Chapter Four

9 p.m.: friday 29 october

New Town, Prague

818 miles and 42(+1) hours until the wedding

Heading back into the city in the back of a taxi with Harry sitting next to her was a disconcerting experience for Kay. He'd lived like a ghost in the haunted wreck of her brain for the last decade. Initially, more of a poltergeist, constantly banging around, sometimes making her lose sleep, other times just prompting a rage where she wished his entire presence could be exorcised. Over the years, he'd faded to one of those spectres caught out of the corner of her eye, walking up the stairs at the same time each night, yet still making her heart leap for a moment before she settled down and could ignore him again.

And now here he was, his body conspicuously solid. As a teenager, he'd been a collection of attractively long limbs, but now that height had filled out into an athletic build, still lean but firm too …

It had been a half an hour wait at the taxi rank. After they'd briefly confirmed they were both scheduled on the same flight to Paris early the next day, she'd kept her attention on her phone, letting her mum know that she wasn't going to be leaving Prague until the morning now. Harry had occupied himself much the same way once he'd put the sweets away.

His quip about comfort eating brought his mother's gift to mind. Had she made him magical food when he was a child? Kay wasn't sure whether that would have counted as being against the rules about influencing a minor's behaviour. It felt like a grey area. If he'd had a tough day at school, a plate of milk and cookies from his mother would have literally changed his mood, and didn't mood dictate behaviour? It was also some dangerous Pavlov's Dog energy.

Not that Kay should care. He hadn't.

She glanced over at him. His head tipped against the window, the lights from the street lamps dancing over his face, causing a shadow in the hollow of his cheek and under his bottom lip, and illuminating his eyes momentarily. Either he was enraptured by the view, daydreaming of escape, or doing what she'd come to expect from him over the last decade – ignoring her.

She took a deep breath and forced her eyes away before she looked at his fingers. God, she'd been so obsessed with his fingers. How long and agile they were, and so controlled too – moving from quick sketches, barely discernible with the naked eye, to tiny, detailed strokes or strong, confident sweeps, with a pencil or pen.

The taxi pulled over and Harry sat up, turning to her as though he was waking. ‘Ah, we're here.' He leaned forward and paid the cab driver, speaking some quick, pleasant-sounding words in Czech, and then proceeding to unfold himself, one long leg at a time, from the back seat onto the street.

Kay followed suit and found him removing her suitcase from the boot.

‘Goddess around us, what is in this?' he grunted, setting it down with a thump on the pavement beside her.

‘The skulls of my enemies,' she retorted. ‘And shoes.'

He started wheeling her case away and she jogged a little to catch up, each impact making her sore feet throb, as though pointing out exactly where her weakness for lovely shoes had got her. ‘You don't have to do that, I'm perfectly capable.'

‘That's OK, I'm the one who knows the way and I can steamroller anyone who gets in our path.'

She snorted, tightening the belt on her coat against the frigid night air.

‘So, what's the ratio?' he asked.

‘Sorry?'

‘I'm just curious as to what ratio of skulls to shoes was necessary for your conference. Or did you add to it during the trip?'

‘Oh, I'm adding to my collection all the time.' She gave him a sharp smile, which she hoped communicated that she was very willing to add his if the opportunity presented itself. Skull or shoes. He could take his pick. His coat might be over the top, but those trainers with the painted rainbow ticks were exceptionally cool.

He gave a strange low laugh and then glanced over his shoulder at her. ‘Why haven't you used a charm on it?' he asked, lightly. ‘Too many skulls could cause you to sprain something.'

She pressed her lips together. There was no way she was going to tell him about her magic being on the fritz and therefore on lockdown too.

‘It would take more energy than it's worth,' she said tightly and, to be fair, it was a solid excuse. An enchantment to alter gravity on something significantly heavy – without it floating off – for more than a few moments, was hardly easy, everyday magic.

Well, it probably was for him . That was the irritating thing. While all witches had a special gift within their magical designation that allowed them easy access, other spells used up their energy, and even with the right words and rituals, it was a skill. A physical skill. They needed to exercise their magic, practise it regularly in order to keep it limber and strong. Even before her magic was having problems, Kay didn't exactly do that, and so everyday magic took marked concentration and could be draining. She was the wheezy, gaspy type of witch, whereas someone like Harry, who didn't even blink about using his magic in a public place like Old Town Square, was probably the equivalent of a triathlon champion.

