A distant light flickered and began to descend.

“Holy crap.” The lounge creaked and swayed as she jerked up. “I did it!” They weren’t going to die! “It’s coming down! And okay, that’s not great, but if I can bring it down, I can break it up. Break it into pieces small enough they all burn up when they hit the atmosphere. Jack . . .” His arm was warm even through the sleeve of his jean jacket. “. . . look it’s . . .”

“I think it’s a plane.”

“Shit!”

“It’s okay.” He sounded amused so hopefully she hadn’t done anything irreparable. “It’s landing at the airport.”

“You can tell that from here?”

“Yeah, but I’ll go check on it if you like.”

Charlie reached for him as he stood, but only managed to grab the end of his tail. “We will never speak of this.”

“Are you kidding me?” Jack folded his neck nearly in half, lifted a wing, and grinned down at her over his gleaming curve of shoulder. “I’m never going to let you forget it.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHARLIE SLIPPED OUT FROM UNDER ALLIE’S ARM, froze as Graham shifted on her other side, and slid out of bed as he settled. Groping the floor beside the bed, she found a T-shirt and the pair of pajama pants she’d discarded the night before. Bare feet making no sound against the painted floor, clothes in one hand, she shuffled forward until her fingers touched familiar curtains, then she let herself out the French doors and into the apartment.

With early morning light pouring in through the tall windows on either side of the room, she could see well enough to cross toward the kitchen without either night-sight charms or needing to turn on a lamp. So she should’ve been able to see Jack sitting at the kitchen table, eating something from a mixing bowl that sounded like cold cereal, but with Jack, it was never wise to make assumptions. Should have been able to see him. Hadn’t. Not until she was almost beside him and he blinked sleepily up at her. If he asked, she intended to say she’d been absorbed in plans to save the world. And that she’d meant to trip backward over the arm of the sofa, arms and legs flailing.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” Rolling off the sofa onto her knees, she stood, pulled on the pajama pants and T-shirt and walked into the kitchen.

“It’s just you kind of spazzed out and it looked like it might have hurt.”

“I’m fine,” she repeated, prying the lid off the coffee canister and spraying grounds all over the counter.

“So I can laugh.” When she flipped him off, he snickered and waved his spoon at the mess. “I could clean that up for you.”

“I don’t . . .”

“During my last growth spurt, the one where I got taller than you . . .”

“Shut up.”