Page 67 of Echoes of the Banshee

“Then Zair lied.” I take a step away from her and her smile goes with it. “All goblins could crack my skull open too. We’re all dangerous.”

“Can’t argue with that,” I admit. Glancing at her arm to ensure I didn’t leave a bruise earlier.

“Witches have different strengths. Not all goblins are equally strong, equally good at crafting, or equally attractive.”

“Exactly,” I smirk. Happy to be back on joking grounds. “I got all the looks and there wasn’t any left for anyone else.”

“Does that mean you’re weak?” she challenges, raising an eyebrow. My mouth falls open as her laughter rings out and I can’t even be mad.

“Damn, walked right into that one. You should come with a warning label.”

“Zair didn’t warn you about me?” she asks with a smile but I feel mine drop. I force a fake one to replace it.

“Nope. He intended to keep you all to himself,” I say, trying to be playful. Her smile vanishes for a second before she controls it.

“Cursing’s one of the basics,” she tells me. “Like elemental manipulation or spell work. For most of history, that’s what mattered; core skills. It’s only recently that people act like a witch without ‘extras’ is weak.”

“What’s your extra?” I ask, feeling like I’m learning insider information on witches as we approach the dining hall.

“Haven’t you heard? I’m the weak one.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t believe everything I hear,” I say as we get in line.

“You heading to eat in the courtyard?” she asks while she waits for her double serving of lasagna and French bread. I look out the window to hide the smile. No arguing about low fat salad dressing from her.

“Not today. Can I eat with you?” I ask before I realize it’s out of my mouth. “I’ve got a sketch I’m working on and honestly, I could use the quiet.”

“Sure.”

She pays for my food and I don’t know if I should be offended or appreciative. She leads me to a corner booth and we both sit down.

“Thanks for the food.”

“Of course. My coven high priestess is the one footing the bill and is a bitch. Only wish I could see her face when she tries to figure out how I ate four servings of lasagna!”

She digs in like she’s never eaten. When I realize that I’m staring at her as she devours her food I pull out my sketch pad. I start eating as I sketch on my notebook. It’s nice. Calming.

“Do you draw?” she asks. I look up and see her plate is clean and she’s sitting looking at me with attention. Red sauce on her chin.

I smile.

“No. These are ideas for knives.”

“Oh. Are you a crafter?” she asks even more enthusiastically. She leans forward and looks at the knife and the notes I’ve written around the edge in Graven. I freeze, waiting for the insult.

“Doesn’t Vek mean safe?”

I’m pretty sure my eyes bulge out of my head. I clear my throat but it doesn’t help.

“Er – Yes and no. We don’t have as many words for things. I’m using it to signify that this design is tested.”

“Oh, that’s really interesting. I didn’t know that. We had a goblin who stayed with our family.” I smother an angry noise. Only one reason a goblin would be in a coven; in chains. “He used to have me spell them out with rocks. I don’t think he ever got past the basics because he’d always get distracted telling me stories.”

A smile splits my face. I grab a napkin and help her clean the red sauce off her chin. She chastises me for not telling her sooner.

“That’s how I learned it too. The storytelling is how we teach our morals.” Why would a goblin teach that to a witch? “I’ve never heard of a goblin as part of a witch coven.”

“Oh, he wasn’t. I lived in a…” She pauses as if trying to think of the word. “A school of sorts.”