I have no idea what to say to that. I’m not sure he even meant me to hear it.
He seems to register his own words half a second too late and quickly adds, “Would you like to try another wish?”
“Please,” I say with an embarrassing amount of eagerness. I’ve never met anyone who belongs to the school of wish magic before.
Ms. Zeen looks up from her cleaning. “Sir, you shouldn’t—”
“It’s all right,” he calls to her, turning to fully face me. “Go ahead, Ms. Frost.”
“I wish… I had enough room in this sink to… bathe.”
Wow. Pathetic. But he doesn’t react to the silly phrasing. I can learn.
He snaps, the sound dull through his gloves. In a blink, all the dirty dishes and utensils are clear and dry, resting on the counter. The sink is completely empty.
Herby thyme hits my tongue again, and I beam. “Thatis stellar.”
His shoulders relax. Or slump. “I won’t always be around to wash your dishes for you. Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late.”
“Your health can’t take that, sir,” Ms. Zeen scolds.
My joy sputters. “What do you mean?” Then I notice his eyes, sunken in the purple shadows of his sockets. Of course. He’s not just tired—he’s exhausted. Are his symptoms finally showing?
He waves a hand at his Governess. “Small tasks like that don’t bother me. Ms. Zeen is just overly concerned for me.”
“Someone has to be, sir.”
His chest swells, as if he’s trying to catch his breath. “I don’t use my magic very often as of late. Being ill… I try to conserve my effort. My power. Before, I could have banished a dozen storms from the Widow Witch if someone had wished it.”
As a Farewitch, my hands are my best kitchen tool, and they always ache to touch. But I resist the urge now. Lord knows what kind of trouble a reassuring shoulder pat would get me in. “Your magic—it’s weakening as you do.”
The grim set of his mouth confirms it. “I prefer to keep the information private.”
And here I asked him to demonstrate for me, like a card trick. I deserve Ms. Zeen’s scornful stare. “Do you keep your wish magic itself secret?”
“Not secret, I just don’t advertise it. Magic like that encourages people to… lean in.”
Funny. I hide my memory affinity because it makes people lean away.
“Enemies?”
“Enemies, neighbors, humans. People only ever see the wish I can give them.”
A spark of empathy lights through me. I wonder how many people in his life have seen only a Warlock and his magic, only what he could offer them. He wouldn’t know who liked him for his company or for his magic. Not unlike being a Farewitch. Would my neighbors give me the time of day if I were just Honey?
But I wasn’t even going to take the job until he promised access to his books, so am I any better than any of those folks? I suppose I shouldn’t care. I’m not here to be his friend. I know this, he knows this.
Still, I make a mental promise to myself. No more wishes, even the smallest of the small. Magic always takes a physical toll on any Witch or Warlock, but his seems to drain him at an unusually fast pace. “Any other enemies I should be briefed on?”
The Warlock’s expression hardens again. “That’s enough for one day.”
Lazlo rockets back into the kitchen, disappears into the pantry for a hot minute, then bolts away with an armful of packaged snacks. I smile. At least there’sonething in this world this prickly Warlock is soft for.
Then something explodes.
Okay, not an explosion, but itfeelslike one. After the Widow Witch, my nerves are fried like fritters, and the Warlock’s hazel eyes are staring at me, and it’s all just A Lot, so of course the oven buzzer sounds exactly like an explosion. Honest mistake.
