“Excellent idea,” Silas proclaims. “We just set the table.”
“We set it twenty minutes ago,” the Warlock grumbles.
Rett steps back. “Oh, no, that would be unprofessional.” His glasses fog with heat from his cheeks. “Also, as a rule I don’t eat in my uniform in case I were to spill—”
“Fabulous, we’ll put on some music,” Silas says, and pulls out the chair right next to him.
Rett sits. I think his knees tremble. Poor fellow seems more shaken by Silas than the fact that this is the first time he’s met the Warlock face-to-face, too.
I do introductions, and finally, we eat. Bobby Hebb’s jazzy vocals fill any awkward hushes. There aren’t many, because Lazlo’s blessed our two newcomers with a question spree.
“Oh, no, my brother’s routes keep him too busy to ever be at home long enough,” Arna Jean chimes in.
Rett swallows a hunk of cornbread. “ButI get to see all the dogs in the Holler when I’m delivering mail.”
Lazlo turns to Silas. “What about you?”
Silas takes a leisurely sip of some chardonnay I found. “No pets, I’m afraid. I’m running across the Holler most hours of the day, when I’m not behind a desk.”
The boy nods. “You look like a lint-roller kind of guy anyway.”
Arna Jean’s cheeks bulge with a stifled snort, and I even have to flash A Look at the Warlock for smirking. Though I’m barely holding it together myself.
“I feel like I should be offended somehow. He must get his bluntness from you, Mr. Knight,” Silas retorts.
The Warlock huffs, interrupting the chatter. “Okra, Ms. Zeen?” He snaps and the dish of okra floats through the air over to the Governess, even though Silas has his hands extended. He does the same thing with the wine, another snap sending the bottle to Arna Jean, conveniently out of Silas’s reach.
I raise aWhat the hell?eyebrow at him. Thyme dusts my tongue. The flavor will, frustratingly, go well with the cornbread. But as the taste dissolves, so does my irritation. I don’t think I’ve seen him use magic since the Widow Witch destroyed the foyer. The minute there’s a chance for peacocking, he’s tossing it about to levitate side dishes? Has he been conserving his power for some reason?
Putting the thought out of my head, I turn to Silas. “So, Silas,” I begin in my sweetest voice. “I may have promised a neighbor you’d take a meeting.”
Empty-handed, Silas turns to me. “You did not.”
“Don’t hate me. We’re trying to be friends, remember?”
Silas heaves a sigh. “Which scheming neighbor did you trade my time to?”
I take a large bite of cornbread. “A truly conniving fellow.”
Rett sinks down in his seat as Silas mutters, “Can’t be worse than Samson. Or any ex of mine, really.”
The Warlock perks up at that, glancing between the two men.
“Say hello,” I tell Silas, nodding at Rett.
And dammit, Silas’s smile is as charming as one can expect from a person with media training. The man dodges social blunders like biscuits. He really would make a good mayor for the Holler. If anyone might be able to wrangle Oris Webb’s fanaticism and public smearing of magic, besides my mom, it could be Silas.
Rett fiddles with the napkin tucked into his collar. “I asked for some direct engagement but I didn’t think Honey would take me this… literally.”
“How did you think you’d reach him?” Arna Jean asks her brother.
“A… letter?”
Silas stares at Rett with sincere curiosity. “Old-fashioned. I like it.”
“What’s wrong with letters?” the Warlock asks. When his eyes meet mine, his lips twitch once before he glances away from me.
“How about we meet in the middle with an email,” Silas says. “Unless you’d like to meet over coffee?”
