Daisy had seen some weird crap in her life—corrupt pack politics, shifter drama, her extremely hot three-thousand-year-old frost-wielding baby daddy—but watching Eleanor and Agnes argue over the proper way to channel mystical energy through an ancient artifact definitely made the top five.
"The Moon's Tear responds to emotional resonance, not mathematical precision," Agnes snapped, her gnarled fingers gesturing impatiently as she paced the Anderson facility's central chamber. Her wispy white hair stood out in all directions like she'd recently been electrocuted, which, given the amount of mystical energy zapping around the room, wasn't entirely impossible.
Eleanor, the epitome of composed magical professionalism in her tailored clothes and immaculate posture, shot the older woman a look
