Page 41 of Magical Midlife Conclave

Knowledge Momar clearly already had. It wasn’t a lost art to him. He had tried to build a mage-made infrastructure to tap into the power line because he was missing a key tool: magic like hers.

How had Tristan possibly known?

Momar had probably chosen Kingsley’s pack because of the power running right next to it. Maybe he didn’t have a grudge against shifters at all. Maybe that was a story to hide his true purpose—experimentation. He was working on harnessing forgotten magic.

Shivers coated her as she followed the flow of energy. She could actually see currents now, still dancing and swaying in the air like a symphony. They flowed as though gently pulled by a magnet, sucked toward the vibrating string in the magical merge.

A spindly hand clamped down on her shoulder. She slowed, and Edgar moved in close, his mouth nearing her ear.

“No, no, Shadow,” he whispered. It sounded like his fangs had elongated. That meant danger. “Not that way. That way is dangerous.”

He took the lead again, angling around a building and into an alleyway.

They stepped out of the main currents and followed another minimal flow, the difference between kayaking down a river and walking through a creek. Both paths led to the same place, though. One had a lot of attention, eyes watching. This was the back door. The blind side. The direction no one was currently looking.

Edgar was a genius. Or maybe he’d been something more in a past life, before being a vampire. Maybe because he’d been turned—who knew? She wondered if he even remembered.

She followed this new current now, once again taking the lead. At the mouth of the alleyway she slowed, paused, and braced at the corner of the building. The creek didn’t rise, but she felt it now—the thing the shifters and gargoyles felt. The pulse of a body. A presence. Something waited right there.

Metal tinkled. She squinted and listened hard, wishing she had the enhanced hearing of a shifter. A doorknob jiggled. More metal—the lock. The person was picking the lock.

She pulled back, her gaze darting around the street, picking up the businesses. Placing her whereabouts. Searching her memory.

I’ll be damned. Got you!

A series of emotions raced through the connection—blasts, pulses, like some sort of Morse code. Edgar’s hand gripped her shoulder again. He gently pulled, indicating she should retreat. He knew what the communication meant.

She nodded and did so, backing up quietly. She closed her eyes, feeling his hand, feeling his urgent energy, following his lead. It was always like this in battles. She’d become attuned to it before she’d ever known what she could really do.

At the back of the building, he let go and turned. She snapped her eyes open, turned with him, and followed.

He slowly loped in that strange way he did, meaning he wanted to get somewhere in kind of a hurry but not a serious hurry. He had this uncanny sense of timing, and right now, it didn’t at all match the energy around them. The opposite, in fact. This trait was something else entirely, probably developed from many a long year hiding from vampire-hunting parties.

He turned right, then left, and finally headed to the top of the street. The intruder was in the middle, nearly halfway down.

“Natasha!”

She froze. Tristan’s voice boomed down the street from the other end.

“This way, Shadow,” Edgar urged. “I’ll get you to your prince.”

“Natasha! I know you’re here somewhere. I saw you come this way. C’mon, baby, it didn’t mean anything. She’s a shifter. She just wanted to know what flying was like. It was over in a minute. Come out, baby, please!”

“And the award for best actor goes to…” Edgar said in a whisper, before nudging Nessa forward. “Get the intruder to leave. That’s the goal.”

“Natasha!” Tristan yelled, staggering up the street like he was drunk. “Natasha, baby, answer me. I’m going to find you. We need to talk about this. Please!”

She grinned at his antics, and if this were real, she’d have an absolute field day making him suffer.

She strutted out into the street, wobbling a little. “Leave me alone. I’m done with…whatever this is.”

“Babe, come on.” He staggered up the street, interrupted by a car driving the other way. He put up his hands, motioning them on, heading for the sidewalk on the other side of the street. Was that by design?

She waited on the side of the intruder, thinking of ways this could look natural. She was a mage, and he was the gargoyle beta—instead of them welcoming alpha shifter guests, they just happened to be on a deserted, out-of-the-way street at the same time as an invisible enemy mage. If they didn’t sell this, the enemy mage or their superiors would easily make the connection.

“Just…go,” she yelled, crossing the street and walking away.

“Wait, please just wait.” Tristan nearly fell off the curb as he staggered back into the street. “C’mon, talk to me. Please, just let me explain. That’s all I want— Where are you even going?” He stopped, stock-still. His voice dropped an octave, turning dangerous. “Are you going to his house?”