"What in the name of God has happened here?" were the first words to leave Lennox's mouth as he stepped into the shop, taking care to avoid the books that littered the floor.

Shyla's stomach dropped with dread. He stood from where he had been knelt, sorting the books into piles. The Dark witches had done more damage than he had thought, and he had been trying to tidy up after them for the better part of an hour. Some of the shelves were beyond repair and the books would have to be discounted at best, their pages creased if not torn from their spines completely.

"Oh, love," Mavis gasped from behind her husband, holding her leather gloves to her chest. Her glassy eyes were full of concern where Lennox's were full of frustration, and she stepped in front of him to get a better look at Shyla. "What happened to your face?"

"Never mind his bloody face," Lennox huffed, slamming his coat down on the front counter and slipping his glasses off as though he no longer valued the gift of sight. "What happened to my shop?"

Shyla sighed, stepping over the books so that he was closer to them and running a shaky hand through his tangled hair. "I was attacked by two Dark witches. They caught me coming back from my lunch break."

"Oh, sweetheart, look at you," Mavis fussed again, grabbing his chin and tilting it so that she could inspect the wound on his temple. Both of his eyes were exposed after they had torn off his eye-patch, and under Lennox's scrutiny he felt very suddenly aware of the fact. Like a disobedient child, he squirmed out of Mavis's grip and lowered his gaze. "You're bleeding. Are you hurt anywhere else? Maybe we should get you to a hospital, just to be sure."

"My mother is a Healer," he reminded her softly, "and I'm okay, really. Just a few cuts and bruises is all."

"And where is my granddaughter?" Lennox questioned, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest. The buttons on his linen shirt threatened to pop open from the strain.

"With a client," Shyla answered as Mavis led him to one of the worn leather armchairs in the far corner. Only from this angle did he realise how much of a mess the shop was: at least half of the shelves had been broken into masses of splintering wood, and the floorboards were barely visible between the books strewn across them. The beads hanging from the hallway's threshold had been torn from the door frame and hung by a thread, some of them already scattered onto the floor. Shyla didn't remember seeing them drop, nor did he remember falling into the shelves, though his back throbbed with the evidence.

"Convenient," Lennox retorted. Shyla could feel the anger radiating off him like heat, but behind his clouded green eyes hid sorrow as he observed the ruins around him. His bookshop was his pride and joy, every shelf built by his own hands and every book alphabetised and categorised. It caused guilt to swell in Shyla's chest. "What did these witches want, besides to make a bloody mess of my shop?"

Shyla hesitated, playing it off with a wince as Mavis pulled out a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at the blood drying on the side of his face. "They didn't say," he lied.

"Bollocks," Lennox cursed. "They must have wanted something."

"Lennox," Mavis warned, turning to give her husband a disapproving look.

"I was too busy being punched in the face to ask." Shyla took the handkerchief from Mavis and pressed it to his wound. It didn't stop her from fussing over him; she took out a tissue and dabbed it on her tongue lightly before wiping the blood from Shyla's nose.

"And you don't know who they are? It wasn't that bloody witch Greer wanted to help, was it? I told you both nothing good would come from helping their kind. Bloody leeches, the lot of them."

"No, it wasn't her. I've never seen them before." His words were muffled by his busted lip. He hoped it would conceal his dishonesty. "They were probably just bored and looking for someone to antagonise."

Lennox opened his mouth to ask another question, no doubt, but was interrupted by the bell ringing above the door. Shyla peered around Lennox's round figure, finding Greer standing in the threshold, her eyes wide as she took in the chaos. She was still clutching her car keys, her neck wrapped tightly in a scarf and her nose slightly pink from the cold. "What on earth happened?"

Her gaze slipped from her grandfather to Shyla and she gasped, letting the door fall shut before she ran to him. Mavis shuffled back, giving them space. "Oh, God."

"I'm okay," he said, wrapping his hands around hers before she could touch his swollen face. Her eyes held the same warmth and concern as her grandmother's, and he half-expected her to pull out a handkerchief, too. "Don't worry."

"But you're bleeding," she whispered, her expression softening. "What happened?"

"Dark witches is what bloody happened. And where were you, madam?" Lennox questioned, wiping his glasses on his shirt and slipping them back on his head.

Greer stiffened and cast Shyla a secretive glance, which he returned with a small nod that went unnoticed by Mavis and Lennox.

"Oh, Lennox," Mavis scolded, "Stop playing the blame game. Shyla told you she was with a client. It isn't her fault, nor is it Shyla's."

"I will play the blame game, Mavis, and here's why." He pointed in the direction of the back corridor, reddening in the face as he spoke. "There's supposed to be a protection spell cast on this shop twenty-four-seven, so how on God's green earth did a couple of Dark witches manage to wriggle their way in here?"

"The door was unlocked," Shyla answered. "It was easy enough to get in."

