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The Elder Council could lose sleep too. That was fair.

SEVEN

MIRELLE

Valene’s girls’ nights followed a predictable arc: wine, then cheese, then honesty in the gap when you weren’t prepared for it.

Mirelle had a plan. She’d arrived with a decent red, the boardwalk story polished to a high shine, and the intention of being charming for as long as it took, then going home before anyone asked her anything she didn’t want to answer. She had timed the zoo license line. She had positioned the seventeen-creature reveal for maximum effect. She was ready. She was going to be funny about this if it was the last thing she did.

Althea was there with an expensive bottle and a track record. She was going to be helpful about it.

“I’m not going to pretend I don’t have context.” Althea dropped into the armchair by the fireplace. “I have context, and I’m going to use it.”

Fiora didn’t glance up from the cheese board. “She does this. Makes everything about her fire magic.”

“I’m going to make it about the magic law. That’s different.”

Fiora’s expression communicated that she found this distinction academic.

Valene poured wine. Bexley arrived with a notebook Mirelle recognized as an escalation from previous notebooks: more tabs, a visible legend, and a pen already labeled Gerri (obviously silver, and not worth questioning). “How many pens?”

“Eleven, plus silver for Gerri. Obviously.” Bexley uncapped the relevant one.

Garnet slipped through the back carrying a pot that smelled of cardamom and took the chair beside Mirelle. The café after hours was different from the café by day: chairs pushed back, the copper counter cleared, the chalkboard menu offering wine, cheese, truth, and whatever Garnet had brought. The zoo spread through the space the way it did when Mirelle was calm: the Margot cohort on the back windowsill, Rowan on the espresso machine, Gerald by the door with his tail wrapped around his feet. Mirelle took them in — her feelings, externalized, living in a café on a Friday night.

I have made worse decisions. I can’t think of any right now, but I’m sure they exist.

She told them about the boardwalk incident, and she told it well. Seventeen creatures, the zoo license line, Gerald’s naming with full credit to Pike, and the elbow extraction courtesy of Althea. She got every laugh she was going for.

Fiora asked, “And Tor?”

Mirelle stopped mid-reach for her wine. “What about Tor?”

“He showed up on the boardwalk.” Fiora eyed her as if she’d spotted an opening and intended to live there. “You mentioned the creatures dispersing and then Althea arriving. You skipped over Tor.”

“I described what happened.”

“You said, ‘the situation was managed.’ That’s not what I’m asking.”

“He did his whole thing. Efficient. Told me not to go back alone.”

“Very efficient.” Fiora settled back. She had all night. “And his arm? That looked like a scarf.”

“He got injured. I had a scarf.”

“You gave him your scarf.”

“It was a medical situation.”

Althea found the ceiling fascinating. Garnet studied the cheese board, and Valene seemed busy with the wine. “Mmm,” Fiora hummed, and let it go, because this was also Fiora: she found the door and then left it open rather than going through it herself. Garnet put down her wine. “How are you really doing? Not the magic. You.”

The café went quiet.

At this exact moment, the raccoon appeared near the wine rack. She had decided the bottom shelf needed professional attention. Valene’s wine was organized by producer and occasion; Rowan had different priorities and conducted a thorough review. Valene stood up. “That,” she announced, pointing, “is the third time this week.”

“Third time she’s investigated the wine rack?”

“Third time a creature has appeared uninvited in my café this week. I am not counting the windowsill cohort, Gerald, or the espresso machine situation. I mean unscheduled appearances in new locations.” She narrowed her eyes at Rowan. “We had an agreement.”