A hiss sounds above me before Tris thumps to the floor beside me. And here I’d just been thinking how nurturing Haut was.

  Tris hisses into my face, and I cringe back from him. “Why does even your tongue have teeth?”

  “I think I like this less than him as a wolfdog,” Haut grumbles before his bare legs appear on my other side.

  I stare down at his large feet. God, even his toes look powerful.

  A sharp bite snaps my attention back to Tris. “I know. Chicks before pricks. I get it.”

  “Check beneath the feathers.” Haut snatches his boxers off the floor and pulls them on before gathering up the journals from his nightstand. “Tris is a prick, too.”

  That sends my mind down the path of wondering about goose genitalia, and I yank my thoughts back on track before I start researching that.

  “I was going to try to do this the right way, but I can’t handle Tris like this.” Haut reaches down and pulls me to my feet. “Come on. We’re going back down to the Sanctuary.”

  “But you haven’t translated the spell yet,” I protest as I stumble alongside him. “And the tingle juice—”

  “It’s flowing just fine. Stop letting Owen’s words get to you.” He glances over his shoulder. “Come on, corkscrew dick. We’re going to fix you.”

  I throw my head back with a wail. “No! I didn’t need that visual!”

  “I saw you wondering.” Out in the hall, Haut marches me down to the little elevator, then slaps a journal against my chest so he can free his hand to open the door and slide the gate to the side.

  Tris shoves past, eager to get a move on, and I reluctantly follow, mainly because Haut’s still supporting most of my weight.

  Note to future self: No more fucking for hours, no matter how good it feels at the time. It makes the whole middle section of my body hurt, and I really dislike that I passed out again. I should probably be hydrating right now instead of venturing down into the creepy basement. And stocking up on protein in the form of bacon. Bacon over magic work.

  As if hearing my thoughts, Tris bites me in the ass.

  I swat at him, but he swivels his long neck, easily dodging me, so I settle on a threat. “I’m gonna turn you into a hamster if you keep biting me.”

  “Appropriately bite-sized.” Haut closes the gate and presses the down button before he tucks me against his chest.

  With his chest hair tickling my nose and his foresty scent in my lungs, I can almost ignore the sweeping darkness that descends over the death box as it rattles downward.

  “I saw the books,” I say, my words muffled by Haut’s muscles.

  “Oh?” he doesn’t sound terribly interested, which means he either knows what they hold or just doesn’t care.

  “I’m super-rich,” I inform him in case it’s the latter. “I could put in a better elevator.”

  “And who are you going to hire in town to do that?” The elevator screeches to a stop, and Haut shifts to push open the gate. “We don’t exactly have an elevator installer in town.”

  “And we can’t bring one in.” I loop my arms around Haut’s waist and place my feet on top of his. “We should implement some kind of incentive for citizens to go out into the world and learn necessary skills. We can call it the Wendall scholarship.”

  Haut takes an awkward step forward. “The lights will turn on faster if you let me walk like a normal person.”

  “Left foot, right foot,” I instruct. “Call it team bonding.”

  “Didn’t we do enough team bonding last night?” he grunts as he shuffles forward.

  “That’s your idea of enough?” I scrape my teeth over his pec. “I thought you had more stamina.”

  “I’m up for another round.” His hand on my back drops to shove into the waistband on my pants and squeeze my bare ass. “But you’ll have to try harder to stay awake.”

  In response to that, I blow a sloppy raspberry against his skin. “Can wolf shifters see in the dark?”

  “Only when there’s some source of light.” His hand moves lower, fingers sliding between my legs to nudge at my sensitive entrance. “I have the layout memorized.”

  I gasp, rising onto my toes. “You’re not talking about the Sanctuary, are you?”

  His head drops to graze my eye with his lips. “There’s a table directly ahead. I can lay you out on it, get rid of these pesky pants, and kiss all your soreness away.”

  I shiver at the image he paints. “Can you do that without dropping the journals?”

