Fragments of old moments in time dance under my eyelids.
The memories begin.
They don’t come through as a best-of highlights replay, or in clear images, but appear in notes of flavor, feelings that come with a taste. But darkness hits me with every cabinet in the kitchen of his mind that I try to pry open. Not empty, but the memories are shadowy. Hidden.
I concentrate, edge closer to him, my eyes pressed as tightly as my fingers on his face.
Finally, I tug a few glimpses into the light.
A summer picnic, out in the yard. A birthday? The Manor is fuzzy, and looks more like the farmhouse in its original glory before the quirky additions and neglect. Then a woman, her black hair in a bun, great cheekbones. A silk scarf around her neck gives her gobs of elegance points. Chinese jade rests at her throat, green pendant twinkling in the sunlight. She smiles at me—
The Warlock’s gloved hands tug on my forearms, and the memory vanishes, but I let it go. Farewitches only take what we need. My eyelids flutter open.
His breathing comes fast now, no longer controlled. “That’s enough.”
My hands drop and I back up. “Thank you.”
Wide hazel eyes look away, avoiding mine. “What could that possibly have told you that I couldn’t?”
That’s another trick of my memory magic—a patient never knows what I see. They usually just feel tired or hungry after I poke around. “It tells me you shave with a straight razor and need better sunscreen.”
The glare returns. We’re back in business. But I don’t need him to like me. I just need him to like my food.
At last, an idea for a recipe blooms.
So with the Warlock watching my every move, I get to work on my real interview.
I wash the produce I brought and get hot oil going in a skillet. It’s notmyskillet, and there’s rust on the bottom, but it’ll do. I know this recipe by heart, but this edgy silence will drive me mad, and my mind needs something to distract me from my nerves.
“Your letter saidthe situation is advanced and beyond my efforts.”
My back is to him at the stove, but I can see that fixed scowl of his perfectly in my head. “I don’t look ill on the surface, but I wrote you the truth. I also said you would be compensated handsomely if I hire you, and part of that payment is for discretion. The less you or anyone else knows, the better. Do we have an understanding?”
I’m more than familiar with the mental and internal toll of an invisible illness. Momaw kept her decline secret as long as she could. My thoughts always trickle back to her in these anxious moments, when I wish I could hear her voice on the phone.
“I wouldn’t worry,” I say, trying to focus on slicing. “Everyone in the Holler thinks you’re over three hundred.”
“Everyone justassumesall Warlocks are ancient?”
“How far off am I?”
“I’m very well not three centuries old, thank you.”
“Hmm. Disappointing.”
He scoffs. “Like a Witch, I have a regular human lifespan. IfWarlocks were immortal, you wouldn’t be here, would you?” Then, lower, an aggravated mutter: “We wouldn’t even be in this mess.”
Good point.
I set out a shallow dish of spiced flour, a bowl of whisked daffodil-yellow eggs, and lastly, cornmeal breadcrumbs I toasted myself out of old cornbread from the Apothakery. “Have you gotten any kind of diagnosis from a medical doctor? What did Dr. Virgil say? You must’ve seen him first.”
“No doctors. It’s not a regular illness. It’s magic in origin.”
At the severity in his voice, my heart stumbles. My first thought jumps tocurse, but curses are Witch territory, our kind of practical magic. I’m not sure Warlocks can evenbecursed. To them, it might just feel like the sniffles. Even if a Warlock somehow fell victim to a curse, they could likely just undo it. And there are better ways to lift curses, usually with a spell, not with a Farewitch and her food.
This is something different.
Even if it means he sends me away, I have to be honest when it involves someone’s health. I look at him, my fingers coated in a hearty combination of gluten and egg. “While I appreciate your interest in my skills, I typically heal common physical ailments. The non-magical kind.”
