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“There’s my Brian,” he says, into the top of my head.

“You really didn’t have to come all this way,” I say, muffled against his coat.

“Wouldn’t have missed it, whatever this turns out to be.” He sets me down. His eyes find the corner booth, where Hex has already claimed the best seat, boots up. Then they move to Dis, stationed by the counter. He gives them both an easy nod, the sort he’d give anyone new turning up at a barn dance.

“Magdalene said there’d be two of the shadow sort here today,” Big Brian says. “Didn’t reckon on quite such good hair, mind.” A nod at Hex. “Or such a handsome fellow.”

Hex grins in utter delight while shooting a look at Dis that can only be described as victorious. Dis’s eyes narrow, but his lips configure themselves into what, on anyone else, I’d call a pout.

Big Brian looks properly round the shop after that, taking his time over it. The tables are already pushed into one long line down the middle, chairs borrowed from every corner. Felix is pointing at something on the far end and mouthing not there to Adam with real feeling.

“Bit different from the barn,” Big Brian says.

“Bit different from the barn,” I agree, and put the staff kettle on. That’s the plan. That’s always the plan, whatever else is happening. Tea first, apocalypse second. It’s steadying, watching the kettle fill, listening to it click and start its slow climb towards boiling. Something so completely unbothered by the fact that the room around it is about to fill with witches and cultists.

Brian Three arrives next with an actual cool bag full of sandwiches. He’s clearly made them this morning, specifically for this, wax paper pulled tight over three separate plates. He sets up at the far end of the counter without asking anyone’s permission, because that has simply never been how Brian Three operates. I love him instantly and completely for it. He’s decided, quietly and without fuss, exactly which small, useful thing is his to do today. And it’s sandwiches. He’s committed to sandwiches with his whole heart.

“Bless you,” I tell him.

“Someone has to feed everyone,” he says, like it’s obvious. It is. He goes back to arranging the sandwiches with the calm efficiency of a man who has fed considerably larger and stranger gatherings than this one.

Felix’s coven arrive together. Morgana sweeps in first, silver hair pinned up, robes doing their usual sweeping thing even indoors, crystals clinking softly at her wrists with every step. Dave follows close behind, already eating something out of his pocket. Last comes a third woman with sharp eyebrows and an expression that suggests she finds the whole gathering mildly beneath her.

“Blessed be,” Morgana says to the room. Then she takes both my hands in hers, her thumbs pressing gently into my knuckles, and says, quieter, just for me, “You look tired, Little Light.”

“I am extremely tired,” I admit.

“That tracks,” says Dave, through whatever’s currently in his mouth.

“Everyone, tea’s on,” I announce to the room in general. It’s possibly unnecessary, given half of them have already found the biscuits. But I believe in setting a tone early, and the tone I’d like to set is one where nobody panics before at least having a hot drink first.

Dis has stationed himself near the counter with his arms folded, watching the door with the specific, unblinking attention of a man conducting an actual military assessment. Every time someone new arrives, I can see him doing something behind his eyes. Cataloguing. Sorting. Filing each person into some invisible column only he can see.

“Dis,” I say, passing him a cup of tea he won’t drink, because old habits don’t much care whether they’re useful, “please tell me you’re not keeping an actual headcount?”

“Nineteen,” he says, without missing a beat. “It’s not merely a headcount,” Dis adds, entirely serious, still watching the door. “The pendulum witch has steady hands, which suggests discipline. The bearded one eats under pressure, which is either a coping mechanism or a strength. I have not yet determined which. Adam has a notebook. He writes quickly but startles easily. I knew he startled. I did not know he was skilled in note taking. My Felix has already threatened three people and it is not yet noon, but I already knew he would be a tremendous asset.”

“Maybe assessing people isn’t the best idea?” I suggest gently.

“I am simply preparing,” he says regally, “for the possibility that some of these people may need to be positioned somewhere useful later.”

Felix comes closer at exactly the right moment to overhear this. He simply shakes his head in resignation. Then he physically removes Hex’s boots from the opposite seat without breaking stride on his way past, sending them thudding to the floor.

“Feet off,” Felix says, “my furniture.”

“They were resting,” Hex protests.

“They can rest on the floor, like everyone else’s boots do,” Felix says.

“You wound me,” Hex says, hand pressed to his heart.

“I’ll wound you considerably more if you put them back up.” Felix is already moving on to steer Adam away from a crystal grid he’s about to knock a chair leg through. Dis watches him go with an expression of such open, delighted affection that I have to look away.

“Right,” Felix says, clapping his hands together once the shop has stopped producing new arrivals. “Before anyone does anything, can we establish some ground rules? I can already see Dave eyeing my floorboards, and I want it on record that sage scorching is not happening in here.”

“We need to cleanse the space,” Dave says, entirely unbothered by Felix’s tone. “You can’t plan a war in an unclean space.”

“We’re not cleansing anything,” Felix says. “This is a working coffee shop.”