He paused in front of a door inset between two shops and made a little shape with his mouth as though he was about to say something, but shook his head instead. ‘Would you like—'

‘No,' she cut him off quickly. ‘I don't need you to do it for me.'

He frowned at her. ‘That wasn't actually what I was going to say.'

‘Oh.' She folded her arms over her chest. ‘Go on then.'

‘Would you like to go out to get something to eat once you've dropped your bag off? It would give us a chance to catch up.'

Catch up? A stab of pain flashed behind her eye. He was acting like they were old friends again. The only thing she was really interested in hearing from him was an apology, and he could have said that the moment he saw her, earlier in the day, or in the bar once Dean had gone, or during that silent taxi ride. But no, it was like he wanted to ignore what he'd done. Well, fine. He could ignore it, but she wasn't going to make nice while he did.

‘No. I just want to get some sleep.'

He nodded slowly and drummed his fingers over the handle of her wheelie case before tapping in the code for the lockbox and retrieving the keys for her. ‘It's on the first floor. Number two, on the left.'

She took the keys and ignored the traitorous tumble of disappointment in her chest that he was going out anyway. ‘Half your body weight in pick and mix not satisfy your appetite?'

His mouth lifted at the corner, but he kept his eyes lowered. ‘I guess not.'

‘I'm going to book the Uber to get us to the airport in the morning. But if you get drunk and end up sleeping on a park bench, I'll have to leave without you,' she warned him.

‘Goes without saying. I'll make sure I'm quiet when I come back in.'

She nodded and turned to the door, slotting the first key in the lock. When she turned back to get her case, he was already walking away, his hands burrowed into the pockets of his big ridiculous coat, the tails flapping behind him.

She grabbed the handle of her case and yanked to bump it up the steps, but instead of it weighing the same as a small tractor, it felt like it was empty, and the force she'd put behind it had her sprawling backwards and landing on her butt.

Bloody Harry. He'd gone and put the charm on it anyway. Just like that. A flick of his fingers. He hadn't even needed to mutter any words out loud. Show-off.

She levered herself up and carried it inside. There was one flight of steep stairs in the hallway, an automatic light flickering on. If her coccyx wasn't throbbing at that precise moment, she might have felt a tiny bit grateful for his unsolicited sharing of his superior magic – but it did hurt like a bastard, and he could have warned her.

The second key fit into the door on the left like he'd said, and she opened it up into a dark apartment. Other than the hum of refrigerator, it was blessedly quiet and warm. A faint whiff of Harry's aftershave lingered. The hallway was short, with a little kitchen off to the right and then it opened up into a small lounge with narrow windows and a room off to the side. The street lighting filtered in enough that she could walk through without switching on any lamps until she was in the bedroom.

He'd made the bed before he left in the morning and she stared at it, with its pale blue cover, hating that it was running through her mind about whether he'd slept in pyjamas or just his underwear – or nothing.

She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep, slow breath. She didn't want to keep thinking about Harry – unavoidable as it might seem.

Shrugging her coat off, she booked the Uber and then dialled Ilina's number.

‘Have you made it home yet?' she asked when Ilina answered.

‘Not quite. Another fifteen minutes on this train, then I will be a short walk from my very own bed. Bliss. What about you? You don't sound like you're in an airport?'

‘I'm not. I had to transfer my flight. I'm flying out in the morning now.'

‘So where are you if you are not at the airport?'

‘I bumped into an old acquaintance from Biddicote. He has a place in New Town and offered me a bed there.' Which was kind, regardless of his reasoning. Kay hadn't exactly been pleasant to him – understandably – and yet he was still giving up his bed to her, and taking the sofa bed, which probably wasn't anywhere near as comfortable. ‘Anyway, how did my boss take the news?'

‘Oh, him.' Kay could tell Ilina was rolling her eyes from the dryness of her tone. ‘He said you need to fill out a sick form when you get back to the office.'

‘What a dickhead. I barely left forty-five minutes early.'

‘He is, indeed, a dickhead. But I noticed the subject change, which makes me suspicious. Let's go back to talking about the generous old friend who offered you a bed for the night. Layovers are the perfect hook-up opportunity. Is he hot?'

