Imarched over to the table, where a familiar green-eyed “scientist” was waiting for me, his mouth twisted into an infuriating smirk. Those eyes, the color of wood sorrel in the spring, sparked through wire-rimmed glasses, which he removed before flipping a newspaper up to hide his face. The rest of him was as irritatingly polished as the other times we’d met. Today, the starched button-down was white, covered by a thick gray sweater with a shawl collar, dark jeans, and tan brogues that looked new out of the box.
“Hey,” I barked.
The sorcerer was seemingly engrossed with an article on off-season salmon poaching.
“Hey, you.” I flopped into the chair opposite him. “I see we lied about the stalking. Don’t tell me, you’re doing research on sleepy senior communities on the Oregon Coast, and you have a little house just down the road.”
The stranger looked over the edge of his paper, obviously annoyed. “One moment, please.” He murmured something under his breath, and the air around us seemed to expand somehow.
I reared. “What did you just do?”
“Some people don’t want every conversation broadcast to every person within a five-mile radius,” said the man before taking a sip of tea the color of dungeon water. “Considering the decibel of your voice, I suspect you are not one of them.” He looked me over. “Odd.”
“Whatdid you do?” I demanded again.
He shrugged. “I muffled the conversation. Delighted to see you again, Ms. Whelan. Please, won’t you join me?”
His diction was precise and nearly perfect, his mild accent which still wasn’t exactly EnglishorIrish, was infuriatingly calm. I stared at him, trying to compare the voice to the vaguely English-sounding chatter at the house. It had never been clear enough for me to understand it other than the demands for the Secret, at which point The shadowed man sounded insane. There was malice about that voice that I didn’t feel at all from the man in front of me. This green-eyed sorcerer was arrogant and obviously had some boundary issues. But not evil.
He did, however, test my patience, which was already running very low.
“Don’t ’Miss Whelan’ me,” I snapped. “Now you’re going to tell me who the hell you are and why you’ve stalked me across the country. Or I’ll?—”
“You’ll what?” he interrupted with a smirk that made me want to smack him. “Make me think I’m a toad? Convince me to walk into oncoming traffic? Drown myself in the ocean?”
My mouth dropped. Those were, in fact, the threats I’d been contemplating, though I hadn’t said any out loud.
I’d neverdoit, of course. It was completely taboo, the power that some seers had to manipulate another’s thoughts and subsequently, their actions. I’d been lectured on that particular taboo so many times I thought Gran had melded my brain waves with her speeches.
Seers are the consciences of the world, she’d told me again and again. Our standards set everyone else’s. We couldn’t afford to be corrupted by our power, or else everyone would suffer for it.
I’d listened, of course, but that hadn’t meant I wasn’t curious. After all, wouldn’t anyone want to know what it felt like to have that kind of power over another? Wouldn’t they at least want to know if they could?
“Maybe I’ll just make you fall in love with me,” I suggested in an overly sweet voice. “At least that would get rid of the attitude.”
“That’s what you think.”
His eyes popped open with something that looked like surprise. Then he shook his head like he was disgusted with even theideaof being with someone like me.
Awareness jacketed my spine—though for what, I wasn’t sure.
The stranger glanced down at my hand, braced on the table, still in a black knit glove appropriate for running. “Don’t bother much with pleasantries, do you?”
“Not when a weird sorcerer is following me, no.” I tucked my hand in my lap so I could remove my glove. I didn’t trust thisman. I needed all weapons—no matter how unpredictable they were—at my disposal.
“I told you,” he said, sounding distinctly bored. “I’m…on faculty at Oregon.”
“You said you live in Portland. Eugene is almost two hours away. Not that it matters, since I’m pretty sure you’re lying about all of it.”
The sorcerer sighed and set his cup on its saucer with an audible clink. Then he turned the handle of the cup slightly toward him before adjusting it back to me. He did this three more times before appearing satisfied with the result.
“What’s that, another spell?”
He looked up curiously. “No. Did you think it was?”
I didn’t answer, just tapped my gloved fingers impatiently on my paper cup. A mountain of decisions was waiting for me today, not to mention a houseful of belongings to go through, plus a likely trip to Seattle before I had to get back to Boston and somehow figure out how to finish my PhD in spite of everything going on. I didn’t have time for these games.
“Maybe it would be easier if I called the cops,” I said finally. “The sheriff and I went to high school together. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind catching up.”