Isla

  So far, Finn’s “business” had been anything but.

  First, pastries from a café that smelled so good it nearly made me forget how annoyed I was. Then the bookstore, where he spent way too much time wandering between shelves while I did my best to avoid the wary glances from other patrons.

  And now, the grocery store.

  “Is this your idea of clandestine activity?” I asked as he grabbed a carton of eggs. “Because I have to say, it’s lacking a certain… intrigue.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “I never said it was clandestine.”

  “No, you just made it sound important,” I snapped, following him down the aisle.

  “It is,” he said simply, tossing a loaf of bread into the basket. “I need to eat.”

  The snakes shifted beneath my scarf, their irritation buzzing against the edge of my thoughts. Poppy pressed closer, her warmth steady but heavy, while Viper hissed faintly near my ear.

  “This is ridiculous,” I muttered under my breath, dragging a hand through my hair.

  Finn didn’t respond, too busy examining a display of fruit like his life depended on finding the perfect apple.

  By the time we left the store, my patience was hanging by a thread. He’d made a whole show of bagging his groceries, thanking the cashier, and holding the door open for me like we were on some kind of casual outing instead of whatever this was supposed to be.

  “So, where to next?” I asked as we stepped onto the sidewalk, my tone more curiosity than I intended.

  Finn glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “Not far.”

  I followed him in silence, the weight of the grocery bags pulling at my mood as much as his nonchalant attitude. The snakes were restless again, their unease brushing against my thoughts as we turned onto a quieter street.

  The buildings here were older, their facades a mix of brick and stone that reminded me of my own apartment. Familiar but different. Finn stopped in front of a three-story building with ivy creeping up the sides, fishing a key out of his pocket.

  I frowned, my irritation giving way to confusion. “What are we doing here?”

  He didn’t answer, unlocking the door and stepping inside.

  I hesitated, the snakes shifting sharply beneath my scarf. Poppy nudged my jaw, her warmth grounding, while Noodle’s curiosity buzzed at the back of my mind.

  “Well?” Finn called over his shoulder, his voice carrying down the dimly lit hallway.

  With a sigh, I followed him inside, my eyes narrowing as we climbed the narrow staircase. The snakes were bristling now, their unease rippling through me with every step.

  When we stopped at the second floor, Finn unlocked another door and pushed it open, gesturing for me to step inside.

  I crossed my arms, my eyes narrowing further. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Welcome to my place,” he said simply, stepping aside to let me in.

  My stomach dropped.

  “Your place?” I repeated, my voice sharper than I intended.

  “Yup,” he said, walking past me and setting the grocery bags on the counter.

  I followed him into his apartment, my curiosity reluctantly overriding my annoyance. It wasn’t huge, but it was warm—worn leather furniture, a threadbare rug, shelves overflowing with books and objects I couldn’t quite identify.

  Finn was already unpacking the groceries, his movements unhurried but efficient. I leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching as he put away eggs, bread, and a whole assortment of other things I hadn’t bothered to pay attention to earlier.

  “You didn’t just drag me here to help you put away groceries, did you?” I asked, arching an eyebrow.

  He shot me a quick grin over his shoulder. “Nope. That’s just step one.”

  I scowled. “And step two?”

  Finn didn’t answer right away. Instead, he opened one of the cabinets, pulling out a small glass jar filled with something pale and shimmering, like powdered moonlight.

  “What’s that?” I asked before I could stop myself.

  He held it up to the light, his expression briefly thoughtful. “One of the ingredients for the spell.”

  “Spell?” I echoed, straightening slightly.

  “Yup.” He set the jar down carefully, then began pulling out more items from the cabinets and drawers. A small mortar and pestle, a bundle of dried herbs, and a vial of what looked like liquid gold.

  The snakes stirred beneath my scarf, their collective curiosity brushing lightly against the edges of my thoughts. Even Poppy nudged closer, her usual calm giving way to a faint hum of interest.

  I unwound the scarf and set it on the stool beside me. Almost immediately, the snakes stretched outward, fanning themselves in a wide arc like they’d been waiting for the chance to move freely.

  Finn froze mid-motion, his gaze locking onto me—or rather, onto the snakes. His dark eyes widened slightly before narrowing in thought, lingering on the strange, shifting halo of movement around me.

  I must’ve looked like every exaggerated depiction of Medusa rolled into one: twenty-some snakes outstretched, curling and flicking their tongues as if testing the air.

  “So, you’re just going to… make a spell?” I asked, trying to keep my tone casual, steering the attention back to him.