  “I don’t need both arms to lift you—”

  A loud honk disrupts him, reminding us we’re not alone.

  “Can geese see in the dark?” I whisper as the sound of slappy slaps against the cement floor comes toward us.

  “No clue.” Haut’s hand pulls from my pants, and he strides forward.

  A moment later, the overhead lights flair to life, blinding me.

  “We’re going to the back,” Haut calls before he scoops me up, freeing his feet to walk normally.

  Without his intoxicating man smell filling my nose, I take a deep breath of the fragrant air that fills the underground workshop. It’s just as creepy as I remember, with metal tables and lab equipment that would look at home in a science lab.

  Tris waddles after us, his feathers ruffling with irritation as his butt swings from side to side.

  I drape my arms over Haut’s shoulders. “We could get some clappers down here. It would make turning the lights on easier. If Tris stays in goose form, he could just slap a foot against the floor to activate them. And we need to put a lantern in the elevator. It’s just not safe.”

  Tris hisses his opinion of that.

  “A scholarship program isn’t a bad idea,” Haut murmurs, ignoring my newest suggestions to circle back to one he likes better. “It will be a hard sale to the town council, though. They’re not huge fans of sending young people out to experience the real world.”

  I snort. “You make this place sound like a cult.”

  “They live here for a reason.” He ducks through the ribbons of thick plastic that separates the two parts of the large space. “The fear of the huntsmen runs deep. The only new knowledge that comes into town comes from the internet or other shifters who come for visits and decide to stay.”

  “I grew up surrounded by the walls of the apartments and houses my dad rented to keep me safe,” I whisper. “But being scared all the time just leaves you unprepared for when everything falls apart.”

  Haut’s steps slow, and I feel his focus on me before he walks to the table we found the first clue on and sets me down next to the dried rosemary that hangs from the ceiling.

  He thumps the journals down next to me before cupping my cheeks and lifting my face so his. “I’ll back you in front of the council. If we want to survive, we can’t just rely on your tingle juices.”

  That pulls a laugh from me, as he intended, and I glance down at the books. “So, we all came down here to watch you translate?”

  “No, we came down here to do some magic.” He traces his finger down the spines before pulling one of the books free and flipping it open to reveal neatly printed pages. “If you had kept looking instead of latching on to the first spellbook you found, then you would have discovered it’s already been translated.”

  My jaw drops open in shock before I punch him and almost break my fist on his abs. “You could have told me that last night! Tris didn’t have to sleep on the porch!”

  Haut catches my hand to rub my aching knuckles. “Do you want to yell? Or do you want to do a spell together?”

  “Spell!” I yell–because why choose when I can do both?–and Tris honks in agreement.

  MAGIC PURPLE SMOKE

  After Haut finds the spell he wants, he leaves me sitting on the table while he goes around the room, collecting bottles off the shelves and setting them down beside me. Then, he vanishes back through the plastic curtain, returning with a bunsen burner, a small propane tank, and a glass beaker.

  He sets them down on the table, frowns at me, and moves them a little farther away.

  “What? You don’t think I can be around an open flame?” I demand indignantly.

  “No.” The short reply holds a wealth of censor.

  I look down at Tris. “He doesn’t trust me to use the bunsen burner.”

  Tris, for the first time in his brief life as a goose, stays silent.

  “Are you serious?” I kick at him, though he’s well out of range. “See if I break your spell, then!”

  His feathers rustle, and he lets out a loud hiss that sounds like demons live in his throat. Which maybe they do. With all those teeth, he’s clearly an unnatural being from Hell.

  Haut references the book again. “Okay, first we make a paste of salt, mullein, and rosemary.”

  He crosses the room and opens a storage locker, then strides back and presses a plastic bag into my hands that’s so heavy it almost topples me off the table.

  “What is this?” I heave it onto the table and open the top to find a large, stone mortar and pestle. “How come it’s wrapped in plastic.”

