Page 77 of That Ain’t Witchcraft

“Well, yes, because we were making out for like, an hour, but I don’t see why that’s any of your business.” I crossed my arms, glad Sam wasn’t in the room to hear that particular lie. Although it would have been nice to have the backup. “He’s not here.”

Belatedly, I realized his bike might still be outside. Oh, well. Too late now.

“Good.” Captain Smith turned back to me. “I want to talk to you.”

“And I want you out of my house. Isn’t it fun how we’re both being thwarted today?”

“You need to stay away from James.”

“My house. Out of.” Belatedly, it occurred to me that I was speaking not only to the local chief of police, but to the father of the man I was supposedly dating. I added a grudging, “Please.”

“He’s a delicate boy. He doesn’t need some loose woman coming from out of town and getting him all confused.”

I blinked. “I … what? I don’t know whether to be more offended by you calling James ‘delicate’ or you calling me ‘loose.’ I assure you, I am the opposite of a loose woman. I’m a tightly-wound, sort of prickly woman. Hermione Granger is my Patronus.”

From the look on Captain Smith’s face, he wasn’t entirely sure I was speaking English. “I don’t think you understand how unpleasant I can make things for you.”

“I don’t think you understand how little I care.” Rage washed through me, crisp and chemical and oh-so- welcome. Here was a distraction. Here was something I could sink my teeth into. I stepped forward, jabbing a finger in the direction of his chest. “We’ve broken no laws. We’re both adults. Holding hands and kissing is none of your concern. Maybe you should be asking yourself why you’ve never sent him to college. He’s a smart guy. He deserves better than whatever the hell weird obsession you’ve got with keeping him nice and captive and—”

“He’s never been outside of New Gravesend in his life,” snapped Captain Smith.

“Whose fault is that?”

“His mother’s!”

We both froze, staring at each other. He didn’t look like he’d intended to say that. Interesting.

“I thought she died,” I said.

“She did,” he replied. “She became very sick, and then she passed away, and he’s been delicate ever since. He doesn’t need more stress.”

“College—”

“Would have been stressful for the boy. He hasn’t even tried to leave town since he was eleven. School field trip. He collapsed at the city limits. He doesn’t understand how fragile he is.”

I opened my mouth to answer, then stopped, cocking my head and looking at him. Really looking at him, not at James’ idea of him, not at the chief of police, but at the man. The man who’d married a sorcerer and buried her when she should have been in her prime. The man who’d raised a son he didn’t seem to understand or want, but who’d refused to let that child go, when the logical thing would have been to ship James off to the first boarding school that was willing to take him.

The man who lived in the most crossroads-touched town I’d ever seen, who tried to keep the law functioning there, and who couldn’t possibly be as oblivious as his son assumed he had to be. There was just no way.

“You knew she was a sorcerer, didn’t you?” I asked.

He looked away. That was answer enough.

“What did you do?” I asked, in a very small voice.

“It’s not what I did,” he said. “It’s what James’ great-great-great-great-grandfather did.”

Dammit. “James’ mother,” I said. “She got sick when James was a kid. Did she know she was going to get sick?”

He nodded.

“Did she know she was going to die?”

He nodded again.

“Did the same thing happen to one of her parents?”

A third nod. “She was an only child. They’re always only children on her side of the family, and they always see one of their parents die when they’re eleven or twelve years old. Old enough for it to hurt.”