  Finn’s gaze flicked up to meet mine, faint amusement glinting in his expression. “That’s the idea.”

  “Right here? In your kitchen?”

  “Where else?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, gesturing vaguely. “Don’t you need a cauldron? A dark, creepy room with candles and chanting?”

  Finn laughed, the sound low and warm. “The dark, creepy room is in my house in Istanbul. Sorry, this must be disappointing for you.”

  I couldn’t help the small smile that passed over me. “I don’t know what this is,” I muttered, watching as he measured out the powdered moonlight into the mortar.

  He ground it with the pestle, the soft, silvery substance catching the light as he worked. The snakes shifted again, their interest humming against my thoughts. Even I couldn’t tear my eyes away, my earlier irritation momentarily forgotten.

  “What’s it for?” I asked, my voice quieter now.

  Finn glanced at me again, his expression briefly unreadable. “Protection.”

  “For who?”

  His gaze lingered on mine for a moment before he turned back to the mortar. “You.”

  The word hung in the air between us, heavier than it should’ve been.

  I crossed my arms tighter, leaning against the counter as I tried to mask the sudden tightness in my chest. “I don’t need protection.”

  “Everyone needs protection,” he said lightly, adding the dried herbs to the mixture. “Even you.”

  I bristled, the snakes stirring uneasily beneath my scarf. “I’ve been fine on my own for centuries.”

  “And you’ve grown how many new snakes since last night?” he countered, his tone gentle but unyielding.

  My jaw tightened, heat rising in my cheeks as I looked away.

  Finn didn’t press the point. Instead, he poured a few drops of the golden liquid into the mixture, the soft shimmer spreading through the mortar like sunlight on water.

  “How does it work?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me again.

  He smiled faintly, not looking up from his work. “Magic, obviously.”

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for the insight.”

  He laughed again, the sound softer this time. “It’s a ward. Subtle but strong. Should make it harder for… unwanted attention to find you.”

  I frowned, watching as he transferred the mixture into a small vial. “Why would you do that?”

  He capped the vial, turning to face me fully. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  The simplicity of his answer made my chest tighten again, the snakes buzzing faintly against my thoughts.

  I didn’t have a response for that, so I directed the conversation back to the magic. “But, how does it work? Like, how does mixing these things together become a magic spell? Do we use the mixture or just carry it around with us?”

  Finn leaned back against the counter, twisting the vial slowly between his fingers. “It depends on the kind of spell. Some are meant to be burned. Some are consumed. Others you carry, like this one.” He offered it to me. “But it’s not the ingredients by themselves that make it magic. It’s the intent. The alignment.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Alignment?”

  He nodded. “Every natural element—plants, minerals, metals, even light—has a resonance. A kind of frequency. Druids learn how to pair those frequencies with emotional intention and celestial timing.”

  I blinked. “So… you’re like a magic sound mixer?”

  Finn grinned. “Exactly. Think of it like weaving a song. Each ingredient is a note, and the intent behind the spell is the melody. But it only becomes magic when the whole thing harmonizes. That’s what I do—I tune it.”

  The vial looked ordinary in his hand, but I could feel something faint humming against my senses now that I was paying attention. Not overpowering. Not flashy. But quiet and steady. Kind of like Finn.

  He tapped the glass lightly. “This one is keyed to your energy. Your specific presence. Which means it only activates when you carry it. And only if you allow it.”

  I frowned. “You’re saying it won’t work unless I want it to?”

  “It’ll still do something,” he admitted. “But intention is half the spell. If you reject it, the resonance falters. It can unravel.”

  The snakes were restless now, their movement slower, curious. They were listening too.

  I looked down at the vial, then back at him. “So… if you’re the one making the melody, what’s my role in the song?”

  His eyes softened. “You’re the reason for it.”

  The weight of that made my chest ache.

  “But you could make these for anyone,” I said. “You could bottle up protection and hand it out to the world.”

  Finn tilted his head. “Not really. The spell’s as much about who it’s for as what it’s for. If I didn’t know you—your rhythm, your energy—it wouldn’t hold. At least not like this.”

  That was… a lot.

  He held the vial out again. “You don’t have to take it. But if you do, it’ll hum for you. When you’re in danger. When you’re being watched. It’ll let you know.”

  I hesitated. “Is that why you made it? Because you think I’m being watched?”

  Finn’s voice dropped to something quiet and certain. “I know you are.”

  Unease prickled at my senses at his words, and I had to fight the urge to look behind me as if someone was standing there.