‘Ilina, I'm exhausted and I just want to go home.'

‘Also noted that you are avoiding the question of his hotness, but fair enough. If Dev Patel himself strode down this train and offered me a one-night stand, I might be inclined to say no.'

Kay laughed. ‘Really? You'd say no to Dev Patel?'

‘Well … maybe I couldn't pass up the opportunity, but it would not be the frenzy of passion we both deserve.' She sighed. ‘What's the place like?'

Kay looked around her again. She would have thought an apartment of Harry's would've had a touch more colour, or artwork on the walls, but it was nice enough. ‘It's small. Neat. Not in a dodgy neighbourhood so far as I can tell.' She sat down on the bed and did a little bounce on it to test the mattress. ‘Bed feels comfy. It'll definitely—' She broke off as she noticed that the bed, which had looked totally normal initially, had rings – metal rings – set at each corner.

‘What? Did you notice a dead rat somewhere?' Ilina asked.

‘I'm going to put you on video calling now, is that OK?'

‘Sure.'

Kay jumped up and flicked on the light switch and then turned the camera on her phone to face the bed. ‘Tell me if I'm wrong, but aren't they for bondage ropes?' She zoomed in and, after a second, Ilina's gleeful cackle echoed out of the speaker of her phone.

‘Yes. They do look like it to me. Oh, angle the camera up.'

Kay obeyed, scanning towards the small window and wardrobe, pausing when she found a big metal plate on the ceiling to the side of the bed, with more rings on it.

‘And a sex swing,' Ilina hooted. Clearly, she didn't care too much about the people who overheard her on the train. ‘Perhaps your friend is thinking of hook-up possibilities, too?'

A deep flush rushed across Kay's body and face. She turned her back on the bed and switched off the camera, putting the phone to her ear again. ‘Not with me, he isn't.'

‘Where is he now?'

‘Out, getting something to eat.'

‘I bet he is.'

‘Ilina, stop it.' Kay half laughed, half groaned. It wasn't like she was kink-averse at all, it was the way it forced … scenarios with Harry involved directly into her brain – her overworked nervous system couldn't handle it.

‘Seriously though, Kay. You trust this man, yes? You feel you are safe there, if he does suggest something and you say no?'

‘Yes,' she answered, before she even really thought about it.

A loud announcement sounded in the background at the other end of the phone. ‘Good. I have to go, liebling , but let me know tomorrow what is happening with you.'

Kay wished her a safe walk home and hung up. She turned to look at the bed again. Her coat was crumpled across it, looking far too much like a person with their arms flung out in welcome.

She wasn't just trying to appease Ilina when she said she was safe with Harry. She did truly believe that or she never would have come back here, but it didn't stop her from feeling all squirmy and uncomfortable now.

Had he entertained someone in here last night? In that bed. Maybe he had a partner who lived who lived in Prague. She'd assumed he was on a business trip, but he hadn't said either way, and she couldn't sleep in that bed now.

She pressed the backs of her cold fingers to her flaming cheeks. In fact, where could she even sit in the apartment? Perhaps it was the exhaustion kicking in, but her mind was busy arranging a slideshow of X-rated hypothetical images in her head. Harry tying a man to the bed, his long fingers deftly tightening ropes … rocking a woman back and forth in the swing, his narrow hips moving … bending a man over the back of the sofa in the living room … lifting a woman up and pressing her against the wall of the shower as water streamed down his face and chest …

Wow. It was like the Pandora's Box of all her repressed teenage hormones had been cracked open. Not that she'd have fantasised those kind of things when she was a teenager – when did her brain develop its own PornHub? Perhaps she needed to ease up on the spicy BookTok reading material.

Grabbing her coat, she went into the living room. There was no way she was even going to consider the sofa bed either. She took one of the brochures from inside her suitcase, putting it on the smallest, least clinch-inviting armchair, before she sat down on it. Then she plumped a cushion, thought better of it, and balled up her coat to rest her head against.

It was no great surprise that sleep didn't come easily. It wasn't exactly comfortable. Even so, Kay had dozed off before she heard the front door opening and snapped upright, swearing, and slapping a hand on the side of her neck as it refused to flex enough to let her straighten her head.

