You’ve made this house into a home.
The Warlock’s voice comes back to me. Traitorous brain.
The fire in me cools a smidge. That’s all Ms. Zeen was trying to do, too. Carve out a home, a life, for someone who might not get to enjoy it much longer. It’s not her fault the Warlock got cursed and now Lazlo is suffering for it. She’s always been here for the kid. And for the Warlock. Watching out for them. They do both need constant supervision.
The Governess clasps her hands and I get the urge to correct my posture. “Mr. Knight has left an apology muffin in the kitchen.”
“Another?Jesus.” His brown butter sage ones smelled divine. I almost gave in and ate one of the devils.
“You shouldn’t have taught him to bake. Lemon poppy seed this time, I believe. With thyme? He was mumbling. Could’ve saidadd timeon the oven.”
“He thinks he can make everything all right just because he knows my favorite flavor of baked goods—”
She snatches the cookbook in my lap and shuts it with a loudSMACK. “So you found out what he was trying to spare you from. What now? Would anything be different if you’d known about Lazlo sooner? Would the knowledge have changed your approach?”
Lord, she moves fast. I don’t even have an answer. She’s not wrong. I’m still trying to cure an illness because of a curse. The only difference is my patient’s ability to ride tall roller coasters. What’s changed here is me. How I choose to move forward.
“So that’s it, then. You’ve come to knock me out of my sulking.”
She stares down her nose at me. “I’m here to remind you that the more time you spendsulking, the less you spend with Lazlo. Cook for the boy all you please, but that doesn’t do him as much good as authentic attention.”
“Low blow.” I sit up from my slouch. My pajamas are frumpier than I remembered. “It’s hard to look at him,” I admit in a soft voice. “When my mom got sick, I was there for her, physically. But mentally… If I didn’t look too closely, her illness wasn’t as real. Or at least, that’s what Arna Jean told me her therapist would tell me.”
“Does every young person have a therapist now?”
“You should try it, Ms. Zeen.”
“My emotions are quiet, just the way I like them.”
“Healthy.”
She places her hands on her wide hips. “Lazlo is even worried about you, and you know that boy has the attention span of a toddler.”
My heart clenches. “Lower blow.”
“Those are my specialty.” She returns my cookbook. “From one stubborn soul to another: The sooner you begin to live outside the rules of your recipes, the better—”
CRASH.
A shattering sound ricochets from down the hall. A boy screams.
Ms. Zeen and I exchange a look. Then we’re running.
I was wrong, I think as I sprint through the farmhouse.Thisfeeling is worse. If my stomach turns just thinking about Lazlo’s illness, it downright Ferris-wheels at the sound of the boy’s terror, dragging my heart with it.
I’m faster than Ms. Zeen in her kitten heels, and burst into the foyer.
Right into a tornado.
At least, it feels like a tornado.
The front doors are wide open, slamming in gale-force winds that whip sideways and tear through even the largest potted plants. Any furniture toppled over a while ago. A jade vase falls from the air and smashes right at my feet in the time I take to blink.
Warlock Knight stands in the eye of it all, black hair whirlpooling around the sharp edges of his face, arms thrown up, holding something at bay with his magic.
Or someone.
Ms. Zeen runs into my back and says what I’m already thinking: “The Widow Witch.”