  Sensing my unease, Finn held up the vial again, his expression briefly thoughtful again. “You know, I could’ve used a cauldron,” he said, his tone light.

  I snorted. “What stopped you?”

  “Too cliché,” he said with a grin.

  Despite myself, I laughed.

  It was soft, almost involuntary, but it was there.

  And, for a moment, the tension between us felt just a little bit lighter.

  Finn set the vial down carefully and reached for another small jar on the counter. His movements were fluid, unhurried, like he could do this in his sleep. The snakes shifted slightly, their curiosity mirroring my own as he added a pinch of something golden to a new mortar.

  “What else are you making?” I asked, tilting my head.

  “Just a few essentials,” he said, glancing up at me briefly.

  “For what?”

  He hesitated for the briefest moment before answering. “Preparation. You never know what kind of day you’ll have.”

  I leaned back against the counter, crossing my arms as I watched him work. The rhythm of it was strangely calming—the way he measured, ground, and mixed each ingredient with precise care.

  “You’re good at this,” I said before I could stop myself.

  Finn raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking slightly. “Was that a compliment?”

  “Don’t get used to it,” I muttered, but the corner of my mouth twitched despite myself.

  The snakes shifted again, their collective curiosity brushing against my thoughts. Noodle, of course, was the first to venture forward, slithering across the small kitchen island with a flick of her tongue.

  “Looks like someone’s a fan,” Finn said, his tone amused as he paused mid-motion to watch her.

  “She’s nosy,” I said, though there was no bite in my voice.

  Noodle paused near his hand, her small head tilting as if she were inspecting his work. Her tongue flicked again, brushing against his knuckles. Finn froze, glancing at me briefly before relaxing. He returned to grinding the mixture in the mortar.

  Noodle stretched closer, her head hovering dangerously near the edge of the bowl as if she wanted to get a better look.

  “Hey,” I said, leaning forward to gently nudge her back. “Don’t—”

  “She’s fine,” Finn said, cutting me off with a faint smile. “Let her watch.”

  I hesitated, the snakes buzzing faintly with a mix of approval and annoyance as I sat back again.

  “She’s going to fall in,” I muttered, but Noodle stayed perched precariously close, her tongue flicking in Finn’s direction as he added another ingredient.

  The smell of the mixture shifted—something sharp and earthy mixing with the faint sweetness of the earlier potion.

  “What’s that one for?” I asked, nodding toward the bowl.

  “This?” Finn said, holding up the pestle as he worked. “A little reinforcement for the ward. Think of it like adding layers to a shield.”

  “Do you always carry shields around with you?”

  “Only when I’m with you,” he said without missing a beat.

  I scowled, but the warmth in my chest betrayed me. “Charming.”

  Finn chuckled, his gaze flicking to me briefly before returning to his work. “I try.”

  Noodle flicked her tongue again, her curiosity unabated as Finn poured the mixture into another small vial. She watched him cap it, tilting her head as if she was trying to figure out what it all meant.

  “She likes you,” I said grudgingly, crossing my arms again.

  “She has good taste,” Finn said lightly, flashing me a grin.

  I rolled my eyes, but the snakes shifted again, their earlier restlessness giving way to something calmer. Even Viper, usually the first to bristle, seemed less tense.

  Finn set the second vial aside and reached for a small pouch on the counter. He poured a handful of what looked like tiny black stones into the mortar, grinding them into a fine powder.

  “This one’s for us,” he said, his tone more serious now.

  “Us?” I echoed, narrowing my eyes.

  “A tracking charm,” he explained, not looking up. “In case we get separated.”

  The words hung in the air, heavier than I expected.

  Finn glanced at me again, his dark eyes lingering on mine for a moment before returning to the mixture.

  Noodle stretched forward again, her tongue flicking against his hand one last time before curling back against me.

  Finn made a few healing spells and tonics. He capped the final vial, setting it carefully beside the others. “There,” he said, straightening. “Ready for whatever the day throws at us.”

  “Finally,” I muttered, though my tone lacked the bite I’d intended.

  Finn grabbed a canvas bag from a hook near the door, casually tossing it onto the counter. I glanced at it as he began packing the vials and spell jars into it.

  The snakes shifted slightly, their curiosity brushing against my thoughts. Even I couldn’t help but notice the bag’s design. On the side, a stylized Medusa head stared out, bold and unapologetic, with the words “The Feminine Gaze” written in sharp, elegant script beneath it.

  I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms as Finn handed me the bag with a faint smile. Damn. I love it. How does he know?

  “You can keep it,” he said, his voice light but warm.

