Chapter Eleven
Several hours passed, Mordon giving a nonstop lecture broken up by questions which I wondered if I had answered correctly. Mordon and I drifted from King's Ransom to the communal quarters upstairs, having gone through the motions of closing shop: locking the doors, snuffing out candles in their holders, totaling the receipt book and comparing it with the till. Only during counting did the shopkeeper go silent, and immediately afterwards he resumed where he left off. The topic of the time had been dwarven goldsmithing, a sidetrack I'd set him on to dodge questions about Railey. As we shut the wainscoting door, the hair prickled on the back of my neck and I was seized by an unnerving urge to look at the shop again. But it was silly wariness on my part. Mordon wasn't concerned at all.
By dinner, I stood over a pot of water, trying to master a spell to make it boil. Barnes napped on the couch, snoring; Leif read a crime thriller; and Lilly fought a losing battle with a tangle of coral yarn resisting the crochet hook. Mordon remained nearby, examining a book on potions and asking a stream of questions so fast I could hardly answer one before he popped the next. I put my hand on my hip and stared at him until he fell quiet and met my gaze. I pointed to the pot.
He said, “Then make it bubble.”
Leif's voice came from the armchair. “If I didn't know better, I would say she is educating you.”
“It's remarkable. I have never encountered such a diverse wealth of information.”
A blush heated my cheeks, and the water started to release tiny trails of spiraling bubbles. “If I had my books, I could talk you through even more. Illustrations are difficult to replace with conversation.”
Already I missed the little comforts of home—my stash of herbs, full-leaf tea, the lavender goats milk soap made by the lady down the road, and in particular all my books. It hadn't been much, but it had been almost a period of study and reflection. I had been surrounded by gifts bestowed over the years and trophies earned with blood. Trinkets, books, lessons—all things I wouldn't have had if my life had taken a different turn. The water exploded into a rolling boil with steam puffing off the top and a slight froth on the surface.
“That will do,” Mordon said.
Too bad I couldn't feel my magic acting. Ah, well. I took a cup and scooped water into it as though it were a ladle. Into the lime green and hot pink striped mug went one of Lilly's teabags, the one from a box ambiguously labeled 'Breakfast Tea'. Within three dips, the water was already black. I'd gotten spoiled on my Assam and Darjeeling.
“What do you think? Drop milk and sugar in, and it's pretty good,” said Lilly, yanking out the previous row of her knotted scarf.
What I really thought was that the tea was actually the dusty trimmings swept off cutting machinery and stuck in a bag, hardly worthy of being called tea, but what I said was, “It should perk me up.”
I felt tired and worn, but I didn't want to sleep now and wake up in the middle of the night.
Lilly said, “Mordon, we need to have a talk about revising the wards. Do you have the time?”
He rolled his shoulders, clearly not too keen on the idea. He glanced at me and snapped his fingers. Mordon said, “Have you notified anyone about where you are or how you are doing?”
The question came out of the blue. I blinked rapidly. “Uh, no.”
“Take a few minutes to burn a letter to someone.”
“Uhh…yeah.” I didn't have the guts to complain, but it's fire.
“It's a simple enough exercise.”
I shifted, not wanting to humiliate myself in front of the whole coven. “Do you mind if I go down to the shop? It'll be quiet there, now that it's closed.”
Mordon nodded not suspecting a thing, but Leif wasn't so fooled.
Feral Magic: An Urban Fantasy Romance-Thriller Page 15
