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elevator to carry me to the top floor, opting instead to climb the nine flights of stairs up to Corbin’s floor. Now that I was a regular visitor, Corbin had given me a key to the building and to his apartment with a promise that he had enchanted the elevator so that it worked perfectly and I need not worry about plummeting to the ground.
    I slid the golden gate closed and pushed the button for the ninth floor. Despite my faith in Corbin’s spells and power, the rickety cage and the whine of the pulleys fighting with the elevator cords set me on edge. I held my breath and counted to thirty with my eyes shut until I felt the cage come to a shuddering halt, a tiny bell ringing out, announcing my arrival. I pushed the gate open and dashed out as quickly as I could manage, blowing out the breath I was holding.
    “Yeah, I think I’ll take the stairs from now on,” I muttered. I had thought after I used it a few times that it would begin to warm up and the ride would be smoother eventually, but no, I was definitely wrong about that.
    I shook out my hands, white sparks flickering at my fingertips as I did, to try and shake off my nerves from that precarious elevator ride. If I knew who the landlord was, I’d have a word with him about how he treated his building, but I wasn’t an actual resident, so I doubted it would matter if I did. I blew my bangs out of my eyes and set down the hall for Corbin’s door. Although he had the entire floor to himself, he’d chosen the apartment at the very end of the hall so he could have the corner apartment with the most windows.
    When I finally reached his door, I didn’t bother to knock. He’d told me I was welcome to come and go as I wished. Corbin was a recluse, having food delivered to him, shipping out his charms and potions; the only time he went outside was to tend his rooftop garden, occasionally taking a cup of tea up there. It explained his golden skin.
    I pushed the door open and heard the sounds of jazz music on his record player intermingling with running water from the kitchen. I closed the door behind me, remembering to throw the locks before I tossed my purse on the couch on my way into the kitchen. Corbin’s back was to me as he worked over a batch of some potion, but I was struck immediately by his appearance. It wasn’t the fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt, exposing his broad, curving back and shoulders. It wasn’t the fact that I could trace the line of his spine until it disappeared into the low slung waistband of his sweats. He had cut his hair. Those long, curling golden locks were just suddenly gone, exposing his neck and ears. He’d left it a little longer on top than the sides and back, just enough for it to fall over his forehead. He’d taken clippers to the rest, buzzing his hair so short I could see the skin of his scalp.
    “You cut your hair?” I demanded, surprising him so much that he dropped the wooden spoon he was using to stir the concoction boiling on the stovetop.
    “Jesus,” he swore, catching his breath. “Tare, don’t sneak up on a witch at an open flame.”
    “Sorry,” I said, moving into the kitchen to pick up the dropped spoon. Corbin took it from me and tossed it into a plastic bin in the sink full of what I assumed was salt water. The floor had contaminated the spoon and he couldn’t use it again until it was properly cleansed.
    “I just can’t believe you did this,” I said, reaching up to run my fingers over the cropped sides of his head, my breath catching at all the memories of me tangling my fingers in his hair to hold on, to pull.
    “Don’t like it, huh?” he asked, which made me take a second to look at him rather than just the missing hair. With it shorter, his cheekbones were much more prominent and, truth be told, I could see his brown eyes better now; they were brighter somehow. Even his jaw looked stronger now that the line of his hair wasn’t pulling the eye down.
    “No,” I said, shaking my head,