  I took the bag hesitantly, my fingers brushing against the canvas. “How much Medusa merch do you own, exactly?”

  Finn’s smile widened, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “Stick around and find out.”

  I rolled my eyes, but the corner of my mouth twitched in spite of myself. “I’m starting to think you’ve got a whole secret stash.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he quipped, pulling a smaller pouch from a drawer and carefully packing the remaining spells into it.

  I watched as he tucked the pouch into the inner pocket of his jacket, his movements smooth and practiced. The snakes shifted again, their interest humming faintly against my thoughts.

  “And those?” I asked, nodding toward his jacket.

  “For me,” he said simply, patting the pocket with a faint grin. “I don’t need a fancy bag to carry mine.”

  “Of course not,” I muttered, adjusting the strap of the canvas bag on my shoulder.

  Finn stepped back, giving me a once-over with a faint, satisfied smile. “Ready?”

  The snakes buzzed faintly, their collective energy rippling against my thoughts. I adjusted the bag again, the weight of it unfamiliar but strangely grounding.

  “Let’s get this over with,” I said, my tone sharper than I intended. I wrapped my scarf again, hiding the snakes.

  Finn chuckled, holding the door open for me. “Lead the way, Medusa.”

  I shot him a glare as I stepped through, but the snakes stayed quiet, their curiosity mingling with my own as we headed out into the city.

  I spoke quietly, “If you’re gonna call me Medusa, then I get to know your real name, because I know it’s not Finn.”

  Finn glanced at me, his brow lifting slightly as the door shut behind us. The easy grin he’d been wearing faltered, replaced by something more guarded.

  “Who says it’s not Finn?” he asked, his tone light, but there was an edge beneath it.

  I arched an eyebrow. “You think I haven’t noticed? Your name’s too… normal. Too convenient. You’re of magic. You’ve probably had a dozen names, at least.”

  He chuckled softly, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as we started down the street. The faint sound of cars passing and the rhythmic steps of pedestrians softened the space between us. “You’re not wrong.”

  “About which part?”

  “All of it,” he admitted, his voice lower now, more thoughtful.

  I glanced at him sideways, the snakes stirring faintly as I waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t.

  “So?” I pressed, my curiosity buzzing louder than the snakes. “What’s your real name?”

  Finn’s lips twitched, like he was holding back a smile. “Finn works just fine.”

  “That’s not what I asked,” I said, my tone sharpening.

  His gaze flicked to mine, steady and unflinching. For a moment, I thought he might deflect again, but then he sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

  “Theron,” he said quietly, the name rolling off his tongue with a weight that made the air between us feel heavier.

  “Theron,” I repeated, tasting the unfamiliar syllables. The snakes buzzed faintly, their unease rippling against my thoughts like static.

  He nodded, his expression unreadable. “It’s old. Doesn’t exactly fit in with the modern world, but it’s mine.”

  “And Finn?”

  He shrugged. “Finn’s easier. People like Finn.”

  “Do they?” I asked, tilting my head. “Because I’m still undecided.”

  Finn—Theron—grinned, the sharpness of his earlier expression softening. “You like Finn just fine.”

  I scowled, adjusting the strap of the canvas bag on my shoulder. “Don’t get cocky.”

  “Too late,” he said with a laugh, his pace matching mine as we turned the corner.

  The street narrowed slightly, the buildings closer now, their brick facades casting long shadows in the late afternoon light. A bakery’s warm scent wafted through the air, mingling with the faint hum of a street musician playing guitar a block down.

  The snakes shifted again, their movements calmer now, like they were mulling over his name as much as I was.

  Theron. It means one who hunts in Greek.

  I glanced at him again, the weight of the name lingering in the back of my mind. “So, Theron, what are you hunting exactly?”

  He smirked, the faintest flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “Stick around and find out.”

  I rolled my eyes, but the corner of my mouth twitched despite myself. “You’re impossible.”

  “And you’re curious,” he countered, his voice warm but teasing.

  I felt the back of his hand brush against the back of mine, the contact so light it could’ve been nothing. But I knew it wasn’t. It was deliberate.

  My heart jolted, and the snakes buzzed softly. Was that the first time we touched? I think it was, and… and… nope. No. Not going there.

  I could feel the snakes fighting the scarf, trying to get closer to him. I held the scarf in place, trying to focus on something else as we walked. The faint strum of the guitar ahead and the chatter of people around us barely registered. I focused on the sound of the guitar again, on anything else. But the weight of his hand next to mine was all I could feel. And suddenly, the city felt too small.