him, and he felt like a specimen under that cold, unblinking scrutiny. He knew she recognized him, but she didn’t say anything about their slap bang meeting. He closed one hand over the amethyst at his throat, forced himself to keep eye contact. “A new errand boy?”
“The son of a friend.” Penn’s tone clearly told Diana her welcome had worn itself out. “We’ll phone you when your package is here. Unless you came for something else.”
“No.” She glanced at Zach one last time. “I will expect to hear from you before the week is out.”
Penn watched her, and after the fairy bell over the door chimed, she let her temper explode. “Overbearing, talentless, meddling bit . . .” Her voice faded when she turned and spotted Zach. “Sorry, kid. She just pushes my buttons, every time.”
“It’s okay. I’ve heard worse.”
Laughing, Penn reached over the counter and ruffled his hair. “I’ll get that sandwich for you.”
Zach waited until she was out of sight before he asked Michelle the question that had been gnawing at him. “What is a seeker?”
“Oh, Zach.” Michelle took his hands. “I didn’t think you heard that part of the conversation. It’s a myth—someone compelled to find, whether it’s a thing, a person, an idea. I think it depends on the seeker, but, God, they’re not supposed to be real.”
“How?” He whispered past the lump in his throat. “How does someone become a seeker?”
Michelle studied him, as if debating whether or not to answer. “They endure a life-altering event, and survive it. And by life-altering, I mean they become something else, something different. You’re a kid, Zach. A normal teenager, who has a gift. Don’t let Penn’s fanciful ideas sway you. Come on,” She picked up his cap, handed it to him and helped him stand, wrapping one arm around his waist. “You can eat in the back room, and then we’ll take you home.”
“It’s okay. I’ll be fine once I eat.”
Zach kept quiet while the two women talked around him, eating the sandwich and the big bag of chips—or crisps, as they were called here. Penn’s insistence, and Michelle’s explanation, ran through his mind on a loop, getting louder and louder.
He wasn’t a normal teenager. Not since the accident. If he was before, he didn’t remember—couldn’t remember, no matter how hard he tried.
As soon as he knew he’d be able to stand on his own, he thanked them for the food and made his way out of the shop, shoving the cap in his back pocket. He got as far as the side of the building and leaned against it, already sweating and shaky.
“Good afternoon, young man.” The voice made him jump. He looked up, and met familiar, spooky grey eyes. The salty, nose curling reek of sweat pouring off her almost covered the patchouli. “Do you remember me?”
“Diana. You were in the shop—”
“Yes, yes. Good boy. Now give me your hand.” He recognized a spell when it was thrown at him, especially a clumsy spell. Diana looked miffed when he didn’t obey like a willing puppet. “I said, give me your hand.”
“It doesn’t work on me.”
“What?” Her voice rose an octave, scraped against his ears. “What are you talking about?”
“Spell casting. It doesn’t work on me. Never has.”
“Well.” She caught his arm and dragged him down the narrow alley, surprisingly strong for a chubby woman. Before he could react she pushed him against the wall and pressed a wicked dagger to his throat. His heart skipped as the cold steel slid up until the tip bit into his skin. “I guess we will have to do this the old fashioned way. Come with me, quietly, and your sweet witch mum will not be harmed.”
Panic burst through him. “How do you know—”
“I always know when a witch enters my domain. Your friend wore the haze of love over her power, and she posed little danger. Your mother,” she pressed the length of the blade into his throat, until it drew blood. Zach tried not to jerk at
“The son of a friend.” Penn’s tone clearly told Diana her welcome had worn itself out. “We’ll phone you when your package is here. Unless you came for something else.”
“No.” She glanced at Zach one last time. “I will expect to hear from you before the week is out.”
Penn watched her, and after the fairy bell over the door chimed, she let her temper explode. “Overbearing, talentless, meddling bit . . .” Her voice faded when she turned and spotted Zach. “Sorry, kid. She just pushes my buttons, every time.”
“It’s okay. I’ve heard worse.”
Laughing, Penn reached over the counter and ruffled his hair. “I’ll get that sandwich for you.”
Zach waited until she was out of sight before he asked Michelle the question that had been gnawing at him. “What is a seeker?”
“Oh, Zach.” Michelle took his hands. “I didn’t think you heard that part of the conversation. It’s a myth—someone compelled to find, whether it’s a thing, a person, an idea. I think it depends on the seeker, but, God, they’re not supposed to be real.”
“How?” He whispered past the lump in his throat. “How does someone become a seeker?”
Michelle studied him, as if debating whether or not to answer. “They endure a life-altering event, and survive it. And by life-altering, I mean they become something else, something different. You’re a kid, Zach. A normal teenager, who has a gift. Don’t let Penn’s fanciful ideas sway you. Come on,” She picked up his cap, handed it to him and helped him stand, wrapping one arm around his waist. “You can eat in the back room, and then we’ll take you home.”
“It’s okay. I’ll be fine once I eat.”
Zach kept quiet while the two women talked around him, eating the sandwich and the big bag of chips—or crisps, as they were called here. Penn’s insistence, and Michelle’s explanation, ran through his mind on a loop, getting louder and louder.
He wasn’t a normal teenager. Not since the accident. If he was before, he didn’t remember—couldn’t remember, no matter how hard he tried.
As soon as he knew he’d be able to stand on his own, he thanked them for the food and made his way out of the shop, shoving the cap in his back pocket. He got as far as the side of the building and leaned against it, already sweating and shaky.
“Good afternoon, young man.” The voice made him jump. He looked up, and met familiar, spooky grey eyes. The salty, nose curling reek of sweat pouring off her almost covered the patchouli. “Do you remember me?”
“Diana. You were in the shop—”
“Yes, yes. Good boy. Now give me your hand.” He recognized a spell when it was thrown at him, especially a clumsy spell. Diana looked miffed when he didn’t obey like a willing puppet. “I said, give me your hand.”
“It doesn’t work on me.”
“What?” Her voice rose an octave, scraped against his ears. “What are you talking about?”
“Spell casting. It doesn’t work on me. Never has.”
“Well.” She caught his arm and dragged him down the narrow alley, surprisingly strong for a chubby woman. Before he could react she pushed him against the wall and pressed a wicked dagger to his throat. His heart skipped as the cold steel slid up until the tip bit into his skin. “I guess we will have to do this the old fashioned way. Come with me, quietly, and your sweet witch mum will not be harmed.”
Panic burst through him. “How do you know—”
“I always know when a witch enters my domain. Your friend wore the haze of love over her power, and she posed little danger. Your mother,” she pressed the length of the blade into his throat, until it drew blood. Zach tried not to jerk at
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