I nudged her, and she laughed. “Okay, if you insist.”
She released me and headed into the nearest bedroom. I let my gaze roam again, then said to Atticus, “Why isn’t he waking? We’re not exactly being quiet.”
As you said, travel spells are deep and dangerous things, and their dismantling probably takes more caution and energy than their creation.He paused, eyes narrowing a little.His energy is mid-state, suggesting he is a few hours off waking yet.
You can see his energy?I certainly couldn’t, and that was supposedly my skill set.
I can’t see it as such. It is more... a fading vibration in the silence that generally surrounds him. I suspect the closer he gets to consciousness, the more that vibration will fall silent.
Interesting that he can still hold his shields while unconscious. Few witches can.
He has been very well trained, and not by any regular university, I suspect.
Meaning there are “irregular” universities?
Of a sort.
Meaning?
In darker times, blood witches schooled a selection of candidates with the intent of body swapping when they became age appropriate.
Meaning that practice hasn’t been eradicated entirely?
No, but it has become more dangerous to perform these days, thanks to the presence of the Society and the HCI. Fewer mages risk it.
Ginny returned with a blanket and carefully placed it over him. “You should see the fucking bedrooms—they’re almost as big as my entire place.”
“Well, if you’re paying millions for a penthouse apartment, I’m thinking you’d want value for money.”
“One doesn’t always equate to the other. Look at Sydney—insane prices for shoeboxes.” She tapped my shoulder. “You had better sit and rest up. I’ll go grab the rest of our gear.”
I nodded. Once she’d left, I hopped over to the kitchen to find the kettle, and instead found a top-of-the-line coffee machine that did absolutely everything. Next to it, in sealed containers, was a generous selection of coffee beans. After several minutes of aroma testing, I chose a blend that had nougat and caramel tones and, while the machine did its thing, went into the massive pantry to see if there was anything to eat. It was nigh on a supermarket in there, but I ended up selecting a packet of Tim Tams—caramel to go with the coffee—and, once my drink was done, sat on one of the nearby stools to consume both.
“Which bedroom?” Ginny said as she came back with our suitcases.
I shrugged. “Don’t care.”
She harrumphed. “Then I shall give you the biggest, given it is likely to be his. Maybe he’ll stumble into bed with you later and good times will ensue.”
“Good times won’t,” I said dryly. “We are working.”
“You’re not on the clock twenty-four seven, Hanna. There is time to play.”
“Distraction is never a good thing.”
“Like you’re not distracted in his presence now,” she retorted. “Maybe a horizontal tango or two will ease said distraction.”
“Not going to happen, so drop it.”
“Fine, fine. But you’re an idiot.” She stopped. “Is that coffee I can smell?”
“Yes. You want one?”
She nodded. “I’ll just run downstairs and get the grocery stuff.”
“We shouldn’t have bothered—he has enough food in the pantry to last a good few months.”
“Hey, I paid good money for that food, and I’m going to damn well eat it.”
