Chapter 3.6 Tomas Sees the Light
1446 Words
The bell over the front door jingled. Both women turned as Tomas stepped in from the sidewalk, cold air and city grit curling in around him.
He looked different in daylight.
Still too handsome for her peace of mind: dark hair mussed by wind, stubble on his jaw, a navy coat open over a well-fitted Henley.
Yet now, softer around the edges. Less wolf, more man. Snow dusted his shoulders.
His gaze swept the lobby, pausing on Willa for a fraction too long before shifting to another spot.
Mrs. Kowalski. His eyes narrowed, recalibrating.
“Mr. Thorn!” Mrs. Kowalski sing-songed. “Just the person I wanted to see.”
Of course.
“Morning,” he said, voice warm enough to make Willa’s skin heat under her sweater. “Smells good in here.”
“Cookies,” Mrs. Kowalski declared, thrusting the plate at him. “You take one. And you sign.”
“Sign?” he echoed, already reaching for a cookie.
“Secret Santa,” she said, as if that explained the entire universe. “Miss Vale just joined.” She gestured between them with her pen.
“You two, you are young, you should have fun, not only work all the time.”
Willa wished the floor would swallow her. Tomas’s mouth twitched, amusement sparking in his eyes as he glanced between the landlady and Willa.
“Wouldn’t want to sabotage your vision,” he said. “Hand me the pen.”
He stepped closer to the table, his hand gripping its edge. Close enough that Willa caught the scent of clean sweat and sharp winter air beneath sugar and coffee. Her magic, that treacherous thing, leaned toward it.
She forced herself to focus on the mailboxes.
Mrs. Kowalski, however, was not done meddling. “You two know each other, yes?” she said brightly. “Same stairs, same floor space. This building, it is like big family.”
Willa opened her mouth to say neighbor, keep it simple, keep it light.
“Yes,” Tomas said at the same time, easy and smooth. “We met yesterday.”
He glanced at her as he said it. Just a flick, but enough. The corner of his mouth tipped up.
Her pulse jumped.
“Good,” Mrs. Kowalski said, satisfied, as if she’d personally officiated something. “Friends already. Perfect.”
While she turned to tape another flier to the wall, Tomas bent over the sign-up sheet. Willa watched his hand move, writing his name with deliberate strokes.
He straightened, and their eyes caught again.
“Morning, Willa,” he said.
She wished her name didn’t sound like that in his mouth. “Morning, Tomas.”
His gaze dropped for a second to her hands, lingering just long enough for Willa to catch the look.
She realized, too late, that a faint chalky film still coated her fingertips from the threshold she marked last night. She must have overlooked it while washing up.
Before she could tuck her hands into her pockets, one of the lobby’s overhead lights flickered and went out with a small pop.
Mrs. Kowalski tutted. “Old building,” she said, shaking her head. “Always something.”
Willa’s magic surged toward the disturbance. It would be simple—a subtle energy nudge to repair the filament, a fix no one would question.
Don’t, she ordered herself.
But Tomas was still looking at her hands, eyebrows drawing together in the smallest frown.
She swallowed, heart thudding. “Do you, um, need help with that?” she asked.
Mrs. Kowalski, directing her attention upward. “I know a trick for stubborn fixtures.”
“Ah, you are handy,” the older woman said, delighted. “Maybe you look? I call electrician later, but for now we don’t want people in the dark.”
Perfect.
Willa stepped under the dead bulb, stretched up on her toes, and pressed her fingertips to the base of the fixture. She kept things mundane at first: she tapped gently, then twisted the bulb slightly—the universal language of “have you tried turning it a little?”
Nothing.
Fine.
Willa measured the magic by instinct and muscle memory, keeping it leashed unseen. She waited until Mrs. Kowalski was absorbed in her phone and Tomas focused on licking powdered sugar from his thumb. Once both were distracted, she sent the current in a stealthy filament down her wrist, through her callused fingers, and into the ancient light fixture.
Her power was a quiet thing—always had been, even as a kid. But it crackled and nipped against her nerves every time she used it, sharp with the scent of ozone and wet stone. The metal base warmed in her hand. She felt the copper wire inside shudder with the shock of borrowed life.
She could picture the mechanism as if it were blown up in a schematic: the twisted wire, the corroded contact, the dust and fatigue of too many years. Her magic slid between the layers, not brute-forcing but coaxing, tempting the filament to reconnect, coaxing the energy to bridge the gap and take its proper place.
The bulb lamplighted her face in a faint, ghostly halo. She kept her other hand curled tight in her jacket pocket, her knuckles white as she gripped the fabric, anchoring herself in the mundane. There was always risk. If she let the power spill over, it might arc where it shouldn’t, trip the breaker, or worse. It could set off that singular tingle that marked her as different to anyone remotely sensitive.
Tomas’s presence sharpened her focus, a challenge and a warning in one. She could feel his gaze tick up over her, not just at her hands but her whole silhouette, as if he suspected there was more happening than a simple fix-it job.
She stilled her nerves and gave the fixture one last nudge, a careful press of intent that should, if she was lucky, convince the bulb it was whole again.
The light flared back on with a clean, bright snap.
Mrs. Kowalski clapped. “See? Magic touch.”
Willa forced a laugh, lowering her arm. “Old building, old tricks,” she said. “My grandmother used to do this.”
Truth, in a way. Her grandmother just hadn’t been talking about loose fixtures.
She could feel Tomas’s gaze on her like a physical thing.
When she dared look back at him, she saw Tomas’s expression: neutral to most people, but to her, with magic prickling across her skin, it was anything but. His gaze was intent, pupils slightly wider, and his nostrils flared once, as though catching a scent in the air.
Of course he is, she thought, stomach dropping. Wolves lived and died by scent.
There was no way he’d missed the sharp little spark of witchcraft she’d just sent up into the ceiling.
She lifted one shoulder as if to say, What can you do.
“Handy neighbor,” he said mildly. “Good to know.”
His tone said more.
Her Luna mark burned, not with fear, but with something alarmingly like anticipation.
Mrs. Kowalski, oblivious, shooed them both toward the mailboxes. “Go, go. Get your letters. And think of good gifts! Nothing naughty, this is nice building.”
That last part was delivered with a stern look at Tomas, who choked on a laugh.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said.
Willa opened her box with fingers that weren’t quite steady. Bills. Junk mail. A glossy holiday card from a cousin she’d been avoiding.
At her side, Tomas flipped through his own stack. For a moment, they stood shoulder to shoulder in the humming lobby, warm light steady over their heads, sugar and coffee in the air, and Mrs. Kowalski’s humming drifting from her office.
Normal. Almost.
Except for how her magic curled toward him, and how his wolf-scent enveloped her, lingering between them like a promise.
“So,” he said quietly, not looking at her. “Secret Santa, huh?”
“Apparently,” she said. “I was told it’s mandatory.”
“It is building law,” Mrs. Kowalski called from the office without looking up.
Willa bit back a smile. “You?”
He slid a letter into his back pocket. “Figured I’d see what all the fuss is about.”
Their eyes met again, a quick, charged glance.
Her wards at the threshold of 3C seemed very far away.
“Good luck,” she said, voice lighter than she felt. “Hope you get someone easy to shop for.”
His mouth curved, slow and knowing. “You too.”
- Writer
