Everywhere I went, I brought disaster.
Jaxson had called in the Order to secure the tower, and they’d transported
the sleeping mage, his lover, and his staff back to Magic Side. Hopefully, the
archmages could find a cure for the curse.
I couldn’t bear much more guilt. Amal and the Italians had raised the
number of sleepers to eleven. How many more would there be before this
was over?
With a weary sigh, I shoved through the door.
“Savy? Is that you?” Aunt Laurel called from the kitchen.
While it was almost five in the morning in Italy, it was only ten p.m. in
Chicago, and my family was apparently still kicking it.
I wandered into the kitchen like a zombie.
Laurel and Casey sat at their usual spots around the kitchen table, having
dessert. She smiled and motioned to the freezer with her spoon. “You’re just
in time for ice cream.”
It was like I’d strolled into a bizarre alternate reality, where everything
was sane and homey.
Moving in a daze, I grabbed a bowl of country-style vanilla, topped it
with a pile of Fruity Pebbles, and plopped down on a stool.
“You’re so much like your father,” Laurel said, eyeing my ice cream.
Casey stood up halfway, eyes wide. “Gods, Savy, what are you wearing?”
Oh, right. That.
“Uh.” I looked down with no idea how to explain my current appearance.
“An Italian man’s clothes. I think they’re really expensive.”
My clothes had been incinerated by magic flames and shredded by a
combination of demon claws, flying shrapnel, and plummeting into a bush.
There hadn’t been much left. And while the mage had a palatial closet,
there’d been nothing for a woman. I’d grabbed a pair of slightly too-tight in-
the-hips wool trousers and a not-busty-enough shirt that was currently ready
to pop at the seams.