She took a breath, nodded, and slid out of the car. Reflexively, she smoothed her tailored pencil skirt and checked to be sure her blouse was still neatly tucked in. There was no need to check her hair and makeup because even if she was a bit rumpled from the nap, the glamour spell should cover any minor dishevelment. Unless they already hate me. In which case I’ll look even worse than I actually do. Nothing she could do about that, however.

Leanne paused at the check-in desk to register as a visitor. They took her ID and gave her a lanyard with a number on it before allowing her to pass beyond the lobby. Security was tighter than she remembered, but the precautions made sense. Nerves made her hands tremble as she pressed the call button; she tried to calm down as she got in the elevator, but the closer she got to this meeting, the worse she felt.

I don’t even want to do this. Why am I?

Maybe the simplest answer was closure. To put a face to the witch who’d fathered her then thrown Junie away. When Leanne thought about it that way, she wanted to hug her mother. She must’ve thought she’d found the one, since she’d chosen to get pregnant. Or knowing Junie, maybe she’d imagined a baby would guarantee that her lover stuck around?

If I was a bargaining chip, that tactic failed spectacularly.

The elevator doors opened, revealing a white-and-beige hallway. Every item on the floor was carefully muted, no bright colors, and even the pictures on the walls showed sepia colors behind the glass. The furniture was all metal or vinyl, easily sterilized—impossible to forget this was a hospital where stuff might get spattered with bodily fluids. A nurse in white shoes hurried past Leanne as she stepped into the hallway.

Her father was in room 514, down past the nurses’ station. The two at the desk were busy comparing notes and didn’t speak as she walked past, her heels clicking on the shiny tiled floor. As hospitals went, this one was nice, likely expensive as well. A man stood in the hallway, shoulders hunched and head bowed. From this distance, she couldn’t tell much about him, other than that he was well-dressed, dark hair threaded with silver. Magic trickled from him, likely intensified by the grief of his—their—father’s imminent death.

The sweep of it felt…familiar in a way that disturbed her. Before, only Junie felt like this to Leanne, but now she had this stranger echoing her energy signature. He heard the click of her heels and straightened, spinning to face her with his features set. No smile, no scowl. Just a blankness she couldn’t interpret.

“You must be Leanne,” he said.

“I am. Under the circumstances, I won’t say it’s nice to meet you.”