Harry strode into the lounge, and she didn't even question how he had let himself in without a key. He was pink-cheeked and windswept, probably both from drinking and from the cold. An eerie howl rattled at the windows now.

‘What are you doing out here?' He paused halfway across the room, his great coat slipping down his shoulders before he threw it onto the sofa. She half expected it to jingle like it was full of treasure, but it made a soft slap and deflated. ‘Why aren't you in bed?'

His husky voice uttering the word "bed" as he stood there, all elemental vitality and shadowy allure, had the images she'd been plagued with earlier whirling back to life. She stomped those ideas straight out, the same way she would an errant spark from a fire which had landed on the rug.

‘I didn't fancy it much. You can take it. I'll sleep out here.' She massaged the muscles of her neck and tentatively stretched it in the opposite direction.

‘You didn't fancy the big, comfy double bed?' Harry shoved back his hands back into his hair, rubbing it roughly and leaving it sticking up all over the place. ‘Why not?'

‘Because of all the …' She shook her head. Don't blush, Kay, don't you dare blush. ‘Fixtures and fittings tailored to your … specific tastes.'

He did a slow blink and looked around the – admittedly innocuous – living room. ‘I'm really not following. I've only had half a pint and that was hours ago. What are you talking about?'

Wow, he was really going to make her spell it out. Kay groaned and pushed herself up from her chair, the brochure crinkling as it stuck to her bottom. He did a double take at it, and she was forced to peel it away under his surveillance before she crossed to the threshold of the bedroom, flinging an arm out to indicate the entire space. ‘It's pretty obvious what you use this place for.'

‘Sleeping?' He followed her over. He was wearing a maroon jumper over a white shirt, and both smelt of aftershave and his warm skin. ‘Is this a thing you can see with your gift? Because I'm really not getting it.'

She sighed and pointed to the circular hooks at the head and foot of the bed. ‘These. To tie your partner up.' Then she gestured to the plate on the ceiling. ‘And this. For the sex swing. I'm not an idiot, y'know.'

His mouth opened and shut a couple of times. ‘Is that …' He tilted his head. ‘Is that what those are for? I figured they were just industrial-style post-modernist bed knobs or something. And I didn't even notice this .' He moved beneath the metal plate for the swing and gazed up at it with the guileless curiosity she couldn't help remembering. Then, when he darted a look at her out of the corner of his eye and his mouth hitched up at the side, she recognised another one of his expressions. Teasing.

Only she'd always mistaken it for a joke they were sharing, when it was much more likely he'd been laughing at her, rather than with her.

Well, she wasn't some gullible sixteen-year-old anymore and he wasn't going to have fun at her expense.

She huffed and crossed her arms. ‘So they were just here when you bought the flat, were they?'

‘What?' The half-smile dropped and he frowned at her for a moment before going back to examining the plate. He stretched his arm up and looped one digit of his index finger through the hook and tugged on it. His jumper and shirt both rose with the motion, threatening to untuck from the waistband of his trousers. ‘I don't own this apartment. Why would you think that?'

‘You said you had a place.'

‘Yeah, to stay in, not that I live in.' He gave a soft laugh, as though the idea was daft.

Kay bristled. ‘Well, how should I know that?' I don't know you anymore, I don't know if I ever knew you . ‘You said you had a place and then brought me here to it.'

He paused in his scientific exploration of the base plate for the sex swing, lowering his arm back down and putting his hands in his pockets. ‘But you saw me get the key out of the lockbox.'

That was a good point. Not one she'd considered while her imagination rampaged off with him fan-cast in the starring role of a 365 Days remake. The heat in her cheeks flared again. ‘So? Maybe that's just what people do over here. Or maybe you rent it out as an Airbnb when you aren't using it.'

‘Because I'd like to share my red-room with even more strangers?' He raised an eyebrow and his soft lips pressed together as he looked at her, his eyes narrowing slightly as though her furious blushing was giving something away.

A tense silence stretched out and it was only now that his laid-back attitude was receding to reveal a grim sort of resignation that she realised how her complaint might look to him. Like judgement of his sex life.

Shit. He was telling the truth. And she had let her careening emotions bulldoze her common sense.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, rubbing carefully underneath her glasses before settling them firmly back in place and looking him straight in his deep blue eyes. They had a guarded quality to them, but she held his gaze, maybe for the first time since they'd met in Prague, to be sure he believed what she said next.

