“Aren’t you going to have dinner?”
Jane watched the hills. The bay of a wolf was answered, strangely, by the yipping of a coyote. Her skin crawled. A cold, uncanny mist had sunk into Junesfield. Townsfolk out for their evening constitutionals marveled at the clouds swirling around their feet until a uniformed man scuttled them off the road, waving people indoors.
She reached out with her Vision but sensed no spells, curses, or other magic draping the town in that cloying sense of dread. “I’m not really hungry.”
Gallagher sighed. In some misguided attempt to impress her, he’d insisted on demonstrating his skills as a chef by making them a dinner of steak and kidney pie. “Something doesn’t feel right,” she said, moving away from the window.
“How’s that?” He poured the wine, and Jane pick
