Chapter 3
Perhaps she thought he wouldn’t ask dayside. Or perhaps she intended to lie.
He gave serious thought to calling on her Vows—the one she made to him on his behalf and the one she made to him on behalf of her sister—in order to get the truth. But their relationship, if one could call it that, was built on a foundation of compulsion. He hated to do any more forcing.
No, he would just ask. But he would pay close attention to the emotions bleeding over to him from her, and he would put the question to her again that night. Nothing—nothing—would distract him from that.
He set to work on the R&D he desperately needed to complete and was making no progress on, trying to stave off the feeling that he had doomed the world to destruction on a scale never before imagined. You can’t put the genie back in the bottle. Wasn’t that what he’d told Beatrix about magic?
At five minutes to eight, he came down the stairs and waited uneasily for her in the brewing room, glancing at the pair of to-do lists tacked to the wall. His and hers, though not labeled as such.
Beatrix’s was longer, filled with the brews she would make and he would take credit for. The other listed requests he needed to deal with in person. He crossed out “Aphids—Sederey” and made a mental note to go to Dale Kirkland’s in the afternoon to take care of his bug problem.
A knock broke the silence, but he could tell by the rat-tat-tat pattern that it wasn’t Beatrix. When he opened the door, there stood Mayor Croft, her former employer, so wrapped up between his coat, hat and scarf that only his eyes and the top of his generous nose were showing.
“Oh, good,” the mayor said, his words muffled. “Could I borrow you for an hour or two? The sidewalks are getting dangerous.”
He supposed they were, considering that he and Martinelli had tripped over them. He could get to Kirkland tomorrow.
“I’ll swing by your store later and you can show me all the spots that need work,” he said.
“It really needs to be now,” Croft said, apologetic but firm. “They’re icing up. Someone’s going to hurt themselves.”
“Wait—do you want me to fix the uneven sections or remove the ice?”
“Well, both, now that you mention it. But I was thinking of the ice.”
“Mayor,” he said, “surely you have a maintenance worker to take care of ice and snow. There’s a limit to what an omnimancer should do in town.”
Croft’s eyes had a pleading look to them. “I know, and I’m sorry, but we simply don’t have the budget for it. I used to do the salting and shoveling myself, but I’m getting too old.”
Peter sighed. How could he say no to that?
He’d already worked a spell into his thin wizard’s coat to make it cold-weather appropriate, so he threw on a hat, scarf and fingerless gloves, ran to consult Brown’s Lexicon for the best spell to deal with ice, and followed the mayor out.
The sleet had stopped and the slushy mix on the ground was just bad enough to make walking a tricky proposition where the pavement angled up or down—which was most everywhere in hilly Ellicott Mills.
“I’m going to need more fuel,” he said, and went to get leaves from the basement, hoping Beatrix would show up and he could have it out with her first. It was unlike her to be late. She would surely arrive any second.
But he filled every one of his many pockets and rejoined Croft without seeing her. They worked their way down his long driveway, Peter casting melting spells as they went.
When they got to the bottom, he turned and saw a flash of red disappearing into the house. Beatrix in her winter coat.
“Mayor,” he said, “I need to—”
“Oh no.” Croft grabbed his arm. “Miss Sederey’s about to walk down Main Street. She always comes to the store first thing on Mondays. Quick, Omnimancer, before she breaks a bone.”
Peter spared a dark thought for silly girls who didn’t have the sense to delay shopping trips during bad weather.
But he didn’t want a broken bone on his conscience—it was heavy enough already—and Beatrix couldn’t go anywhere for eight more hours.
They would have this conversation today whether she liked it or not.
“Stay there, Miss Sederey,” he called out.
When he reached her a while later, internally cursing at the slow nature of the spell and the length of Main Street, she gave him a shy smile.
“Thank you so much, Omnimancer.”
“Are you going to the general store?”
She hesitated. “Yes, but I’d intended to come see you first.”
That couldn’t be good. “Has the calf or its mother taken a bad turn?”
“Oh, no,” she said, her smile filling out, dimpling her cheeks. “As healthy as you please, thanks to you. No, it’s my ankle. I … I seem to have twisted it.”
“On the way here?”
She shook her head. “On the farm.”
And then she walked all the way here—in icy slush? The Sedereys obviously had his telephone number because Mr. Sederey had called to ask for the aphid help, and besides—everyone in town had his telephone number.
“Well, come with me to the house,” he said. “I’ll take a look.”