‘Look, I'm sorry for jumping to the wrong conclusion about this place being yours and then freaking out about the kinky shit. It was nothing to do with any assumptions or judgement about you personally, just the evidence.' She waved her hands at said evidence. ‘I didn't think it through and my only excuse is that I'm exhausted, and I don't want to be in Prague at all , let alone snuggling up to go to sleep in someone else's soft-porn set.'

His gaze flickered across her face for a few more quiet seconds before he gave a little snort and scraped his teeth over his bottom lip, his shoulders lowering. ‘I'd call you a prude, but clearly you know more about the exciting side of bed-sport than I do.'

Her face was practically melting off her at the intensity of her blush now. In a minute, she'd be able to add her own skull to her non-existent collection. She'd claimed not to be an idiot, but the leaps and bounds her imagination had taken had left her looking decidedly idiotic. ‘Who the hell calls sex "bed-sport"?' she asked, like a crabby old woman.

He shrugged. ‘Someone who doesn't recognise BDSM fixtures and fittings when they're right next to his head?'

She rolled her eyes and looked away, determined not to smile at the self-deprecating humour. It was all an act. She had to remember that. She was not going to let herself be charmed by him. This should be awkward. He shouldn't be able to joke and flatter his way out of the estrangement he'd instigated.

‘Look, I understand it was unexpected, he continued. But the reality is, whenever you stay in a hotel or a holiday cottage or a caravan, the last occupants most likely had sex in it. That's why people go on holiday, isn't it? Or where they're having affairs.'

‘Right. But that reality isn't usually slapping me in the face while I'm trying to get some sleep.' Really, Kay? ‘Slapping' you in the face? Great choice of words there.

‘So, as long as you can employ plausible deniability, it's all fine?'

‘Yes. Maybe that's irrational, but—'

‘It doesn't matter if it's irrational – it's making you uncomfortable.' Harry looked down at the covers, his fingers shifting restlessly through his hair. ‘The bed seemed newly made when I arrived yesterday, and only I slept in it last night, but would it help to have fresh bedsheets?'

A tiny cold spot inside her chest thawed at his consideration of her feelings. Then she remembered that she'd been tricked into thinking he cared about her feelings before too. It had just made it hurt all the more when he'd trampled all over them. ‘Yeah,' she said shortly. ‘I can handle that though. It's late.'

She went out to grab her suitcase and coat, and when she returned to the room, she caught him chewing on his bottom lip and frowning at the bed.

Right. He'd be expecting her to use her magic to clean the sheets. It was a lot easier than changing them fully. Or it should be. In fact, he was probably wondering why she hadn't just done that in the first place, instead of freaking out about the very normal circumstance of people having sex in bedrooms. The suspicious boot was on the other foot now.

‘I'll be fine now, thanks.' She looked pointedly at the door.

‘Great.' He nodded hard, like he was trying to convince himself, and opened the wardrobe in the corner of the room, pulling out a small holdall that was at the bottom. ‘I'll just go brush my teeth so I'm out of your hair for the rest of the night.'

She backed up, almost to the wall, giving him a wide berth as he passed her to use the small bathroom that adjoined the bedroom.

She unzipped her suitcase again, riffling slowly through for her pyjamas to give her an excuse for not getting on with magicking the bedsheets clean. To add insult to injury, she was now stuck sleeping in the bedsheets as they were, because if she sought out a fresh set, that would also make it obvious that she wasn't using her magic.

What was her life coming to? Trying her best to hide her magic in public, while simultaneously trying her best to hide the fact she couldn't do magic from other witches.

The buzz of his electric toothbrush ceased and she gathered all her own toiletries together, swapping places with him in the bathroom with a brief ‘goodnight'. He was in a pair of loose pyjama bottoms and a T-shirt and it was only when she closed the door behind her that she realised the bag he'd taken from the wardrobe had already been in the apartment.

She knew he was capable of a lot, but turning it invisible and levitating all afternoon and evening was very unlikely. And unnecessary. Presumably, he'd been booked onto the same flight back to Heathrow as her. Why hadn't he taken it with him earlier at the airport? Maybe he'd been given a tip-off by his extensive magical network about the storm and hot-footed it over to the airport without bothering to pick it up? Being an Ashworth meant that hundreds of witches respected you and/or felt they owed you something in return for the protection of Biddicote. And all he'd had to do was be born into the right family.

