“Yes.”
Silence. “… It was a grocery list.”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
“I figured anything less vague would seem too friendly,” I explain. He doesn’t need to know I just couldn’t think of what to write. “Arna Jean is coming by soon, to help with research in the library. She’s bringing me the Frost grimoires from the shop’s attic. Did you find anything useful in that almanac Ms. Marrow sent over? She says she sourced it from a Warlock.”
His bare hands tense at his sides. I long for the days when his hands were his biggest mystery, when I was blissfully unaware of the stakes. “Nothing of use, yet. Warlocks are very good at spellwork, but ask one to record anything in legible handwriting, and you’re out of luck.”
“Don’t you have some extensive network of Warlocks you could reach out to, from all the clients you’ve helped over the years? Call in some favors? The Eldercraft must be able to connect you to folks who could help, if you’re willing to give them the details.”
“Of course, let me just consult the Master Magical Folk Rolodex.”
Sarcasm, really? “Rolodex?You aged yourself more in four seconds than in…?”
“Valiant effort, Ms. Frost.” A half smirk creases his cheek. “Only Ms. Zeen knows my exact age, and that’s because she’s in my will.”
If that’s an effort to lighten whatever’s hanging between us, I ignore it. “I found a few promising journals in other languages in the library this morning, but they’ll need translating. Which could take a while.” Luckily, we have Wi-Fi. Because ofme. “We shouldtalk about what we’re going to do if we run out of time to exhaust your archives.”
Or if the answer isn’t there at all.
“How’s Lazlo?” I ask.
“He wasn’t feeling well. Ms. Zeen forced him into a nap.” The truth hides in the line between his brows. Lazlo gets a little bit weaker every day we edge toward the solstice. “And your mother?”
I bite my lip. “She’s the same. This storm coming has her feeling off. Bad weather messes with our magic. Wonky air pressure. No good for baking.”
I hate it, but I do feel a smidge lighter. It’s nice to let the worries filter out so I don’t have to hold them so tightly myself.
Before I lose my nerve, I say, “You never told me why the Widow Witch cursed you.”
There’s an edge to the set of his mouth, but it’s not his usual virulent scowl. I wish it were. Show me some fight.I’mstill in the mood for fighting. The least he can do is keep up.
“We’re not discussing this today, Ms. Frost.”
“Another secret, then?”
Frowning in a way that tells me I already know the answer, he braces his hands on the island, elbows locked, arms rigid. His voice falters. “You will hate me.”
Gooseflesh rises on my skin. Do I really want to hear this? Do we ever really want to know everything about a person, or only the good parts? I could stop, save myself what might be a flavor of heartbreak I don’t have the palate to swallow right now.
But even if I don’t always know my heart, I’m a Farewitch, and I know my gut. I’d rather understand the real him than simply like the surface layer.
“Then you’re in luck, because we already don’t like each other,” I say.
He takes a ragged breath. “My last birthday was a noteworthyone, but I was not aging gracefully, not after wasting years rotting away in this place. So I sought out the Widow Witch. I thought she’d delight in watching me ask for help.”
“With what?”
“What everyone wants on their birthday. To make a wish. A powerful one I could not do on my own.”
The Widow Witch can dowishmagic? I suppose of all the types of Witches, a Hedgewitch’s power is the most similar to a Warlock’s higher magic. “What did you wish for?”
“What would you wish for? What would anyone?”
Oh.
