“Do you think so?”
“Sounds like a mistake in your favor, and not one they can put right.” Cally grinned.Thanks, Mr. Alexander.“Pay your taxes and… maybe go on a cruise?”
“Huh. I suppose I could, couldn’t I?” he said thoughtfully. “You really think it’s all legitimate?”
“It’s just numbers on a ledger. It’s not real money to anyone except you, and if the computer says it’s right, they won’t take it back.”
“Well, maybe you’re right. I’ll just sit on it for a while, just to be safe. Then maybe I will take that cruise.”
“You deserve it, Dad.”
“Lunch in a week or two then?”
“Sounds great. I’ll let you know?”
“Sure. Bye, honey.”
“Bye, Dad.”
Cally chuckled as she dropped the phone on the couch, and the call had helped put her in the mood to be productive.
By the time Antoine was back, she’d selected half a dozen possible options from Eve’s list and had found the corresponding entries in the books. He said nothing, but the door clanked and the smell of coffee filled the room.
She looked up, and he smiled apologetically. “I was trying not to interrupt you.”
“You failed. Too swoon-worthy and entirely distracting.”
His smile became a grin, and he set down a steaming to-go cup and a brown paper bag. “Fresh mozzarella, tomato slices, basil leaves, and a balsamic drizzle.”
“Perfect! How did you know?” she asked, ripping it open and pulling out the bagel, wrapped in wax paper.
“First night we met,” he murmured, with a bashful smile. “Balsamic and basil are strong scents, and they lingered.”
That was after her disaster of a date with… what was his name? Stefan. “Good memory.” She took a bite, pushing away thoughts of that creep. What a mistake he turned out to be. But it wasn’t just Antoine who had been lonely. She smiled up at him. “Delicious.”
“Good. Then I will sit on the bed, pretending I’m not here.” He paused. “Unless my help would be useful?”
“Oh, it would!” She set the bagel down and shifted one of the valuable books from the couch to make room for him. “I’d love your input.” That, and the simple act of working together appealed. It felt homey and right—except it was witches and magic.Surreal indeed.
He draped his leather jacket over the chair and sat down beside her. “Talk me through it.”
“Before I do that, I just had a call from my dad.”
“Oh?”
“Seems Mr. Alexanderdoesn’twant you to drive out west. He paid up.”
“Good. So he should.”
“My thoughts exactly. Dad is puzzled, but pleased.” She took a sip of coffee. “Anyway, spells. So basically, I need a structure.” She pointed at the column on the screen. “That was the blood on my forehead and hands last night.” She indicated the next column. “Then ‘fragments’ I can choose that complement it. I imbue it with my intent, and…” She smiled across at him. “…voilà.”
“Did you download Duolingo already?”
She bumped his shoulder with hers. “No, it’s one of the six French words I already knew.”
He turned the laptop for a better view and read fast. “What are you trying to achieve?”
“A transfer,” she said, suddenly nervous. Was he going to object? “If I could somehow give you the benefit of all my power, would it be enough?”