She brushed her teeth and removed her glasses, so she could clean her make-up off, after she got changed. As she blinked between swipes of the cotton wool pad across her eyelids, she saw the shimmer starting at her abdomen, the glimmering rope of energy, coming into focus, and turned her back to the mirror, tipping her head up to the ceiling.

Nobody wanted to know how people truly felt about others. Not even her.

Kay had no idea what time it was when the noise woke her up, but she knew it was the darkest hour of the night. No street lights were even on outside.

She levered herself up in bed, disorientated. ‘What? What?'

Not at home. Not at the hotel. Not at her mum's …

The gravelly voice from the other room, swearing, followed by the creak of springs, brought it all back. The tail-end of a dream that had featured Harry and restraints fading away. She didn't want to think about whether the restraints were because she was attaching him to a runaway horse, or to a bed …

More creaking and swearing.

‘Oh God, what now?' she groaned.

‘Kay? Are you awake?'

‘Unfortunately.'

‘I might need a bit of help.'

‘With what?' she asked, even as she was stumbling out of bed and shoving her glasses onto her face. Technically, she didn't have to sleep with her glasses off – they'd been crafted by an alchemic witch, they wouldn't break – but it was more comfortable sleeping without the bits of plastic bending around her head.

‘It's probably best for you to come in here and see.' He sounded oddly strained.

She pushed the folding door back and flicked the light on, blinking hard in the glare. And then again as she tried to figure out what was going on with the sofa bed.

Harry had pushed the coffee table out of the way to make room for it, but it wasn't the whole way out. Instead, it was making a shallow zigzag shape and Harry was balancing on the peak of it, bracing himself over the gap where it folded out from the base.

‘Wh-what?'

‘The sofa bed appears to have malfunctioned. And it's trying to eat me.'

Kay's stomach went cold. Was this her doing? She'd been dreaming about Harry – had her magic done this while she was sleeping ? Had it ever done that before and she just hadn't noticed?

‘Er … could you help me get free?' he carried on, breaking her from her panicked thoughts. He tugged his leg and the sofa bed made the creaking noise again. That explained that.

She moved to the other end of the sofa, where she could see his left leg was actually down in the void. ‘Why don't you do your gravity-defying trick on it?' she asked. ‘The one you put on my bag earlier.'

He frowned. ‘Are you really annoyed because I put that charm on your suitcase? You'd prefer to lug it around and tear a ligament?'

‘I'd have preferred you to listen to me when I said I didn't need your help with it. Not do it regardless so I fall on my butt when I go to move it.'

‘Oh.' He looked down at the carpet. ‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen.'

A little bubble of anger in Kay's chest expanded. Not at him. It was at herself. She'd talked herself into a situation where she had to accept his apology. But it wasn't an apology for that she truly wanted. ‘It's fine,' she managed to say. ‘I don't think magic is the way to go with this either. Not without knowing what's gone wrong.'

He flopped his head back and grimaced. ‘That's what I thought too. Maybe if you could just sit on the bed, your weight will force it down.'

She gave a short, involuntary laugh. ‘Wow. I can't believe I ever thought you were charming.'

‘What did I do now?' His eyes widened. ‘You just said you aren't going to use magic and you do, undeniably, weigh something and that something is extra to what I weigh at the moment—'

‘If you say "ergo" I'll leave you here for the next orgy participants to find.'

‘Fine. You know what I meant, though. You don't have to take offence just for the sake of it.'

So, he was starting to get narky back with her now, was he? As though he didn't deserve everything she was dishing out – carnivorous couches and all.

‘Fine.' She climbed onto the back of the sofa, rather than trying to hoist herself onto the raised edge of the bed, and braced her feet between his trapped leg and the one he was using to try to push the mattress down. ‘Are we sure this is the best idea? How is your foot even stuck? If we force it, we might do damage.'

‘I'll scream if I feel anything severing, believe me, I don't have a high pain threshold.'

‘I remember,' she muttered.

‘Then you should have realised I wouldn't be indulging in … flogging or such.'

