Isla

  The grocery store was nearly empty, just the way I liked it. This late in the evening, I could shop in peace, my cart angled across the aisle like a shield. Most people didn’t notice me—not really. They noticed something, enough to steer clear, but no one ever got too close. I’d spent several hours out and about today, and I was ready to go home and change into comfy clothes.

  The snakes shifted lazily through my hair, their movements brushing against my scalp. Non-magicals couldn’t see them, so what did it matter if Noodle decided to flick her tongue near my cheek? As far as curses went, the luxurious hair that concealed them was a decent tradeoff. Thick, dark, and reaching the small of my back, it served its purpose.

  I reached for a bunch of bananas, debating whether they’d last the week, when movement appeared in my peripheral vision. Too close.

  “Need help?”

  My fingers froze mid-reach. Slowly, I turned my head. A man stood barely a foot away, tall and broad, his cart parked casually like this wasn’t completely out of the ordinary.

  I’d never seen him before, yet there was a flicker of familiarity that prickled beneath my skin. His dark eyes glowed faintly, too bright to belong to a non-magical. His hair was a little too long, like he was due for a cut, but hadn’t cared enough to make it happen. It was just unkempt enough to prove that he often ran his hands through it. My chest tightened.

  “No,” I said flatly, my voice colder than the AC blowing through the produce section.

  The snakes stirred, more curious than alarmed, which irritated me. Sick him, girls! I thought ineffectually, though there wasn’t much force behind it. Despite my unease, there was something about him that felt… calm.

  He didn’t move, didn’t back off, and his lips twitched as though he were suppressing a smile. “You sure?” he asked lightly.

  Before I could snap, he reached past me—past me—and plucked a bunch of bananas from the display.

  “These are the good ones,” he said, holding them out to me like some kind of peace offering.

  The snakes perked up, Poppy sliding forward to inspect him. I clenched my teeth, willing her to retreat.

  “I don’t need your help,” I snapped, louder this time.

  His dark eyes flicked upward. He saw them. Poppy didn’t hiss; she flicked her tongue in his direction, and I swore he tilted his head in acknowledgment.

  “Hey there,” he said softly.

  “What did you just say?” I demanded, heat rising in my chest.

  “Nothing,” he said innocently.

  The snakes finally pulled back, but my discomfort didn’t. I gripped my cart and pushed past him without another word, my shoulders stiff as I walked away. I made it to the pasta aisle before I stopped, trying to shake off the interaction. The shelves stretched endlessly, rows of marinara jars glinting beneath the fluorescent lights. Chunky, garlic, basil—basil. I smirked faintly and murmured under my breath, “Look, Basil, you’re famous.” The small green snake shifted slightly, her curious head peeking out from my hair.

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  “What’s that?”

  My smirk vanished. I turned my head slowly. It was him again. He stood a few feet away, a jar of marinara in his hand, his expression infuriatingly calm. I hadn’t heard him approach. My fingers tightened on the cart handle. “Nothing,” I muttered, grabbing the nearest jar and tossing it into my cart.

  “Got a recommendation?” he asked, holding up the jar.

  “No.”

  “You don’t seem sure,” he said, tipping his head.

  “It’s marinara sauce,” I snapped, turning to glare at him. “Pick one.”

  “See, that’s the thing,” he said, as if this were an actual problem worth solving. “Do I go with garlic, basil, or the Greek classic?”

  I froze, my chest tightening. “What?”

  He gestured toward the shelves. “You know, marinara. The Greeks invented it, right?”

  I stared at him, caught between irritation and suspicion. His face gave nothing away.

  “Marinara’s Italian,” I said sharply.

  “Is it?”

  “Yes,” I said, my voice rising. “Tomato-based. No connection to Greece.”

  His mouth twitched again. “Huh. I could’ve sworn the Greeks started it.”

  My hands tightened around the cart, the tension twisting up my spine. Was he signaling something? Testing me?

  “Italians,” I said through clenched teeth. “Tomatoes are from the Americas. They didn’t exist in Europe until after the Columbian Exchange.”

  Enough of the history lesson, Isla!

  “Well,” he said lightly, putting the jar back, “guess I missed that in school.”

  I couldn’t decide if I wanted to roll my eyes or bolt. “Idiot,” I muttered, shoving my cart forward.

  “Sorry, what was that?” he asked, his voice following me like a shadow. “Name’s Finn, by the way.”

  I didn’t look back. I didn’t stop.

  The wind off the lake was brisk as I walked home, grocery bags balanced in each hand. The streets were quieter than usual, but the hum of the city never fully stopped. I kept my head down, my pace brisk, but unease prickled at the edge of my thoughts. It wasn’t just the cold, or the wind, or the distant screech of tires. It was the weight of eyes I couldn’t see. The snakes stirred slightly, their movements brushing against my neck.

  “Relax,” I muttered, though the word felt hollow.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Nothing. Just the faint glow of a streetlamp and the long stretch of pavement behind me. Still, the feeling didn’t fade. Was it Finn? Had he followed me? Or was it something else entirely?

  The bags dug into my fingers as I turned onto my street, my eyes darting toward every shadow. When I reached my building, I fumbled with the key fob, scanning it twice before the door clicked open. Inside, the air was warm and still. The faint buzz of the lobby light felt like a lifeline. The elevator groaned as it carried me to the seventh floor. I looked in the full-length mirror of one of the elevator walls. My dark, long hair was wind blown from being out in the windy City all day—it wasn’t called that for nothing. My green eyes were bright with excitement. I rolled them. When the doors opened, I stepped out quickly, the sound of my boots echoing down the empty hallway.

  My apartment was at the end of the corridor, tucked into the corner. I unlocked the door and stepped inside, nudging it shut behind me with my foot. The silence was immediate, soothing.

  The space was just as I’d left it: exposed brick walls stretching up to high ceilings, soft rugs beneath my feet, and the faint scent of eucalyptus lingering in the air. The furniture was simple, carefully chosen—a deep gray couch, a sleek coffee table, books stacked neatly on shelves. The windows overlooked the city, its skyline glittering against the darkness.

  I set the bags on the counter and shrugged off my coat, draping it over the back of a barstool. The snakes shifted, adjusting themselves to the warm air. Noodle slithered forward, her tongue flicking toward the light, while Poppy curled closer to my neck. Viper stayed coiled at my shoulder, watchful. I unpacked the groceries slowly, savoring the rhythm of the mundane. The jar of marinara went into the cabinet, the bananas on the counter.

  Safe.

  And yet, I couldn’t shake the unease entirely.

  Finn. His calm voice, his too-familiar smile. Why had he approached me? Why had he lingered? He mentioned Greeks. That wasn’t a coincidence. It was a message. He knew exactly who I was. The question was whether it was a threat or a warning.

  The dream came back to me, and while I could not feel an association with him and the dread of the dream, I could not say whether he was from the first part of the dream.

  I shook my head, willing the thought away.

  “It’s just some guy,” I muttered. Some guy who has no sense of self-preservation.

  The snakes didn’t respond, but their quiet presence felt like judgment.