Page 6 of Impawssible Magic

TWO

ASLAN

The Stone Circle is exactly as uncomfortable as it was designed to be.

I shift on the carved granite seat, feeling every edge dig into muscle and bone. The seven chairs form a rough ring in the back room of The Den, each one hewn from local mountain rock centuries ago by someone who clearly believed suffering built character. They weren’t wrong. Meetings here never run long.

Caius Sternwolf stands at the center, because of course, he does. The wolf alpha commands attention without trying—broad shoulders squared, gaze sweeping across each of us in turn. A scar cuts across his jaw, old and faded, a reminder of the Warding Line breach that almost cost him his life years ago.

“The eastern patrol reported another thin spot last night. Third one this month.”

Rhodes Blackthorn leans forward, his dark locs swaying with the movement. The lion’s resting expression hasn’t changed—unimpressed, as usual—but there’s tension in the set of his shoulders. “Location?”

“Near the old mill ruins. Same area as the last two.”

“Pattern.” Elio Frostheart’s smooth voice cuts through the room. The panther lounges in his stone chair like it’s a throne, somehow making discomfort look elegant. “Someone’s testing specific points.”

Kief Alban grunts from his seat. The mountain lion looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, which is accurate. He attends these meetings because someone has to represent the mountain cats, not because he enjoys politics. “Or something.”

Veren Tahann’s sharp gaze gleams with interest. The fox leans forward, all contained energy and barely hidden cunning. “You’ve seen anything?”

“Tracks. Nothing I recognized.” Kief shrugs. “Could be from beyond the Line. Could be nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” Torin Weylin’s deep rumble fills the room. The bear takes up more space than any three of us combined, hands resting on his knees, kind expression gone serious. “The wards are weakening. We’ve all felt it.”

He’s right. We have.

I say nothing. Caius catches my eye. We’ve known each other long enough that words aren’t necessary.

I give him the barest nod.

The meeting continues for another twenty minutes. Patrol schedules are adjusted. Territory concerns are raised and addressed. Veren reports on rumors filtering through his network—nothing concrete, but whispers of movement beyond the Warding Line. Creatures gathering. Watching.

By the time Caius calls the formal session to a close, my spine is protesting every minute I’ve spent on this godforsaken chair.

“One more thing.” Caius’s gaze sweeps the room. “Two new witches arrived in Mistvale this month. Both unanchored. Both showing unusual magical signatures.”

Rhodes straightens. “Unusual how?”

“The Registry flagged them. Grandmother Peach has been... attentive.”

That gets everyone’s attention. When the matchmaker witch takes interest, it usually means trouble. Or destiny. Hard to tell the difference sometimes.

Elio’s tone is casual, but I catch the flicker of calculation in his gaze. “Assignments?”

“Torin, you’ll monitor the elemental witch. Sakura Tempest. She’s causing weather disturbances—nothing dangerous yet, but her magic is unstable.” Caius turns to me. “Aslan. The charm witch. Leire Firesinger. There have been unusual readings near her shop. Preliminary assessment and observation only. Do not engage unless necessary.”

Strangeness stirs beneath my skin.

It’s subtle—a shift, a prickle of awareness that I haven’t felt in five years. I keep my expression neutral, give nothing away.

“Understood.”

Caius holds my gaze for a beat longer than necessary. He knows things are off. He’s too good not to notice. But he doesn’t push.

The formal meeting ends. Most of the older alphas filter out—Kief practically sprints for the door, muttering about “too many people, not enough mountain.” Caius lingers for a moment, exchanging quiet words with Torin, before he too disappears into the main room of The Den.

Which leaves four of us.