I should’ve done the preparations for tonight’s big spells at work, but it didn’t feel right. The building was quiet enough that each little sound had me looking over my shoulder. I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me, so I gathered my supplies and headed home.

  Since I only had four hours before meeting Jamie, I picked up lunch at a drive-through. My sandwich didn’t last ten minutes once I got home.

  The next two hours went into ten pages of notes, diagrams, and deployment methods. If this spell worked, I could score a spot in Witch Journal.

  But dreams of academic accolades didn’t put the finished project together. To finish my prep in time, I had to cheat a little and use magic to sew the salt into the king sized sheet. Fabric ink wasn’t as tidy as embroidery, but it was much faster. Even so, by the time I’d finished I’d cut into the time I had to get ready for dinner.

  Lipstick and mascara would have to do for makeup, and the little black dress that had been rather underutilized since I had graduated college and Mom insisted I buy it got its chance. Shame it was with Jamie of all people.

  With a spell-locked bag holding my afternoon’s work as well as a more practical outfit in one hand and my purse and heels in the other, I headed out. My bare feet hardly made a sound on the floor, but it was enough to alert Randolf.

  He opened the door for me with a flourish. “Off to have some fun, I hope.”

  “Ha! Work.” I softened the words with a grateful smile. “Thank you for getting the door.”

  “You should have fun.” He wagged a finger at me. “What about that boy you met at Walking Rug?”

  “Coworker.” I settled my bag in the back seat.

  “Harrumph.” He opened the driver’s door for me.

  I hesitated. “This is for work, but when this case is over, I’ll think about dating. That is...”

  “I will ensure the stalker can do no more than send letters while you live here.” Randolf flashed his fangs with each word.

  I rested my hand on his cold one. “My hero.”

  The hard edge left his eyes. “Go charm this work event.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  He closed the door and watched me pull out of the driveway.

  I had to get the power from Jamie. No matter how much he annoyed me or how many smiles I had to force. Lives literally depended on me having enough magic to fix CJ.

  Of course, that level of bravado didn’t last through the twenty-minute drive or through the valet in front of Jamie’s building. Nothing set a powerful mood like a man watching me slide into heels and heft a bulging backpack while wearing a little black dress. Hopefully Jamie liked the awkward mix of elegance and practical.

  The doorman directed me to the elevator. The span of marble tile and ash toned brick walls did nothing to settle my nerves. If I’d needed any confirmation Jamie was still in good standing with the clan, this was it.

  My phone buzzed with a text from Jamie informing me to enter a code in the elevator. Until today, I hadn’t known there were elevators with keypads.

  The elevator took off. Bricks passed by the glass wall until they vanished, showing Nashville spread out around me. It wasn’t a tall city with skyscrapers defining the skyline, but it mingled with the land, showing bold rocks, stretches of brick, and a few modern glass and metal masterpieces.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Eight stories up, the elevator stopped, and the panel that had been displaying floor numbers cheerfully spelled out “Penthouse.” My hand tightened on the strap of the backpack. Yup, this was just how I’d pictured a date with Jamie after all these years.

  The elevator door retreated, revealing a seamless blend of old-world glamour and modernism. Polished marble tiles gleamed under the crystal chandelier, giving way to white walls that met intricately carved crown molding whose gold color brought warmth to the space. The hall spilled into a living room with the same color theme.

  The elevator door started to move, and I stepped out before I could lose my nerve. It closed behind me, and the turning of the gears took away my escape. Not that I was planning on needing an escape, but the option would’ve been nice. It wasn’t like Jamie and I had the best relationship these days.

  The witch in question stepped into the hall. I’d expected and dressed for an elegant evening. Clearly, he had other plans. The jeans with the frayed knee and the white cotton t-shirt brought back better days and the boy he’d been. Not that he looked like that boy anymore. A man smiled at me with an achingly familiar expression.

  He padded down the hall barefoot, appreciation in his eyes. “Even more beautiful than I remember.”

  I couldn’t pretend the past was pleasant or that we had been more than civil for six years. The wound he’d left in my heart had never fully healed, and he deserved the edge of pain that came every time I saw him. “And as full of empty flattery as I remember.”

  Jamie’s smile faded. “I didn’t... That isn’t why I asked you here.” His movements stiff, he pressed on the wall, and a section popped open to reveal a closet. “You can set your things in here.”

  I double-checked the spell on my bag, verifying it would prevent any hand but mine from moving or opening it. Not wanting to jostle the spell components, I set it down gently. For a moment, I worried I wouldn’t be able to find the closet again, but now that I knew it was there, I could see the door seam easily enough.

  “I hope you still like Italian.” The words themselves were pleasant but lacked the warmth of his greeting.

  That was my fault. Even if I couldn’t ignore the past, I could’ve been more diplomatic. After all, he was doing me a favor by raiding the clan’s magic bank. He would be in trouble if they ever found out.

  “I’m sorry.” The words tasted bad, even though he deserved them.

  He winced. “I owe you those words.”

  A timer went off, beeping shrilly.

  “Garlic bread,” he muttered, but didn’t move.

  “It’s the best part of the meal. You can’t let it burn.” I started down the hall. “We can make up after it’s out of the oven.” Or never. I’d hate to lose my grudge against him. Then I’d only have my stalker, necromancy, and idiotic clan politics to blame for any misery in my life. Oh, and my suspended boss. Couldn’t forget him.

  He hurried ahead of me, taking a left at the end of the hall. I followed more slowly, in no small part because I wouldn’t have worn three-inch heels if I’d known the floor was polished marble.

  The living room spread out to the right, with a massive corner window capitalizing on the view. I couldn’t help but walk over. With night settling over the city, the spots of light showed how much living everyone did after dark. Inside, white furnishings matched the floor, a gold and glass coffee table warmed the center of the room, though not as much as the in-wall fireplace dancing with blue flames. Above it, a slender sliver frame encased a picture of a woman with her back to the photographer, seemingly standing in the air, rolling hills in front of her with the sun setting across them.

  The picture drew me across the room, a half-forgotten memory stirring. I’d known he had a camera that day, because I’d turned around with the last glow of sun lingering in the sky, and we’d taken a picture together, the two of us framed in near darkness, joy in both of our faces.

  I’d loved that picture for two weeks. When he’d broken up with me, I’d incinerated it in a ball of witch fire.

  This image, I’d never seen. Not when we sat in the back seat of my parents’ car flipping through images on the camera. Nor when we flipped through the prints, reliving the memories so we could hold onto them a bit longer.

  I blinked, and the picture vanished. Now the silver frame held only glass over the white wall. Hardly able to breathe, I turned.

  Jamie held a slender remote in his hand, and a flush tinted his cheeks.

  “Why?”

  It was the only thing I could think to say, and it didn’t say nearly enough. Why was it here? Why did he have it after all these years? Why hadn’t I seen it before?

  He turned the remote over in his hands. “I kept it.”

  “You broke up with me.” A chill that had nothing to do with my necromancy settled over my skin. It always came back to that between us. “Why would you keep it?”

  “I love that picture and the memory of you, so peacefully joyful.” The corners of his mouth turned down. “Maybe I have regrets too.”

  The chill on my skin seemed to be dampening my emotions, or the overwhelming totality of this past week had rendered me numb. “I don’t understand. You devastated me.”

  “I know.” He closed his eyes. “And for six years, I’ve wished I could go back.”