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His eyebrows drew together. “Why would you do that? You don’t even know me.”
“I know you want to be left alone, and it’s a sentiment I fully appreciate.”
He regarded me for a long moment. “Come in, but don’t you dare tell anyone you were inside the house. I don’t need a truckload of casseroles showing up on my doorstep.”
“What’s wrong with casseroles?”
“They usually include cheese. I’m lactose intolerant.”
“You can send them my way. I love cheese.”
“I mean it. People in Fairhaven like to rally around a cause with food. I have no desire to be their reason for baking.”
“You talk about free food like it’s a bad thing.” The back door opened directly into the kitchen. A whiff of spices hit me as I entered. “Is that turmeric I smell?”
“I’m making ginger-turmeric soup to boost my immunity.” He motioned to the pot on the stovetop. “I was injured a few months ago. I’ve been working my way back to full strength, but I let some things slide in the meantime.”
“Why not ask for help?” I asked.
“I don’t need any help.” He ducked his head. “I shouldn’t have ignored the exterior, though. Now I’ve managed to draw unwanted attention to the house, which is the last thing I wanted.”
“You shouldn’t have ignored their attempts to talk to you either. Fatima said the condition of the house has been declining for the past seven months. They think you’re dead and that your ghost is keeping people from entering the house.” The humans in Fairhaven wouldn’t recognize the effects of a ward.
His brow wrinkled in confusion. “Has it really been seven months? It doesn’t seem that long. Tell them not to worry, and that I should be able to get the house back to normal soon.”
Bruce had no idea how much time had passed. Interesting. I glanced at the wall. No clock. The microwave flashed 12:00.
“How were you injured?” I asked.
He removed the lid and gave the contents a stir. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I have certain skills that might help you, depending on the nature of your injury. If I can’t help, I also know of two fae healers in town.” I’d met Sage personally after a werewolf was attacked by a giant snake monster in the woods. The other healer was employed by Kane at the Devil’s Playground. Apparently, there were enough fights between supernaturals there to warrant a full-time healer on the premises.
Bruce replaced the lid on the pot. “I don’t need help, Miss Clay. I’ll be fine. Just tell everybody to stop worrying and leave me be. Tell them I threatened to shoot you if you didn’t leave my property.”
I glanced around the kitchen for evidence of weapons. “Do you own a shotgun?”
“No, but they don’t know that. They probably don’t even remember what I look like, it’s been so long since anyone has seen me.”
“It sounds like you’re somewhat of a hermit.”
He looked at me sideways. “So? That isn’t a crime.”
“I’m well aware.” As I took a few steps toward the next room, I realized that the magical pressure I’d experienced outside continued inside the house. That was unusual.
Bruce noticed my reaction. “What is it?”
“How many wards do you have?” I asked, although what I really wanted to know was the reason for their existence. The magic was palpable. This was no basic ward like mine, mixed together by a Bridger witch and my blood. This was intense and far superior.
Hesitation flickered in his eyes. “Why do you know so much about wards and healing if you’re not a witch?”
Ignoring his question, I stretched my neck for a glimpse into the next room. “What’s so important in here that you need multilayered security? And don’t tell me it’s to protect your precious hermit life. It has to be more than that.”
Bruce licked his lips. There was a lot of regret packed into that swipe of his tongue. “I shouldn’t have let you in. When I saw you and then you mentioned the ward, I don’t know… I just opened the door.”
“Can’t put the djinn back in the bottle now, so you might as well tell me the truth.”
“I couldn’t, even if I wanted to, which I don’t.”
