Book Sixteen: The Undying
The sound of giggling witches filled my back yard. Giggling. And not young witches, either. The Lawrence twins twittered beside Talee Happern while Mary Gripper gossiped over her baby son, Alex, and how he was keeping her awake most nights.
I did my best to plaster on a smile, hoping it didn't look like a grimace, wishing I was back at the gym. I'd doubled my efforts since the run-in with the Brotherhood, the twinge in my shoulder where Liander Belaisle shot me a reminder of just how serious things had become.
Deadly serious. Like almost losing Charlotte serious. The weregirl kept her distance, watching from outside the party, eyes locked on me at all times. And though she was as protective as ever-worse, sometimes, it seemed-I sensed something was wrong with her. The way she flinched when I asked her a question or the way her blue eyes would fill with almost desperate anxiety.