Page 19

Dahlia

By the time the clock in the kitchen crept toward noon, the cottage had settled into a strange sort of stillness.

The chaos from the last three days—the attack, the healing, the locket flaring to life like a second heartbeat in the room—had faded into something quieter. Heavier. Like the house was holding its breath.

Thea had claimed the armchair with a heating pad slung across her shoulder, and Sunny curled up on a decorative pillow like some tiny, furred tyrant.

Sunlight slanted through the windows in dusty stripes, catching on dust motes from me being lazy with the duster.

Henry and I sat at the kitchen table, him hunched slightly over his cup, the steam curling around his glasses.

He hadn’t said much since his arrival. Just polite nods, soft grunts, and the occasional wince when his back twinged.

Kieran stood in the doorframe, arms folded, looking like a half-wild statue in borrowed clothes and bandages. His hair was a mess, his shirt still dark where the wound had bled through despite the healing, but his eyes were sharp. Focused.

And they were fixed on Henry.

“Who drew the runes in your shop?” Kieran asked.

His voice wasn’t accusing, just… curious. But the kind of curious that came with teeth.

Henry looked up, blinking like he hadn’t been following the conversation. “What’s that?”

“The runes,” Kieran said again, tilting his head like he could see them in his memory. “Etched near the doorframe, above the back window, under the threshold. Protection symbols. Wards. Old ones.”

Henry frowned thoughtfully. “Oh. Those scribbles? That was Jane, my wife. She used to doodle them all over the place. Said she liked the way they swirled. Thought it brought a little charm to the shelves.”

Kieran stilled. And I mean completely. Like the air around him held its breath, waiting.

“She drew them by hand?” he asked, a little more quietly now.

Henry nodded. “Freehand. Wouldn’t let me paint over them either. Said they ‘held the space together.’ Whatever that meant.”

Kieran leaned forward slightly, voice gentler now. “Henry… your wife was a witch.”

The mug in Henry’s hand paused mid-sip.

“Come again?” he said.

“Not the broomstick kind,” I offered, trying to soften the blow. “The quiet kind. The kind who loved people enough to protect them without ever needing credit.”

“She was warding the shop,” Kieran said, gaze distant, like he was pulling meaning from memories not his own. “You probably never noticed when they were working, because they worked. Subtle magic like that doesn’t draw attention. It just… holds things at bay.”

“But she never told me…” Henry trailed off, his mouth falling slightly open. “She never said anything like that. I would’ve remembered.”

“She probably kept it hidden for a reason,” I said. “Some magic skips generations. Some goes dormant. And some… some people just keep it secret because they don’t know if they’ll be believed.”

Henry sat back in his chair slowly, like the weight of his wife’s silence had finally landed on his shoulders. “She always said the shop made her feel safe. She didn’t like going out much, not since the fire next door. But in there… she was always calm. Like something was holding her up.”

Kieran’s voice dropped. “ She was. Her own magic.”

I watched him as he spoke—his brow drawn in concern, his jaw tight with knowing. Not just from reading about magic, but from surviving it. Feeling it. Carrying it in his blood.

And something fluttered low in my chest.

It wasn’t just that he looked beautiful in that sad, carved-from-stone way. It was how careful he was. How much he respected a woman he’d never met, just because she’d once cast something gentle to protect the people she loved.

“I didn’t know,” Henry said softly. “She kept journals, though. Dozens. Piled them in the attic after she got sick. I couldn’t bring myself to read them. Not after.”

Kieran’s head snapped up. “She wrote it down?”

Henry nodded. “Maybe. I never looked. Just… packed them up. Tied the boxes shut.” His fingers tightened around the cup. “It hurt too much.”

I reached across the table and touched his hand lightly. “It’s okay. You don’t have to read them. But if you’re alright with us looking… we might be able to piece together what she was trying to do.”

Henry was quiet for a moment, then gave a short nod. “They’re in the attic. I’ll show you.”

Kieran looked at me then, just briefly, and something passed between us—unspoken and strange. Like we’d stepped onto a path we couldn’t turn away from.

I held his gaze, and for once, I didn’t look away.

Not when I felt my face flush. Not when my heart picked up speed. Not even when he blinked and his mouth curled into something small, almost unsure.

The runes were only part of the mystery.

But the part of me that was unraveling?

That was a different kind of magic entirely.