because she was worried about what he had to say. “Aren’t you coming, Morgaine?”
“I-it’s awfully dark in there. Would you mind turning on the lights?”
“I’m afraid I never hooked up the electricity.”
Gwyneth sighed. “Morgaine’s afraid of the dark. Have you ever heard such a silly thing? A witch afraid of the dark?”
Morgaine folded her arms and glared in Gwyneth’s general direction.
“Oh, come on. He might as well know since his place is always dark.”
When Morgaine didn’t respond, Gwyneth continued, “I can bring some candles down.”
She let out a deep breath. “I can get some. And it isn’t silly. It’s an actual condition called nyctophobia.”
“No need to leave,” Sly said. “I have candles here. I’ll be right back.”
While he was in the kitchen, he overheard Morgaine say, “Did you have to tell him I’m afraid of the dark? Couldn’t you have said it’s harder for us to see in a dark apartment than it is for him?”
Gwyneth whispered, “Y’all are bein’ silly. It’s Sly, after all. Not someone y’all have to impress. In fact, y’all might as well tell him about your agga… agriv… whatever that condition is called. The reason why I came up North to help y’all in the first place.”
Morgaine whispered, “Agoraphobia. And, no thank you. I’d rather not tell anyone if I don’t have to.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake. What are y’all gonna do if I’m not around and y’all need something from the store?”
“Wait until you get back.”
Gwyneth let out a big sigh. “I do declare. Y’all are helpless as a Yankee at a grits-eatin’ contest without me. Either get over this, or find someone else to help. I won’t be here forever.”
Sly returned to the living room with a couple of jar candles Roz had left for him. She’d said they weren’t allowed to burn candles at the school, even in the resident apartments, but he suspected that was a ruse. The thought was appreciated and, as it turned out, handy as well.
The witches settled on the couch once illumination was flickering around the room. Sly placed the candles in the empty fireplace. “I hope you don’t mind cinnamon scent.”
Gwyneth smiled slyly. “We don’t mind at all. Cinnamon inspires lust. Did y’all know that?”
Morgaine elbowed her.
Sly leaned against the mantel. “Well, that’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Gwyneth’s eyes popped. “A three-way?”
Sly almost burst out laughing. Said with the innocence of a phone-sex actress. “No. Actually, I thought before anyone got the wrong idea, I should explain why I’m not interested in a sexual relationship right now.”
Gwyneth’s face fell. “Y’all don’t want a three-way? Y’all must be the only man on the planet who don’t.”
Morgaine leaned over and covered her face. “Where’s a black hole when you need one,” she mumbled.
Sly figured he’d better jump right into his explanation. “Gwyneth, Morgaine, you’re both beautiful women, and any man would be lucky to have you—separately or, uh, together, but I’m afraid I just wouldn’t feel right about that.”
“Why? Because you’re still hung up on your wife? She’s been dead for about a zillion years,” Gwyneth protested.
“Twenty-six. It’s not that. I don’t want to come between you two. I’d like to date one of you, but I’d hate to hurt the other’s feelings. There’s one thing I know about women—none of them want to feel like second best.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Gwyneth said. “So, which one of us are y’all choosin’?”
“Morgaine and I seem to have more of a connection, Gwyneth. I don’t want to insult you, but I think she and I might really hit it off.” Was he imagining it, or did Morgaine’s eyes widen as if she were shocked?
Gwyneth rose. “Well, I won’t be botherin’ y’all anymore, Sly. I know when I’m beatin’ a dead horse… so to speak.”
Morgaine bolted upright. “Gwyneth, you’ll
Lesley Pearse
Taiyo Fujii
John D. MacDonald
Nick Quantrill
Elizabeth Finn
Steven Brust
Edward Carey
Morgan Llywelyn
Ingrid Reinke
Shelly Crane