Page 79 of Heart of Mischief

Maybe he understood her better than she thought.

“For what it’s worth,” he went on, “it’s not an unhappy story. At least, not the parts that I saw, anyway.”

“How can a father leaving behind his childrennotbe an unhappy story?” she asked. “Unless, of course, he walked away from us whistling a merry tune because he never gave a shit about us in the first place.”

“There was no whistling,” he said in a way that seemed suspiciously gentle. “Trust me.”

Charlie picked at a chip in the old coffee mug. Did she want to have this conversation now? It would likely be a mistake, leaving her distracted at a time when she needed to put all of her focus on the goal at hand.

But it was tempting.Godswas it ever tempting.

“No,” she said at last. “Don’t tell me anything. Not until after we’ve put an end to this whole Rattatosk business.”

Elias nodded, taking another sip of coffee. “You’re stronger than I am. If it were me, I’d want every detail right away. I wouldn’t be able to wait.”

“That’s because you’re an impatient ass who only ever thinks about himself.”

He gasped, laying a hand on his chest. “What have Ieverdone to make you think such a thing, Charlotte?”

For a moment, she could only stare incredulously at him.

Then she saw his bottom lip twitch. He was holding back laughter.

She elbowed him in the side, unable to help the laugh bubbling up her throat. “You aresucha piece of work, Elias.”

“I know,” he said, grinning. A real smile, not a smirk or a leer. The kind that lit up his whole face. “Don’t pretend you don’t love it.”

That’s the problem, she thought, watching him take another sip of coffee.I worry that it’s not pretend. Not anymore.

28

The notebook materialized atCharlie’s side. She snatched it out of the air where it floated and waved it over her head victoriously.

“Another one!” she hollered at the porch, where Elias was seated in a rocking chair beside Bjorn and Vidar. “And it wasn’t even hard this time!”

The three of them burst into applause. Henry, who was sitting on Elias’s knee, sent sparkling silver colors of congratulations into Charlie’s mind.

Beaming, Charlie tossed the notebook onto the grass, where it joined a small army of various other items: a T-shirt, a piggy bank, a framed photograph, a book on Dorothy Dietrich, a French textbook, a bag of chips, a pair of swimming goggles, three sets of shoes, and, of course, two fuzzy green socks.

She was doing it. She was conjuring items from thin air, using the currents to transport them instantly from her bedroom to her side. It hadn’t been easy—following coffee with Elias, there were many more hours of failures, grotesque curse words, and finally, two dozen almost-successes that landed in the treetops or on the opposite side of the clearing.

But then…

Then she did it.

She’d known that attempt was going to be a success even before the socks appeared. Something about it had felt different right fromthe start—the currents more tangible, easier to grab; the location of the socks so clear in her mind; the folding of space as easy as bending a plastic straw. She’d felt the socks come to her. Felt them rush to her side like an attentive servant.

Afterward, Charlie couldn’t stop conjuring.

She went for every object in her bedroom, starting small and working her way up to larger things, like her desk chair and the comforter on her bed.

“Aren’t you worried that your mom might be in your room right now?” Elias asked as she focused all her energy on the floor lamp next to her desk.

“No,” she said, keeping her eyes shut. “She only goes into our rooms on Tuesdays and Fridays. Those are laundry days.”

“What if she decided to change her schedule?”

Charlie inhaled as she felt the cool metal of the lamp materialize against her palm. “Then she’s in for one hell of a surprise.”