‘There are rumours that S and M and having your foot caught in a sofa are not the same kind of pain. Also, for all I knew, you were the dominant one. Dishing it out.'

‘How did we get onto this subject again?' A bead of sweat had appeared at his hairline, and he shifted uncomfortably, the sofa making a groaning noise again.

‘You brought it up.'

He gave a strained laugh. ‘I think I'm trying to process the trauma of Joe's little sister knowing about this stuff.'

All her agitation grew a little bit more, affronted at being regulated in his past to the role of ‘Joe's little sister' and then again at him dropping her brother's name as though they'd really been friends. But she bit back a retort because otherwise they might be stuck there all night, arguing. ‘Right, on three, I'm going to push. One, two—'

She attempted to straighten her legs and push the sofa bed flat. Springs and mechanisms creaked, Harry's leg brushed beneath the back of her knees as something gave way a little and he jiggled it free. She jolted at the contact and pushed harder as though she could push him away and this time something gave way a lot. There was a snap and the sofa collapsed, first the fold-out part, making her land with her bottom in the gap and their legs tangled. And then the back fell away too, so she flopped with it.

Silence filled the apartment.

‘Crap.' Harry breathed out from somewhere underneath her legs. ‘Are you all right, Kay?'

‘Yep. You?'

‘Uh-huh. So, you definitely didn't use magic to do that?'

She paused. She was pretty sure she hadn't, but she had suddenly been filled with a desperation to get away from the physical contact with him. Not that she was going to tell him that. ‘Nope.'

‘I guess you never miss leg day at the gym. That was impressive. Even if it's going to cost me more than my fee to come out here to replace the damn thing.'

‘If you're expecting me to apologise …' she began, pulling her legs free of him and executing a messy parachute roll off the wreckage of the sofa bed.

‘Of course not. You freed me. You're my hero. Thank you.' He sat up and sent her a lopsided grin, pulling his foot in towards him and inspecting the damage. It did look a bit red, but there was no other damage as far as Kay could see around the rubbing of his long, agile fingers. She swallowed and averted her eyes. What was she, some desperate Victorian man getting all excited at a glimpse of ankle?

‘Well, better get that two hours of sleep now.'

‘Yes. Sorry. Night.'

‘Goodnight.'

She walked back to the doorway of the bedroom and made the mistake of glancing over her shoulder at him. He'd jumped up onto his feet now and was attempting to flatten a space in the broken parts of the sofa. He pulled back the covers and revealed that the cushions had been punctured by springs.

It was highly unlikely the sofa bed had broken all by itself. She probably was a little – or totally – responsible, and she couldn't help the way the thought pricked at her conscience.

The words dragged up from the very soles of her feet. ‘You can't sleep there now, can you.' She cleared her throat and crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Come on. You can share the bed.'

He looked up. ‘No. It'll be fine—'

‘Harry. Just get in the damn bed before I change my mind, OK?'

She turned on her heel, climbed into the bed and kept herself as far over on the mattress as she could without falling out, ignoring the way her heart was pounding.

She didn't want this. She didn't. But as annoying a human being and witch as he was, she also couldn't leave him to be turned into Swiss cheese by a piece of furniture her misfit magic had trashed. Especially when he was only sleeping there because he'd given up the bed to her.

The light in the living room went out and she took her glasses off, putting them on the bedside cabinet and squeezing her eyes shut, as she heard him move quietly into the room. The bed dipped and he slid in on the other side.

She bit her lip hard, willing herself not to be so aware of him. When she'd braved the bed earlier, she had been reassured that what he'd told her was true, he'd been the only one to sleep in the sheets since they'd been put on the bed. The faintest hint of his sweetly spicy aftershave lingering on the cotton. But now he was actually in the bed, she could smell his skin beneath the cinnamon scent, along with his toothpaste, and the linen-fresh fabric softener his clothes had been washed in. Then there was the actual length of his body too, settling next to her. His head on the pillow beside hers. His legs stretching down past hers in the bed. And his heat. The bed had turned cold while she was out of it and it made the warmth radiating off him all the more obvious.

‘Thank you,' he said again quietly, and it was too intimate now that they were in bed together. ‘Goodnight, Kay.'

She made a non-committal noise, because there was no way this was going to be a ‘good night'.