Page 30 of Tricks for Free

“Because you told me to be,” said Mary.

I paused. “Oh,” I said finally. “Crap. I totally forgot.”

“Because of your hands?”

“Because of my hands.” I held them up. “One of the quick service restaurants had an accident. A deep fryer blew up, doused this poor woman in hot oil. I tried to help, and I burned my hands.” That wasn’t the whole story. From the look on her face, Mary knew it. But Fern didn’t know about my little problem, and she was freaking out badly enough over Mary that I didn’t want to drop any more surprises on her.

(It can be easy to forget, in a world where humans are the dominant species and human cultures are dominant no matter where you go, that all thinking creatures will have their own cultural ideas, opinions, and hang-ups. I didn’t know what sylphs thought of people who could set things on fire with a touch, and I didn’t want to find out by making myself homeless.)

“Did you get actual medical assistance, or did you just wrap them in gauze and call it a night? Because I can call your mother—”

“Please don’t.” I lowered my hands. “The Lowryland EMTs patched me up. It’s only minor damage. I’ve got light duty for the next two days while I heal, and then I should be all better.”

“Your mother will resurrect me just so she can kill me if I let something happen to you, and she scares me.” Mary folded her arms. “She married in, remember? She doesn’t have that automatic ‘do what Mary says’ programming that blood family gets. If I let you burn your fingers off, or whatever, she’ll have me stuffed into a spirit jar before I can say ‘it wasn’t my fault.’”

“I won’t burn my fingers off,” I said. The smell of fried chicken was starting to make my mouth water, as my body remembered that I hadn’t eaten anything since a few bites of bad salad. “Can you fix me a plate? I think I can hold a fork, if I’m careful about it.”

“Of course,” said Mary. She opened a cupboard and took down two plates. “Fern? Chicken? I’m assuming you’re not a vegetarian, unless tofu bacon has gotten much more convincing.”

“Please,” said Fern.

“Now while I’m doing this, Annie, how about you tell me why you ceased to exist this morning, and what was so important that I needed to come to your apartment to find out about it?” Mary’s tone was pleasant, but it concealed a razor’s edge of tension and threat.

I swallowed a groan. Between the pain and the chicken, I had forgotten why I’d told Mary to come and see me—and now I had a problem. “It’s nothing, really,” I said, with a meaningful glance at Fern.

Mary narrowed her eyes. “Liar,” she said.

“Wait.” Fern looked between us. “Do you not want to talk because I’m here? Is that it? Don’t you trust me? I thought you trusted me.”

“I do trust you,” I said. “I just . . .” I paused, and sighed. “I’ve sort of been keeping something a secret, and I don’t want you to stop being my friend when you find out what it is. That’s all.”

“Oh.” Fern frowned. “Is this about how you set things on fire when you’re asleep? Because I know about that. I think it’s sort of cute. Are you sure you’re not part djinn? Because that would explain the fire. Except I don’t think they’re cross-fertile with humans, and I know you’re mostly human. Um. Except for the fire thing.”

I stared at her. Mary stared at her. Fern shrugged, looking sheepish.

“You’ve set off the fire alarm a couple of times,” she said. “Megan thinks it’s faulty. I know you like her, but I figured it was sort of your thing to tell her about.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew?” I was reeling—more from the idea that I’d been able to sleep through the fire alarm than from the surprise of learning that Fern knew about my little problem. I was supposed to be able to wake up and move at a moment’s notice.

Working a real job was taking more out of me than I’d realized. It didn’t help that, with the exception of the knives in my room—which I had to keep hidden, in case of a surprise inspection, and which I couldn’t take to work with me ever—I was living alone and unarmed, without even a colony of Aeslin mice to reassure me that I was going to get through this. On some level, I’d already given up. Sleeping through the fire alarm was one more sign that it was getting bad.

Fern shrugged. “I figured once you wanted me to know, you’d tell me yourself. In the meantime, I wanted you to be comfortable here. I know this has been hard on you. I’ve been helping as best as I could.”

“Okay. Um. Wow.” I took a deep breath. “Yes, this is about the fire thing. I’m entirely human, as far as I know, but my grandfather was a magic-user, and it seems I am, too. My hands get hot sometimes. Hot enough to start fires.”

“What happened today—”

“I didn’t do it.” I couldn’t even be angry that she had sort of asked. I would have asked, too, if our positions had been reversed. “I was having lunch when I heard the screams and went to see what was going on. The explosion had already happened. I burned my hands when I started pulling the heat out of her to try and reduce her injuries.” My fingers throbbed in sympathy with the memory. I grimaced. “I’m hoping I don’t need to do that again for a really long time. This hurts.”

“Doing the right thing often does,” said Mary. She looked at Fern. “Your roommate’s a sorceress and I’m her dead aunt. Is that okay? Have we covered the situation? Because I’d like to move on before the other roommate gets home.”

“We have about three hours,” I said.

“I’m fine,” said Fern. “This is sort of a lot? But I’ve already been through sort of a lot, so I guess it’s more for the pile.”

“Cryptid therapists must make so much money,” I said.

Fern’s expression was grim. “You have no idea.”