“I’m sorry,” I repeat curtly, looking up and down my hallway to check for neighbours. They’re all normal, and I try not to be obvious about my magic, even if they wouldn’t believe it. “I’m about to leave the country, so I’m not taking on any work right now. If you’re looking for a tonic or love potion, I could probably make that quickly, but otherwise—”

“I don’t need a love potion,” the woman insists, staring at me with large, dark brown eyes. “I need your help because Kit Macrae is missing.”

My body tenses up and my hand falls, and the door slams into my shoulder.

“My name is Isla,” she continues, her tone even and brisk. “I’m Kit’s friend. He’s gone missing, and I need your help.”

Adrenaline has shot through my body, washing out my veins and leaving a cold, throbbing anxiety that pulses in time with my migraine.

The weight of the heavy oak door is lifted from my side as Fadwa yanks it open and steps forward into the hall. Her upside down watch clasp catches at my jumper, but I barely notice as the thread snags and comes loose.

“You need to leave,” Fadwa hisses. She towers over Isla, but Isla doesn’t seem fazed.

“Just hear me out,” Isla answers, looking away from me to address Fadwa, her round face set in grim determination. “I need a magician, and Thomas is my best bet. Kit would want me to get him.”

“Absolutely not,” I say, shaking my head. Jesus, I should have known. The visions. The dreams where Kit keeps showing up. Of course this was coming. The nightmares as good as told me. “No. I have no interest in helping you, and especially not Kit Macrae.” My voice breaks slightly. “I haven’t seen him in four years and that’s perfectly fine by me. Like I said, there’s someone down the street who can help you.”

“I don’t want just some magician!” Isla insists, her voice echoing off the walls of my hallway, and I wince. “Here, let me come in and I’ll explain it all, alright?”

“You’re not coming in here,” Fadwa says, folding her arms. “We’ve no idea who you are.”

“I’ve telt you, I’m Kit’s friend—”

“Kit Macrae is a pure psycho, so that doesn’t exactly help your case—”

“Look, I don’t know who you are, but my business is with Thomas, so could you bag out?”

“Thomas isn’t letting you into his home—”

“Thomas is right here,” I say weakly, closing my eyes. My migraine is pounding and I feel like I’m about to pass out, and Fadwa and Isla argue like they’re the same person. “Just come on in and stop shouting.”