  “It’s been sanitized.” He pulls open a drawer under the table and grabs a pair of scissors, also wrapped in plastic. “We need three parts mullein, two parts rosemary, and one part salt.”

  I eye the bottles on the counter. “Which one is mullein?”

  “The one that looks like fuzzy fluff.” Carefully, he ignites the flame, then dials it back to a low burn before moving a metal tripod contraception over it. It has an open circle at the top, connecting the feet.

  Pulling my attention from what he’s doing, I grab one of the bottles off the table.

  “That’s rosemary.” He nudges a different bottle. “This one is mullein. It looks like we’ll have to add herb lessons to your class list.”

  “Will that be before or after German?” I mutter as I dig my fingernails into the cork and pry it out. As soon as it pops free, a pungent, earthy scent rises out, making me want to sneeze.

  “Don’t contaminate the ingredients,” Haut warns.

  Rubbing my nose on my shoulder to dispel the tickles, I tap some of the fluffy herb into the waiting mortar. Then, I open the rosemary and pull out a sprig. If I’d opened this one first, I would have known it was rosemary right away. I love the strong, piney scent. It brings me back to spaghetti nights with my dad, when he’d bring home a fresh loaf of garlic bread and we’d eat carbs until we passed out.

  Carefully, I pull out a sprig and use the scissors to snip off needles into the mortar. “Should I have been weighing this? They’re completely different textures.”

  Haut abandons his burner to peer into the mortar. “One more sprig should do it.”

  I purse my lips with worry. “What if I get it wrong?”

  He squeezes my knee. “Then Tris will stay a goose until we get it right.”

  Tris honks his opinion of that, which honestly sounds like all of his other honks. Wolves are so much easier to understand.

  After I trim the needles off another sprig of rosemary, I grab the jar of salt and tap in what feels like the right amount. When Haut nods in approval, I scoot farther back onto the table and cross my legs before settling the mortar in my lap. The damn thing weighs a ton, and the pestle needs both hands to smash the mixture against the stone walls inside the bowl.

  “I bet we could do this with a blender,” I grunt as I work on the mash. “Or one of those coffee grinders people use as herb grinders now.”

  Haut grins. “It would be worth experimenting with.”

  “Oh, or a Magic Bullet. I’ve always wanted one of those.” I tamp the ingredients back into the middle of the bowl before mashing them with the rounded bottom of the pestle. “It could make smoothies and potions.”

  “It could be your version of roulette. You’ll either get your fruit and veggies or be turned into a toad.” He pulls a bottle of water from under the counter and cracks the seal before measuring a cup out into the waiting beaker. “Just make sure you have a prince around to turn you back to human.”

  “You’re not a prince?” My arms start to ache, but the herbs and salt aren’t a paste yet, so I keep going. “No magic kisses from Haut.”

  He smirks. “My kisses are plenty magical.”

  I watch as he opens another of the herb bottles and taps three golden rocks into the water. “What’s that?”

  “Frankincense.” He moves the beaker over the open flame.

  After a minute, the water begins to boil, and a musky, pine scent fills the air that blends nicely with the paste I’m creating.

  “How are the herbs coming?” he asks.

  I tip the mortar to show him.

  He nods in approval and grabs another plastic-wrapped item from the drawer in front of him. Unwrapping it, he reveals a small, metal scoop with a long handle. “Fill it to the brim.”

  I take the scoop and collect the paste, tapping it against the side of the mortar to make sure no air bubbles are artificially making it look full. When I’m satisfied, I hold it out to him, and he carefully tips it into the fragrant water.

  Instantly, it turns muddy brown, and the air smells like incense.

  “Now, read the spell exactly as it’s written.” He angles the book toward me. “Focus on the potion, not on Tris.”

  I take a deep breath to fortify my bravery before slowly speaking the words out loud. I don’t really understand them, even though they’re in English this time. It’s like reading lyrics to a song that doesn’t have a real story to it. But I say each one precisely, focusing on the potion between each line.

