Lazlo speeds over, determination on his soft features. He runs right into me, hands clutching at my apron. “I’ve got you, Ms. Honey.”
The Warlock sends me an odd look I can’t for the life of me place. Appreciation, but with… regret? Can gratitude be regretful? To be fair, if it could, he would nail it.
Another tremendousBOOMshakes the Manor. Windows vibrate and planters topple over, soil spilling across our clean floor. Ms. Zeen grabs the island for balance. The room keeps darkening with the outside world.
The Warlock throws himself at the back door to the gardens, the closest entry point into the kitchen.
“Are we at the center of a tornado?” I ask, glancing at my cake. Still level, miraculously. Perks of being a Farewitch.
“If only,” the Warlock says with a lot less urgency than he should, eyes on the gathering storm outside.
Not storm. Acyclone. What in the—
Something tugs at my apron. Lazlo stares up at me with wide eyes. “Do you… do you ever bake any sweets to cure being afraid?”
My heart seizes up like a drying slice of citrus. “Of course. But try this for the time being.” I take one of his hands, giving it a hearty, reassuring squeeze.
We don’t let go.
Lightning strikes the sky. Lamps flicker but the electricity holds. Wind tears at the windows, as if we’re in some nightmarish snowglobe. Shadows seep under the garden door, like dark and twitching tentacles.
Squallsandshadows. Perfect.
“She’s stronger than last time.” Ms. Zeen’s voice carries none of its usual control. “The last few solutions we tried won’t work twice.”
Seeing the Governess actually concerned makes my stomach flip. If someone doesn’t tell me what’s going on, I might retch soon, which won’t be pretty because I haven’t eaten much today so it’ll be more dry heaving than anything.
The Warlock looks wildly about the kitchen, then does a double take. At me. “Then we’ll try something different.”
He reaches me in three long strides, avoiding fallen pots and broken plates. He rests a gloved hand on Lazlo’s head as he looks down at me.
“Can you trust me long enough for a favor?”
BOOM.
As some harbinger of death descends on the farmhouse, all I can think isMom was right. Right about living in a forlorn and antiquated, pitiful haunted house on the outskirts of town with a Warlock supposedly responsible for a history of vicious magic, fire, and death.
But heaven help me, I nod back.
The Warlock steps closer, Lazlo secure between us. This is the nearest we’ve ever been.
“Wish for something small, Ms. Frost.”
“Um. What?”
“Something inconsequential that might solve your—our—problem.”
“I don’t understand.”
He bites the inside of his cheek, clearly frustrated. “Isn’t this disturbance getting in the way of your baking? Isn’t theresomethingyou’d like to do today youcan’twhen the weather is bad?”
The man is off his rocker.
Lazlo tugs on my hand. “Wish for something small to make your day better.” He stares at me expectantly, so hopeful.
“Sure… I…” Play along, Honey. And then it clicks.Of course.
I finally know what Warlock Knight’s magic is.
