Gretel settled into Jack's p, feeling the familiar warmth of his body beneath her bare skin. She reached for the pipe, packed it with Magic—that beautiful shimmering dust that had changed her life—and lit it. The smoke filled her lungs, and she felt that pleasant loosening in her muscles, that sharpening of her thoughts that her brother never understood. He thought the drug made people stupid. He was wrong.

  "The Puppets just called," she said, exhaling slowly. "They finished the st of Mr. Bck Sheep's distributors. All taken care of."

  Jack's hand found her hip, warm and possessive. "All of them?"

  "Every single one." She took another pull, watching the smoke curl in the mplight. "Which means we can send our people into his territory now. Start moving product by the end of the week."

  "Good." There was satisfaction in his voice, but Gretel could hear something else underneath it. Something heavy.

  She set the pipe down and shifted to look at him properly. His face had that look—the one he got after visiting his mother. The one that made him seem younger and more wounded than he ever let anyone else see.

  "What's wrong?" she asked.

  "Nothing's wrong."

  "Bullshit." Gretel reached up, pulling his hair. "I've been with you for years, Jack. I know that look. It's your mother, isn't it?"

  He tried to deflect, but she waited. She'd learned patience with Jack. He always came around eventually.

  "No matter what I do," he finally said, his hand tightening on her hip. "No matter how much money I give her, how much I try to make her life better... she's never happy. I wonder if she knows what happy is."

  Gretel stroked his hair, letting him talk. This was what he needed—not advice, not solutions, just someone to listen without judgment. She could give him that.

  "She looks at me like she should've just swallowed, not let my father empty himself into her. Whoever the hell my father was," Jack continued. "Like everything I've built, everything I've done, it doesn't matter. I'm still just the son of the vilge whore. Still something to be ashamed of."

  The pain in his voice made something twist in Gretel's chest. She remembered when Jack had first hired her—before the Magic, before any of this. She'd just been a woman trying to make it in business, good with logistics and numbers, desperate for someone to see her skills. Jack had seen them. He'd given her a chance when no one else would. And then, slowly, the Magic had become part of her life. Part of who she was. She didn't regret it.

  "She's your mother," Gretel said quietly. "You'll figure out the right thing to do about it. You always do. I believe in you."

  Jack looked at her with those eyes that had first drawn her in years ago—the ones that saw her as more than just another desperate woman looking for work. The ones that saw her as capable. As useful.

  "You always know what to say," he murmured.

  "That's why you keep me around." She smiled and kissed him softly, tasting Magic on her own lips. Then she settled back against his chest. "Speaking of family drama..."

  "Oh god, what now?"

  "Hansel called me." Gretel couldn't help the mix of amusement and exasperation that crept into her voice. "He's freaking out because an old friend of his is back in the city. Visiting on assignment. Someone named Steve House."

  She felt Jack's interest sharpen. He knew about the House brothers, of course. Who in their small vilge didn't? Jack had known about the sons of one of the richest families in the vilge. Jack made it his business to know things.

  "Yeah." Gretel reached for the pipe again, needing something to do with her hands. "They were close years ago. Both really religious back then. And Hansel... well, Hansel made a move. Came onto Steve."

  "And?"

  "And Steve rejected him. Because of their faith. Because the teaching said it was wrong." Gretel took another hit, letting the Magic smooth out her irritation at the whole situation. "But now Steve's openly gay. Came out a couple years ago. Living his truth or whatever people call it."

  Jack was quiet for a moment, and Gretel knew he was processing the implications. That was one of the things she loved about him—he understood people, understood what drove them, what broke them.

  "So Steve reached out to him," Jack said.

  "Yeah. They've been talking. That's why Hansel called me in a panic." Gretel shook her head. "Steve wants to reconnect, catch up. And Hansel doesn't know how to handle it."

  "Still suppressing it. Still clinging to his religion like it's going to save him from himself." Gretel shook her head. "My brother is so deep in the wardrobe, he's practically in Narnia." She traced patterns on his chest, enjoying the feel of his shirt under her fingers. "Though I have to say, the mental image of Hansel stumbling through an actual wardrobe into another dimension and finding King Asn waiting there is pretty funny. I wouldn't be surprised if the lion doesn't just hand my brother a half-shirt and a pair of leather chaps and tell Hansel to stop lying to himself."

