Briar detached from him and put a stabilizing hand on the table. With the other, he peeled open the plastic bag. Inside were several clear containers filled with leftover Christmas dinner. His stomach growled looking at it, even though it was cold.
A note stuck to the top read:I’ll be by with more later —Rowan
“The alderman?” said Linden, looking over his shoulder. “Are you two close?”
“I don’t know anymore,” Briar answered with honest melancholy.
Linden raised an immaculate eyebrow but made no further comment.
He took one of the containers, snapped his fingers, and opened the lid to a puff of steam. The smell made Briar’s mouth water. He sat at the table and hardly waited for Linden to fetch a fork before eating.
Linden watched in contemplative silence. Under other circumstances, Briar would be mortified by anyone seeing him like this, let alone Linden, but the past twenty-four hours had left him devoid of superficial worries like how grotty he looked.
“What’s happened, Briar? You’ve been taking my potions, haven’t you?”
It took less effort to summon an explanation this time. He’d already told Rowan and Gretchen. Between bites of food, Briar summarized his episode and the trip to the clinic. Linden listened, tight-lipped, his features pinched. When Briar told him the prognosis, he rose from his chair and began to pace. The salt crunched under his shoes. By now, Briar understood Linden paced when thinking. The leftovers restored some of his vigor, but looking at the various projects strewn around, he didn’t know how he’d get back to work.
“I might be a little late with our collaboration.”
Linden stopped pacing. “Pardon?”
“Our project. I’ll get to it as soon as I can, but—”
“Absolutely not. You’re not to strain yourself, do you understand? This is very serious, what you’ve told me. It’s abnormal how quickly this has progressed, and if you continue to overextend yourself, it will only worsen. I want you to rest.”
He said all of this very fast, in his usual clipped annunciation, but the note of panic was new. Briar might have been touched, but he felt like a fried circuit board, all emotions numbed from a power surge.
Linden looked around the flat. He’d tidied it magically a week prior, but it was back to a state best described as an invitation for rats. “Did you have an accident with the salt?”
“I had a fight with my roommate.” When Linden continued to look confused, Briar added, “She’s a ghost.”
Linden’s eyes narrowed. “I see. I’ve trained in performing exorcisms, if you wanted a more permanent solution.”
“No! No, we just had a falling out. We’ll sort it eventually. I just needed space.”
Linden still looked dubious. It was unusual, entertaining the presence of a restless spirit, but Briar was adamant. Angry as he was with Gretchen, he still hoped to salvage their friendship. She’d kept him company when he first arrived, a stranger in this town, and besides… it felt important, given the proximity of his own death, to help her find closure in hers.
Maybe. When he was feeling less bruised.
“Very well,” Linden said. “I have an enchantment that will work in place of salt. I will return shortly. Do you need anything at present?”
Briar said he didn’t. To his surprise, Linden came forward and cupped the back of his head before pressing a kiss to the top of his hair. It happened so quickly Briar thought he’d dizzily imagined it.
“What is happening in here on this day?” he said to the room after Linden left.
Vatii replied, “Your destiny is being put to rights?”
Briar didn’t know how to feel about that.
Linden came back soon after. He used magic to tidy up again. In place of salt to keep Gretchen at bay, he tied a charmed ribbon to a desk lamp, ward runes shining along its length. Incredibly, he transfigured Briar’s old, single bed into a double, piled with fluffy pillows and comforters, a feat of magic that required tithes aplenty, the pouches at his belt shrinking with the expenditure. It made Briar ache for the time when his own magic had risen to his call with spirit.
In minutes, Linden transformed the flat into a comfortable oasis, easier to navigate for someone in Briar’s state.
Linden vanished into the bathroom. Light glowed from within, and several sounds like fireworks went off. Briar waited, bewildered. Linden emerged and helped him over to see his work. The bathroom, magically expanded, now contained a bathtub with a seat and detachable showerhead,along with several fluffy white towels, plush mats, and renovated fixtures that shone brand new. No more mold or mushrooms.
Briar wished he felt gratitude. Instead, he felt sick. This was precisely what he’d feared—becoming a charity case incapable of making his own success, dependent on someone else’s. Plus, he’d needed those mushrooms. They made good tithes.
“You didn’t have to do all this.”