"It bloody-well wouldn't have been if my spell was working!"

"It was my fault." Beside Shyla, Greer had paled, her eyes distant as she stared at something past Lennox. "I ... I haven't been keeping up with the spell. With everything going on, I haven't even thought about it. They got in because of me."

Lennox pursed his lips as Greer finally focused her attention on him again.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, her eyes filling with tears she wouldn't let fall. Shyla squeezed her hand gently, swallowing as he awaited Lennox's reaction.

"I expected better of you. Clean this up," he ordered finally, tearing his scowl from Greer to roam the store again. His expression had fallen with disappointment, which somehow felt worse than his wrath. "When I come back tomorrow morning, I expect the shop tidy, open and protected. Until then, I refuse to so much as look at either of you. Careless is what you are. Bloody careless and bloody stupid."

He was still muttering curses under his breath as he left the shop, kicking books on his way through and leaving a clear path to the door. The door slammed shut hard enough that Shyla half-expected the glass in the frame to break. Instead, a silence fell.

Mavis was the one to break it as she looked at Greer sympathetically. "You've had a lot on your plate lately, love, with Clare and such. It's only natural for you to forget a few things here and there."

"Shyla was hurt because of me," Greer replied, her voice thick with tears. "And the store ..."

"Will be fixed up in no time." She placed a wrinkled hand on Greer's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Don't be too hard on yourself, love. Shyla is fine, and your granddad will get over it eventually. He always does, doesn't he?"

Greer nodded, standing up and beginning to collect the books from the floor. "You should go and find him before he takes his anger out on an innocent victim. We've got things covered here, I think."

"Alright, I can take a hint," she smiled, her glossy red lipstick sinking into the lines around her mouth. "I'll be back later to help out."

Shyla gave her a nod before she left, and this time the silence was welcomed. He watched as Greer stacked the fallen books wherever she could, avoiding eye contact with him. "They were looking for Devan," he said finally, standing up and leaning on the counter for support. "One of them, the girl, was related to her. Sister, I think."

She paused, turning finally to look at Shyla.

"I didn't tell Lennox," he reassured. "And I didn't tell them anything, either."

"I'm sorry," she breathed, placing the books down and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I won't let this happen again. I'll tell Devan I can't help her anymore."

"No," Shyla countered, shaking his head. "I've seen who she's running from, Greer. She needs your help now more than ever."

Greer frowned. "But look at what's happened. Look at the mess. Look at you. All of this trouble is because of her. If I hadn't gone to see her this morning, I would have been here to stop them. How can you still want me to help her?"

"Because it's what she needs. Because without you, she has nobody. If she's running from these people, it's because she doesn't want to be like them. She deserves a chance to get away, Greer. We just ... have to be more careful from now on."

"They could have killed you, Shyla, not to mention destroyed the shop. My granddad would kill me himself if he knew. I don't want to help somebody if it means harming the people I care about."

"Like I said, we just have to be more careful," he shrugged.

Greer scrutinised him for a moment, her eyes roaming his bruised face in disbelief. "Shyla, look at you. Look at what they did to you."

"I'm fine," he answered, gripping her face in his hands so that she was forced to look at him properly. Her eyelashes were damp, her under-eyes purple from early mornings and late nights. "I can protect myself, but she can't. She needs you, Greer. Please don't use this as an excuse to give up on her."

"Why does this matter to you so much? You don't even know her."

"Maybe not personally, but I've seen enough. She's like me," he muttered. "Split. Only she can't put on an eye-patch and pretend she belongs. Those people—her sister—she's running from them for a reason. You're the only person who can help her, just like you were the only person who helped me when I needed it. Please, Greer."

She hesitated before nodding. "I hope you know that I'm only doing this for you."

He smiled despite the pain it caused him. "I know. Thank you."

"The witches ...," Greer shuffled, biting her lip nervously as though she was too afraid to ask—or too afraid to hear the answer when she did, "What were they like? Are they really that dangerous?"

Shyla shrugged, bringing a hand to his tender face and wincing. "They certainly didn't hold back with me, did they?"

When she didn't laugh at his joke, he sighed. "I got the impression that attacking me was their idea of a fun Friday afternoon activity. They were cold, detached, like nothing I've ever seen before. I think if I hadn't have stopped them they would have torn this place apart brick by brick, and me with it ... So yes," he concluded, stopping himself as he saw Greer's face turn a sickly shade of white, "Yes, Greer, they're dangerous."

"And yet you are still willing to get caught in their crossfire for Devan Lee?" she whispered. "Are you certain she's worth it?"

"No," Shyla answered, "But you know her better than me. What do you think?"

Greer deliberated, and for a moment, Shyla saw something glimmer in her eyes that he couldn't quite decipher.

"I think that I should have accepted her money when she offered it to me," she said finally. "After this, it's the least that Devan Lee owes me."