Chapter 39: Good Morning, Doom

I made fun of Sy, but only a little, for bringing the iron poker with us downstairs again when we finally got out of bed. I had to pour our whiskeys at the living room bar because he kept the poker in one hand and his other arm wrapped tightly around my waist, as if I would vanish if he let go. And I had to admit that was a real possibility.

How did our magic actually work? It had banished my uncle as the iron had banished Jarrah…but neither had returned since. We didn't know the rules of this game. But we were stuck playing it. I could only hope nobody else understood either. Uncertainty might make them less likely to make another attempt to retrieve—or destroy—either of us.

But for now, our shared magic seemed to be our best defense. Our best, and only. Which, frankly, as things went, wasn't the worst. Far from it. Because it meant that the responsible thing to do was to take our whiskeys down to the recording studio, set up with our guitars so close our legs pressed together, an