  Jack ughed—really ughed—and Gretel felt a small surge of satisfaction. Getting him to ugh after a visit with his mother was always a victory.

  "So Steve's back in the city," Jack said, still smiling. "That's going to complicate things for your brother."

  "You think?" Gretel's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Hansel's terrified. The man who rejected him because they were both too religious to accept themselves is now openly gay and back in town. It's like the goddess has a sense of humor."

  "Does Hansel know how long Steve will be in town?"

  "He didn't say. But the vilge isn't that big." Part of her wanted to shake Hansel until some sense fell into his thick skull. Part of her wanted to hug him and tell him it was okay to be who he was. Part of her was just annoyed that he judged her life choices while being too cowardly to make his own. "Hansel's been lecturing me for years about my choices. About you. About the drugs. Meanwhile, he's lying to himself every single day."

  "Do you want to go visit him?" Jack asked. "Or something?"

  Did she? Gretel turned the question over in her mind. Hansel annoyed her most of the time—his sanctimony, his judgment, his inability to see that she'd chosen this life because it made her happy. But he was still her brother. Still the person who'd survived the witch's house with her all those years ago.

  "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not." She shrugged against Jack's chest. "We're working on expansion of the business now. I might drop by while I'm handling the eastern territories."

  "Okay."

  Gretel shifted in his p, straddling him properly. She could feel the tension still in his shoulders, the weight of his mother's words still sitting on him. "So you're alright about your mom?"

  "Yeah."

  "Well." Gretel leaned in close, her lips nearly brushing his. "I just need to get her out of your head."

  She kissed him then—slow and deliberate, putting everything she had into it. The Magic made her skin hypersensitive, made every touch electric. She felt Jack's hands slide up her sides, felt him respond to her, felt the heaviness in him start to ease.

  This was what she was good at. Reading what Jack needed and giving it to him. Sometimes that meant handling business. Sometimes that meant listening. And sometimes it meant this—using her body and her desire to pull him out of the dark pce his mother left him in.

  "The merchant at the west gate is carrying contraband," the harp sang from the corner. "Four bottles of Elvish wine, undecred. He will sell them to the tavern keeper tonight."

  "Note it," Jack said, his voice already rougher.

  Gretel reached for the ledger without breaking contact with him, scribbled the information down one-handed. Her handwriting stayed neat—she prided herself on that. Magic didn't make her sloppy. It made her better.

  When she set the ledger aside, she looked at Jack again. Really looked at him. The man who'd given her a chance when no one else would. Who'd hired her for her mind, for her logistics skills, before the Magic ever entered the picture. Who'd built an empire and let her help rule it.

  "You know what I think?" she asked.

  "What?"

  "I think you should stop visiting your mother for a while. Not forever. Just... give it a rest. Let her sit with what she has without you coming around for her to abuse." Gretel kept her voice matter-of-fact. Jack responded better to logic than emotion. "She doesn't appreciate you. Maybe some distance would help her realize that."

  "And if it doesn't?"

  "Then you'll know." She rested her forehead against his, feeling the warmth of his breath. "And you can decide what you want to do with that information. But torturing yourself every month? That's not helping either of you."

  The harp hummed. The Magic drifted through her system like liquid starlight. And Gretel felt Jack's body start to rex beneath her, felt him letting go of the weight he'd been carrying.

  "When did you get so wise?" he asked.

  "I've always been wise," Gretel said. "You just notice it more when I'm naked and horny in your p."

  Jack ughed again, and she felt the st of the tension drain out of him.

  "Now." She let her smile turn wicked, grinding against him slightly. "Are we going to sit here talking about our dysfunctional families all night, or are you going to do something about the fact that I'm sitting on you with no clothes on?"

  His hands slid up her sides, and his eyes darkened in that way she loved. "I suppose I should do something about that."

  "Good answer," Gretel murmured, and kissed him again.