Page 104 of No Charm Done
The chat exploded with fire emojis and exclamation points.
“Glamour work,” Luna murmured. “He’s showing off. Who’s got this?”
Violet raised her hand. She stood slightly apart from the group, black hoodie despite the July heat, eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass. “I practiced this one,” she said flatly.
Polly, standing just behind her daughter, looked less certain. “Violet, honey, maybe—”
“Mom, I can do this.”
Luna made the call. “Go.”
Violet nodded and turned her attention to the gazebo.
Vex was cycling through faces faster now—man, woman, old, young, each one perfectly rendered. Online, the investors were eating it up.
Violet’s hands moved in small, precise gestures. Luna felt the counterspell take shape—delicate work, like pulling a single thread from a tapestry without disturbing the rest.
The glamour flickered. Vex’s face stuttered, caught between two forms.
“Good,” Luna breathed. “Just like that—”
But then, the ward snapped back. The defensive structure Burke had woven through the network recognized Violet’s interference and actively rejected it, sending the magical energy boomeranging back toward the source.
“Violet, hang on—” Luna started.
Too late.
The backlash hit Violet like an invisible fist. She flew backward, arms pinwheeling, and slammed into the grass.
“VIOLET!” Polly was already running, dropping to her knees beside her daughter.
Luna ran too, Scarlett and Delilah right behind her.
Violet was conscious—barely. Her eyes were unfocused, her breathing shallow and rapid. A thin line of blood traced from her nose.
“I’m okay,” Violet wheezed. “I’m—Jesus, Mom, stop—”
“You’re bleeding—”
“I’m fine.” Violet tried to sit up, winced, and settled for propping herself on one elbow. “That sucked.”
But she wasn’t fine. None of them were. Luna could feel the other witches behind her, their confidence shaken. They’d practiced countering spells. They’d trained. They’d been ready.
And Burke’s wards had punched through their defenses like they were made of tissue paper.
In the gazebo, Vex had recovered his composure, his face settling back into its original configuration. He was laughing it off, saying something about “the unpredictable nature of live magic,” but Luna could see the tension in his shoulders.
The chat was going insane—some were concerned, others excited, everyone wanted more.
And Chuck?
Chuck waved again.
* * *
The problem with identical metal cabinets was that they were all so goddamn identical.
Shaw pressed himself against a rack in what he hoped was a cold aisle—or was it hot? One blasted the air like a Chicago winter; the other shimmered like August in Death Valley—and he tried to remember the path Danny had taken.