  As the last word leaves my lips, the potion bubbles higher, the muddy brown turning opaque purple.

  I gasp, then look at Haut, unsure if it’s okay for me to speak.

  He grins and uses a pair of tongs to pull the beaker off the flames. “Good job. How did it feel to do your first spell?”

  “Not at all tingly,” I admit. “A bit like baking, if I’m honest.”

  The corners of his lips curve up. “There are some that require dancing under the full moon while waving a crystal around. Will those make you happier?”

  I consider that. “Naked?”

  He gives me a serious look. “Is there any other way to dance under a full moon?”

  A snort of amusement escapes, and I slap my hands over my mouth, eyes wide in horror.

  He smirks. “Hop down. This next part will soothe your discouraged heart.”

  “There’s more?” I heave the mortar and pestle aside before sliding off the edge of the table.

  Haut nods. “We need three white candles and some chalk.”

  He directs me to the right shelves, and I return with my arms loaded. “Now what?”

  “Set the candles at North, Southeast, and Southwest.” When I give him a blank stare, he points to the proper coordinates. “Then, use the chalk to draw lines connecting the North to the Southeast, and the Southeast to the Southwest.”

  I do so, crawling around on the ground. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t sanitary.”

  “We’re not summoning demons, so I’m not worried about a little dirt,” he says.

  I bolt upright. “Demons?”

  “Not today, grasshopper.” He turns to Tris and gestures at my open triangle. “If you will?”

  Tris tucks his wings in close to his body and waddles into the center of the triangle.

  “Go ahead and close it, then light the candles.” Haut holds out a lighter.

  I draw the last line from Southwest to North, then knee-walk over to take the lighter from him. “How come I could turn Tris into a goose without all this setup?”

  “Some spells are less complicated than others,” Haut says. “You weren’t actually reading a spell to break a curse. You were reading a spell to set lost souls free. You’re lucky you didn’t cast Tris’s soul right out of his body.”

  Tris and I squawk our dismay in unison. Well, Tris honks and I squawk. But it sounds the same in tone.

  “There’s no use in panicking over something that didn’t happen.” Haut gestures for me to continue. “Just light the candles.”

  I crawl around the triangle, lighting candles in between apologies to Tris and promises to never irresponsibly read spells in foreign languages ever again.

  Once each pillar candle dances with flame, I sit back on my heels and look up at Haut. “Now what?”

  “We need to wait until a small well of melted wax appears.”

  I crouch next to one of the candles, eyes fixed on the wax beneath the wick until a little puddle of melted wax spreads over the top, like a shallow swimming pool melted into the soft surface.

  Haut kneels next to me, the beaker held in one gloved hand. In the other, he holds a clean, long-handled spoon. “Now, we add the potion to the wax.”

  My brows lift. “It’s not for Tris to drink?”

  “Only if you want him dead.” Hand steady, he scoops out a spoonful of potion and slips it into the pool of wax without disturbing the flame. “You need to fully read through the instructions instead of making assumptions. Spellcraft isn’t the same as cooking. You can’t slap things together and think it will work. There are steps to follow.”

  I follow him around the triangle as he spoons the potion into each candle. “You should be the Wendall Witch. You’re obviously good at it.”

  “No tingle juice,” he grunts. “Besides, I have my hands full with being Alpha.”

  “What did you do yesterday?” I ask, curious what he got up to that was so important.

  “The Johnson kid got stuck halfway through his shift.” Haut sits back and drops the spoon into the beaker before setting it aside. “I had to go calm him and force him into his wolf.”

  My lips part in surprise. “You can do that?”

  He slants me a look from the corner of his eye. “It’s what being Alpha means. I control the other wolves.”

  “Huh.” I plop onto my butt on the cold cement. “Now what?”

  “We wait for the spell to work.” He frowns at me, then lifts me into his warm lap.

  I tuck my toes against his calves. “You’re good at taking care of people.”

  His arms wrap around my waist. “It comes with the territory.”