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Authors: Mindy Klasky
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summer.
“Your home is beautiful,” I said, trying to distract myself.
“It’s been in my family for decades.”
“I was surprised to find you out here,” I said, desperately attempting to make this conversation a normal one, between two ordinary people, not between a witch and her warder. “I expected you to live in the city.”
“There are too many eyes in the city.”
“What do you mean?”
He flexed his hands, as if he could pull the right words from the air around him. “As a warder, I lead a rather unconventional life, wouldn’t you say? I keep strange hours. I can come and go from here in the blink of an eye. No one notices when I translocate from here.”
I thought of him, appearing on my doorstep in full Mr. Rochester ire. I’d never asked him about his strange arrivals. “How do you do that?”
He started to answer, then thought better of his words. “We warders have to keep some of our tricks secret.” The words stung. I heard the rebuke behind them, the wall that he erected between us. There’d been a time when he would have answered any question I posed about magic, when he had believed that my arcane education was more important than any trivial matter of personal privacy. Before I’d walked away from spellcraft. Before I’d set him aside for nearly half a year.
I could order him to tell me. Demand, as witch to warder.
But I wasn’t going to do that. Not today. Not when I was trying to reach out, to rebuild the surprisingly fragile bond that we had shared.
“But your Lexus? It doesn’t fit into this life at all.”
“It’s in the garage.” He nodded toward the window, and I could see the detached building, door shuttered like the entrance to a secret cave. “I usually use the truck when I’m out here.”
“And the wood?” I thought again about the streamlined action I had watched, the perfect ballet of exercise and practicality. “Do you usually split wood in the summer?”
“I split wood when I have time. I go through two cords every winter. And the exercise is good, when I’m not busy with anything else. When I’m tired of sitting at a desk.”
At a desk. Where he’d been working as a clerk for Hecate’s Court, wherever that was located. What did it matter? He could apparently commute anywhere with the power of his warder’s thoughts. Had commuted to my cottage, on a regular enough basis, before I’d decided to stop being a witch.
I swallowed, making more noise in my throat than I’d intended.
David’s voice was in perfect equilibrium as he asked, “And to what do I owe this visit?”
“Gran,” I said, and the single word echoed strangely in the kitchen. I sipped some water and remembered to keep my voice down. “Gran made me promise.”
He sighed and leaned back against the counter. “Promise what?”
“Promise that I’d talk to you. Promise that I’d try to make things right between us.”
There. Faster than a blink, but I was certain that I’d seen him flinch.
“There’s nothing wrong between us.” Spot stood up from his guard spot at the center of the kitchen floor, a soft whine coming from deep in his ebony throat. David flashed a hand signal to the animal, waiting just a moment before the dog settled back onto his haunches. Then, my warder cleared his throat and repeated, “There’s nothing wrong.”
“But there is,” I said. “I’ve been working spells. Little ones. Just enough to…prime the pump, as you said.”
“And?” he asked when I stopped.
“And it’s strange! It’s different from how it used to be, from before I took a break. I feel what I’m doing. It’s like an energy, a force field.” I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to figure out words for what I’d been sensing all week long. “My fingers tingle, and my heart jumps faster than it should. If I didn’t think that I’d sound like some matron in a Regency romance, I’d say that I’m getting palpitations.” I blinked and stared at him, like a
“Your home is beautiful,” I said, trying to distract myself.
“It’s been in my family for decades.”
“I was surprised to find you out here,” I said, desperately attempting to make this conversation a normal one, between two ordinary people, not between a witch and her warder. “I expected you to live in the city.”
“There are too many eyes in the city.”
“What do you mean?”
He flexed his hands, as if he could pull the right words from the air around him. “As a warder, I lead a rather unconventional life, wouldn’t you say? I keep strange hours. I can come and go from here in the blink of an eye. No one notices when I translocate from here.”
I thought of him, appearing on my doorstep in full Mr. Rochester ire. I’d never asked him about his strange arrivals. “How do you do that?”
He started to answer, then thought better of his words. “We warders have to keep some of our tricks secret.” The words stung. I heard the rebuke behind them, the wall that he erected between us. There’d been a time when he would have answered any question I posed about magic, when he had believed that my arcane education was more important than any trivial matter of personal privacy. Before I’d walked away from spellcraft. Before I’d set him aside for nearly half a year.
I could order him to tell me. Demand, as witch to warder.
But I wasn’t going to do that. Not today. Not when I was trying to reach out, to rebuild the surprisingly fragile bond that we had shared.
“But your Lexus? It doesn’t fit into this life at all.”
“It’s in the garage.” He nodded toward the window, and I could see the detached building, door shuttered like the entrance to a secret cave. “I usually use the truck when I’m out here.”
“And the wood?” I thought again about the streamlined action I had watched, the perfect ballet of exercise and practicality. “Do you usually split wood in the summer?”
“I split wood when I have time. I go through two cords every winter. And the exercise is good, when I’m not busy with anything else. When I’m tired of sitting at a desk.”
At a desk. Where he’d been working as a clerk for Hecate’s Court, wherever that was located. What did it matter? He could apparently commute anywhere with the power of his warder’s thoughts. Had commuted to my cottage, on a regular enough basis, before I’d decided to stop being a witch.
I swallowed, making more noise in my throat than I’d intended.
David’s voice was in perfect equilibrium as he asked, “And to what do I owe this visit?”
“Gran,” I said, and the single word echoed strangely in the kitchen. I sipped some water and remembered to keep my voice down. “Gran made me promise.”
He sighed and leaned back against the counter. “Promise what?”
“Promise that I’d talk to you. Promise that I’d try to make things right between us.”
There. Faster than a blink, but I was certain that I’d seen him flinch.
“There’s nothing wrong between us.” Spot stood up from his guard spot at the center of the kitchen floor, a soft whine coming from deep in his ebony throat. David flashed a hand signal to the animal, waiting just a moment before the dog settled back onto his haunches. Then, my warder cleared his throat and repeated, “There’s nothing wrong.”
“But there is,” I said. “I’ve been working spells. Little ones. Just enough to…prime the pump, as you said.”
“And?” he asked when I stopped.
“And it’s strange! It’s different from how it used to be, from before I took a break. I feel what I’m doing. It’s like an energy, a force field.” I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to figure out words for what I’d been sensing all week long. “My fingers tingle, and my heart jumps faster than it should. If I didn’t think that I’d sound like some matron in a Regency romance, I’d say that I’m getting palpitations.” I blinked and stared at him, like a
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