And then he would talk to Beatrix.
But Croft shook his head. “No, no. My store’s much closer, and you need to go there anyway, Miss Sederey. Come along.”
It was perfectly reasonable. Just as getting Miss Sederey in the first place, and leaving the house with Croft, was reasonable. Still, Peter began to suspect a setup.
Miss Sederey looked at him, blue eyes projecting vulnerable innocence. “If I … if I could just have a bit of help getting there?”
He offered his arm to the girl who had walked half a mile under her own power but wanted assistance for the remaining hundred feet. Croft let them into the general store, and Miss Sederey limped to a chair in the adjoining office. Peter kneeled to examine the ankle.
“The left?” he asked.
She had to think about it, the faker. What had Beatrix promised her in exchange for this act?
“Yes,” she said. “It’s very painful. You will be careful, Omnimancer?”
“I promise this won’t hurt,” he said dryly. “Would you like to remove the shoe or should I?”
“Oh,” she said, cheeks pinking. “If you would, please …”
It reached about an inch above the ankle, a porcelain-button boot with a narrow heel that had to be just about the worst choice for slippery walking conditions. When he got it off her foot, he cast a diagnostic spell that would indicate if something was wrong.
“Oh,” Miss Sederey said, staring at the green glow lighting up her ankle. “What is that doing?”
Telling him that nothing at all was amiss, not counting her misuse of the truth. He decided to return the favor.
“It’s a spell to heal sprains,” he said. “Can’t you feel it working?”
Her eyes widened and she bobbed her head up and down enthusiastically. “Oh, yes. My goodness, yes.”
He smothered a laugh and stood, intent on finishing the rest of the sidewalk as quickly as possible. But Croft interceded again.
“Miss Sederey shouldn’t walk home, and I need to mind the store,” the mayor said. “Could you take her when she’s done shopping, Omnimancer?”
Oh, come on. He thought of arguing that Miss Sederey’s “sprain” had been miraculously fixed and she could safely walk anywhere, but the silver lining occurred to him.
“I’ll go fetch the car,” he said. “Take your time.”
He dashed up Main Street and his driveway to confront Beatrix, banging open the door and leaving a wet trail behind him in the hallway, only to stop with a jerk as he reached the brewing room.
It was empty. A vial of something she’d made, perhaps cold relief, sat on the long worktable alongside a note in handwriting that looked eerily like his, the consequence of them both learning cursive under Miss Dane’s sharp eye. Had to run out. Back in a bit.
Croft had called to warn her. He must have. But what did she think she was accomplishing? What did it gain her to delay the reckoning an hour or two?
He strode to his car, aggravation warring with anxiety, and maneuvered it down to an empty parking spot in front of Croft’s.
He expected Miss Sederey would make him cool his heels for at least a half-hour, the better to help Beatrix, but she popped through the front door as he put the car in park.
He had to jump out and run to do the expected courtesy of taking her bag and helping her into the passenger seat.
“How’s the ankle?” he said, managing to conceal the sarcastic intent.
She dimpled at him again. “Ever so much better. Thank you, Omnimancer.”
The girl chattered away during the short drive to her farm, saying nothing of substance.
And though it wasn’t fair to judge her for that—she was twenty, she was probably nervous and what did mere acquaintances say to each other if not pleasant nothings?
—he couldn’t help but compare the ride to his first with Beatrix.
In which she critiqued the government, argued with him over the need for an omnimancer in town and implied that he’d been grossly overpaid while employed by the Army.
(He probably had, but he was making up for it now with a salary of zero.)
Pleasant was not the word for Beatrix. Stimulating. Provoking. Disconcerting.
The worst thing about the last two weeks was the anxiety of what she might do. But hardly speaking to her was a close second.
He missed her.
“Omnimancer?”
He pulled up to the Sederey house and forced himself back into the conversation. “Yes, Miss Sederey?”
She looked down at her hands. “I am very sorry for the bother.”
She sounded sincere. Perhaps she regretted agreeing to detain him. So he said, “If you ever really need something”—with only the slightest emphasis on really—“you only need to ask.”
Once she was safely inside the house, he turned the car around and drove off the farm, preparing what to say to Beatrix. With every delay, he dreaded the conversation more.
He was so focused on that, he almost didn’t notice the arm-waving figure at the side of the road, trying to flag him down. He slowed, pulling over. Then he recognized the man under the heavy parka, and the urge to laugh was so powerful he gave in to it.