Fuck.
Rhiannon's eyes went huge. "That's Leora," she whispered, as if I hadn't recognized my own executioner by voice alone.
"Yeah, I noticed," I hissed back.
Another knock. More patient this time. Which, from Leora, meant: I know you're in there and I am giving you exactly three seconds before I start using magic.
My brain, already fogged with Rhiannon and heat and very little oxygen, scrambled into triage mode.
"Bedroom," I whispered, grabbing her shoulders and steering her backwards. "Now."
Her mouth dropped open. "What? No, I can't—what if she feels my magic? What if she knows—"
"She already knows too much," I muttered. "Please, for the love of all things edible, go to my room, shut the door, do not make a sound, and whatever happens, do not come out unless the apartment is on fire."
"What if you're on fire?" she shot back.
"I already am, go."
