Chapter Eight #3
Funny. I hide my memory affinity because it makes people lean away.
“Enemies?”
“Enemies, neighbors, humans. People only ever see the wish I can give them.”
A spark of empathy lights through me. I wonder how many people in his life have seen only a Warlock and his magic, only what he could offer them.
He wouldn’t know who liked him for his company or for his magic.
Not unlike being a Farewitch. Would my neighbors give me the time of day if I were just Honey?
But I wasn’t even going to take the job until he promised access to his books, so am I any better than any of those folks? I suppose I shouldn’t care. I’m not here to be his friend. I know this, he knows this.
Still, I make a mental promise to myself. No more wishes, even the smallest of the small. Magic always takes a physical toll on any Witch or Warlock, but his seems to drain him at an unusually fast pace. “Any other enemies I should be briefed on?”
The Warlock’s expression hardens again. “That’s enough for one day.”
Lazlo rockets back into the kitchen, disappears into the pantry for a hot minute, then bolts away with an armful of packaged snacks. I smile. At least there’s one thing in this world this prickly Warlock is soft for.
Then something explodes.
Okay, not an explosion, but it feels like one. After the Widow Witch, my nerves are fried like fritters, and the Warlock’s hazel eyes are staring at me, and it’s all just A Lot, so of course the oven buzzer sounds exactly like an explosion. Honest mistake.
I startle so hard, my shoulders hit my earlobes. “The cake!”
Thank Dolly for timers. Against all odds, the cakes are fine. Two perfectly golden rounds of coconut cake come out of the AGA.
By the time we finish re-cleaning the kitchen, the cake is cool enough for me to frost and slice. As I inhale, I’m on a beach somewhere, demolishing a pina colada. The Warlock’s probably never been to a beach.
I quickly push away the mental image of him wearing swim trunks and slide a slice toward him. “Coconut cream pie cures pet allergies, but coconut cake is for plant allergies.”
His brow furrows. “I’m a gardener. I’m around plants as long as the sun is up.”
“Exactly. Since we’re not sure what your illness is, and I didn’t even know your symptoms ten minutes ago”—pointed look—“I was thinking, you spend so much time in your gardens, what if there’s something causing you harm, in tiny doses? Repeated exposure? We’ll rule out the basics first.”
“Phytotoxins?”
“Crafting an antidote or a poison just depends on the dosage.”
He seems ready to protest the idea again, but something shifts in his expression. Like he knows something I don’t. “That’s… not a terrible idea.”
“Thank you?” I hand him a dessert fork. “Guests and patients eat first.”
He accepts the offering. “I’ll take this to my room.”
“You’re leaving? How will I know if you show improvement?”
He’s already slipping toward the door. “I’ll tell you.”
“At least send Lazlo back down. He only grabbed Goldfish and a packet of taco seasoning. He has to be hungry.”
When he doesn’t acknowledge he’s heard me, I vault around the island, placing myself right in front of the Warlock before he can leave.
He halts. “Do you ever tire, Ms. Frost?”
“This”—I gesture between us with my own tiny fork—“needs to work. I can’t guarantee a recipe will succeed, and you don’t have to like my food, but you have to show up to try it.”
His heavy look lingers on me. “I promise.” Gruff, clipped words. He sidesteps me. “For Lazlo.” Then he’s out the door.
Show up for yourself, I want to shout.
Ms. Zeen takes a coddling sip of tea as she eyeballs me with the judgmental stare of the century. “Bold of you.” Another sip, even more delicate. The tea can’t be so hot it needs that level of care.
I don’t need this right now. “Have I done something wrong? Offended you somehow?”
She sighs, primly, if that can be done. “Mr. Knight used to think everything could be solved with magic, but that’s only haunted him.
So now he treads carefully. If you take the aloofness personally, you’ll only get any sensitive feelings of yours hurt trying to understand mistakes much older than you. ”
“Is it because of what happened a year ago? How did Lazlo end up here, exactly?”
“You don’t need to know everything, girl.”
So we’re back to our usual skirmish, are we? I thought she might trust me now, just a little. “I need to understand—”
“You need to do as you’re told. Which is to cure the sickness in this house. Mr. Knight’s magic lives here. He is the Manor and the Manor is him. Why do you think he has not been able to leave in twenty-five years?”
“He only said he doesn’t like to leave.” Not that he can’t.
Her question sparks another already lingering in my head: Why would a Warlock with wish magic specialize his studies in curses? My apron suddenly feels way too tight around my growling stomach. Hunger, unease. They’re indistinguishable.
The old woman doesn’t reply as she heads for the door, sending a look of derision at the coconut concoction as she passes the island.
“Your cake looks dry.”