Page 14 of Spirit Storm

I stare at him. "Bred to watch over us? By whom?"

"That's a very long conversation." He stops shoving potatoes through the blades and places the cut fries into the bowl. “What matters is that I exist so places like Emberwood continue to thrive. I'm duty-bound not to tip the scales of what's meant to happen. I protect, but I can't redirect."

The entire history of every interaction I've had in this diner reshuffles itself in my head. Every cup of coffee. Every bit of quiet advice slipped between orders.

"Can you do magic?"

Marty barks a laugh, setting a tray of dirty plates on the passthrough ledge, but doesn’t say anything.

Tanner chuckles, warm and low. "I've got a few tricks, yes."

"Care to share?"

Out front, the bell above the door chimes.

“Not really, no. But I will say that while I can’t overtly help you with what you're navigating, Asher’s situation is different. I might be able to help him."

Something in my chest loosens. “If you could help him stay safe, that would be huge. He keeps ending up in random places. Last week it was a greenhouse. The week before, a car park somewhere. He doesn't really know how to direct it. Well, other than coming home. He’s pretty good at that.”

Tanner grabs the tray of dishes and the order slip Marty sends back. "Transportation gifts are tricky at first. Tell him to reach out. We'll work out a schedule."

I stare at him. "Can you teleport?"

He arches a brow. "Tell Asher to reach out.”

“Okay, I get that you’re ending the conversation, but I gotta ask… just how powerful are you?"

He sets the plates beside the sink and then gives his full attention to the grill. “That's a story for another day. Now, get your pie and get home. It’s supposed to snow this afternoon.”

I take the hint, step into the hall and lift my fists to my temples before exploding my fingers out into the air.

Mind blown.

CHAPTER FOUR

The living room is dim except for the television, the blue light washing over the couch cushions and the two of us sprawled across them.

Asher has claimed the long sofa with his usual lack of apology, one arm thrown behind his head, and his feet dangling off the end.

I've tucked myself into the corner of the loveseat with a blanket pulled up to my chin, a mug of chamomile going cold on the end table beside me.

On screen, a retired schoolteacher is crying over a collapsed tart shell. Competitive baking is apparently a heart-wrenching blood sport.

I must zone out, because I only realize that the show is paused when Asher is sitting up and looking at me. “What is tumbling around in that head of yours, P? You look stressed.”

I pull the blanket tighter around me and smooth my hand over the ultra-soft pile. "Do you think Violet and Lily are doing okay?"

He considers this with genuine thought, which is one of the things I love about Ash—he always gives your questions actual consideration.

"I think Violet is probably reading something and trying not to let on that she's a little scared. And I think Lily is probably freaking out, complaining, and making things tougher than they need to be."

Sounds about right.

“I don’t think you should worry. S’Nark is watching out for them, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, as much as S’Nark watches out for anyone.”

“So, what’s got you all tied up?”