I try a new approach. “Our magic is connected to the land, and your health is connected to Lazlo’s. So if the Eldercraft take Lazlo, what happens to you? Or if Webb forces you from the Holler, whathappens to Lazlo?” That is, if we’ve cured his illness before the solstice.
“All signs point to nothing good.” The words are scratchy, stiff.
It’s either the Widow Witch and the solstice, or Webb and the Eldercraft. Every straw is short here.
I don’t think I’ll like the answer, but I wrangle my grit and ask it anyway. “There’s always a cost to using magic, so what did leaving costyou?”
No answer. No sharp or wicked retort. He just takes a slow sip of coffee.
“Sir.”
“A price I have come to the alarming revelation I would regretfully pay again.”
The inscrutable admission hangs between us. What am I supposed to do withthat?
Then, out of nowhere, he says, “Posh Practicals for the Positively Professional.”
I dissolve into immediate laughter. The weight of a cast-iron skillet falls off my back, and I have to wipe my eyes before I can speak. A smirk tugs at his mouth.
When I’m coherent, I try to look serious again. “Sir, at some point, you’re going to have to stop writing checks you can’t cash.”
“Careful, you might invite questions about your age with words likechecks.”
“Myage? If you keep expending energy you don’t have, you’ll be flat on your face before the solstice at this rate.”
“I can make my own decisions, Ms. Frost. I’m yourelder, remember?” He drags a hand through his hair. “I don’t leave the Manor because I’ve built up years of warding there, and not just the powerful but temporary defenses typical of Warlocks. This magic doesn’t wipe clean every time I cast a new protection spell. It layers, like… croissant dough or baklava. Lasagna.”
Just like with my shop. Like a Witch’s warding. “Are you speaking to me in cooking metaphors?”
“Unfortunately, I’m trying to get on your good side.”
“It’s working, but I’m not going to tell you that because we’re still fighting. I’d like to be mad at least until tomorrow morning.”
His gloveless hands dent the coffee cup between them. “Prying into your health was out of line. I apologize.”
He’s staring up at me through his eyelashes, looking way too forgivable. Damn him. Iamin a hospital room, after all. It dawns on me that I might not have gotten so upset and cooked an unhinged five-star meal if anyone else had spoken to me like that. Because I’d have to first trust their opinion enough to believe it. And I care what the Warlock thinks about me as a friend, not just as a Farewitch. If he can’t ask me uncomfortable and honest questions, how can I expect uncomfortable and honest answers from him?
“You’re right, though. If I’m not going to end up like my Momaw or my mom, I’ll have to take better care of myself. Especially if the Widow Witch might not help us.” We can’t craft extra time out of nothing, but maybe I can take back some of mine I’ve been too quick to give away. “Thank you, for being there last night. Shellfish allergy, apparently.”
“No gumbo in our future, then?”
Our future. I try to ignore how those words make my gut float. Probably lingering shrimp.
“Think about it, sir. When a Farewitch can’t figure out a cure, we look to the source of the illness. The Widow Witch cursed you—we should’ve confronted her from the beginning. If we convince her to remove her curse, we won’t have to keeping hunting for a cure. And now my family’s problem gives us one more reason to do just that.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but I’m ready with my next argument.
“Curse or not, Webb is using your feud with her to drive hiscampaign against all of us with magic now, not just Warlocks. Do this for the Witches in the Holler. Hell, if you manage to help save the town’s mayor—and the only Farewitch family—you might make friends.” Against all odds. “If they see you take the fight to her, your neighbors won’t feel like they’re standing up to a powerful Hedgewitch all alone.”
“I’d never leave this town to defend itself alone.” His attention shifts to the window and back again, the same way he’s always watching the sky from the kitchen, constantly monitoring the farmhouse’s wards and—
Oh.
“You have other wards!” I blurt. “Notjustfor the Manor. But in town—” My brain’s firing on all burners. “Why didn’t you tell me—were you just going to let me prattle on?”
“Sometimes, Ms. Frost, I just like to watch you run your mouth for a while.”
Ass. “How many? Where are they? The Apotha—?”
