I turned on Beast Mode.

“Are you serious right now?” I yelled at him, waving my hand to indicate the nonexistent crosswalk. “Pedestrians have the right of way. Watch where you’re going. You could’ve killed me.”

I braced a fist on my hip and waited for a moment, like I expected an apology.

He didn’t so much as twitch, continuing to stare at me through the shiny glass of his elegant and extremely classy car. His wife or girlfriend would definitely have a Burberry, and not one she’d had to wrestle out of a discount store in Bumfuck Nowhere.

I lifted my eyebrows and leaned in a bit, as though exasperated he wasn’t replying. “I nearly dropped my phone,” I accused, before loudly huffing and shaking my head.

That oughta do it.

Projecting all the self-importance I could muster, I started forward.

“You’re lucky I don’t sue,” I faux-muttered loud enough for him to hear me through his slightly cracked-open window.

His unwavering stare, and complete lack of a reaction, sent a cold trickle down my spine. I picked up the pace, sincerely hoping he wasn’t an unhinged, extremely powerful magical type. He might then hunt me down, drag me to magical soil, and kill me for sport.

“Watch where you’re going next time,” I said over my shoulder. “A nice car won’t keep you out of jail.”

There. A subtle hint that I was non-magical.

Only the non-magical believed in throwing criminals into rent-free cells with free food, exercise breaks, and warm beds, where they did little but wait an arbitrary amount of time to get free again. Magical people were a lot more barbaric. They handed out judgments harshly and quickly, then meted out punishment in whatever manner they deemed fit. Cross a shifter, get your head beat in. You had it coming. Cross Valens, the Demigod of San Francisco, and hope for a quick death.

I shivered.

I sincerely hoped he wasn’t magical. This altercation reaffirmed why I stuck to dual-society zones. Chesters, the worst of the non-magical bunch, could be crazy, but at least they followed stricter laws with less insane punishments. Also, they ignored me instead of picking on me. Win-win.

The stagnant smell of recycled air greeted me as I stepped into the bright store at the far end of the complex. Another non-magical-owned establishment, this one sold homewares and various other domestic items. This was where I should have gone straight away instead of getting swept up by unrealistic fantasies.

The small clock by the door said I needed to get in and get out so I could make it back to work in time. But the call of all that sparkled and shone dragged my feet off course. Immediately, I spied something I desperately needed: a lovely scented candle that would mask some of the mildew smell of the bathroom.

Or over there, by the strange painting of a dog face—a garbage can whose lid rose and fell by sensor. I wouldn’t get sticky when I threw away the kids’ messes in the kitchen.

Or there! A sponge holder that suctioned to the side of the sink so I wouldn’t have to leave the sponge on the side of the dirty basin that Mordecai and Daisy were supposed to have cleaned, said they’d cleaned, and definitely hadn’t.

I drank in the sight of all the stuff I definitely needed or could at least use while calling up in my mind’s eye my embarrassingly low cash balance. A balance so low, I only had wiggle room in the budget for the single item I’d come for.

“Dream small, Alexis,” I muttered, staring at the shelves of kitchen gadgets. “Dream small.”

I was a sighing machine today.

I headed back toward the other side of the store, making my way to the blanket section.

When asked what color he would prefer, Mordecai had needed to be convinced that yes, he needed a decent blanket. Central heating wasn’t a luxury we could afford, and his other blankets were all threadbare. Finally, he’d admitted a cheery color would really suit him. Apparently, the drab color scheme of our house wasn’t to his taste.

My hand hovered over a bright yellow blanket with little tassels on the ends. He wanted cheery, and yellow was certainly cheerful, but I also knew he absolutely detested the color. I loved playing jokes, but this one seemed too harsh, even for me.

I thought about pink, which was soft and happy. He was into those sorts of things, but I wasn’t, so I moved on. Turquoise…might work. It seemed a little kiddish, but who was I to judge?

I checked the price, nodded, and pulled it from the shelf. Good enough.

As I turned toward the checkout, a puffy gray blanket caught my eye. Affixed with a ridiculous price tag of nearly three hundred dollars, it boasted gridded stitching and a classy red ribbon around its folded girth.

The packaging suggested a quality item. A luxury item.

I loved luxury. I would’ve done great as a rich person. It was a role I’d been born for. Maybe someday I would marry a prince and find creative ways to shrug off running his country while I ran up his credit card. I smiled at the possibilities.

“This blanket isn’t dreaming small, idiot,” I said, fighting with myself to keep from reaching out and touching the fabric. It would be soft, I knew it. It would make love to my hand and beg to be bought.

But I didn’t have that kind of money. If I did, we’d have heat, and I wouldn’t need the dang thing in the first place.

But doesn’t Mordecai deserve the best?

“He’ll get the best. He’ll get the turquoise best…”

He has a hard time sleeping, which only makes his condition worse. He loves a crapload of blankets. This would help.

“So would the heat being turned on.”

The sign mentioned that it was a weighted blanket, which I’d never heard of before. Reading up on its other attributes—premium and therapeutic, both things Mordecai needed and deserved—I hefted it, for research’s sake.

“Oooh,” I said, running my face across its finely woven surface. It kissed my cheek, then pushed itself into my arms, begging me to take it home.

Whoa, down, girl.

My months-long dry spell was starting to mess with my head and materialize in inanimate, premium-grade objects. Maybe Mordecai wasn’t the only one who needed therapeutic devices, though mine didn’t usually take the form of a blanket…

I bit my lip, staring at that price. It was just so much money.

How hard would it be to steal this beast…?

Before I could talk myself out of a terrible idea, a strange feeling washed over me. Like eyes digging into the back of my head. Only this time I could tell it wasn’t another customer coveting the luxury item wrapped in my arms.

My hardwired danger sensors roared to life.

No way would that guy have followed me. No way. Guys like him, rich and entitled, had business to do. Important things dragging at their attention. An idiot like me shouldn’t even register past the initial annoyance.

Unless he was that crazy magical type, looking for sport. Maybe he was bored, and the cat had found a canary.

“Bugger,” I said between clenched teeth. Of all the rotten luck.

Moving ever so slowly, I put the thick and wonderful blanket back onto the shelf and slightly turned to look over my shoulder.

Cold washed through my middle. Fear crawled up my spine and sent tingles of apprehension racing down my legs.

Stormy blue eyes under high, arching brows surveyed me from over a shelf of unnecessary doodads. His lush and shapely lips, which softened his rugged face to something distractingly handsome, twitched downward, the budding of a grimace.

Grimaces on crazy people weren’t good. His following me wasn’t good.

None of this was good.

Time to go.

4

Alexis

I turned to stuff the turquoise blanket back onto its shelf, but stopped myself.

“Mother-trucker biscuit fucker,” I said, a saying my mother had always used when I was in the room and she was trying not to swear. By the last word, she’d apparently given up.

Mordecai needed that blanket. He was trying to fight off a serious cough, and given his chronic illness, another cold night could easily propel him toward bronchitis or worse. Since my place of employment was run by stingy non-magical people, they only offered non-magical health insurance. Being that the world largely kept the two worlds separate, even if certain zones did not, magical people like me and Mordecai could only get medical treatment through magical establishments, and only then with magical health insurance, or the money to pay. I had neither. If Mordecai got worse, not even the local emergency room would take him. I’d have no way to help him.