Oh shit. Hah! No, I do actually have to go.” He reaches forward to squeeze my wrist. “I’ll text you after work?”

“I’ll be around. Have fun.”

“Always do.” He adjusts his backpack on the bike, hops on, and peddles off.