Page 95 of A Winding Wave of Magic
I turned. “Still. You said there were things to discuss. What’s going on?”
Any last vestiges of playfulness and flirtation dissipated. Jonathan bit his lip. “I think we should continue back to your apartment. You’re right, Cass. There have been some…developments. And this isn’t the kind of conversation we should be having where anyone—or anything—might hear us.”
In the warm sunlight, a cold shiver traveled down my back. I followed Jonathan around the rest of the reservoir silently, newly aware of the possibility that anything could be watching me with unseen eyes and ears.
29
IN WHICH PLANS CHANGE
Now I am driven from my acres,
In lonely cold without friends
— ANONYMOUS FOLK SONGWRITER, “SEAN O’DWYER OF THE GLEN”
He looked completely out of place standing in my apartment. I was fairly certain the inside of this place hadn’t seen a man in a tailored suit since the early sixties, much less someone who wore it with Jonathan’s particular brand of haughty dignity. On top of that, it was in a bit of disarray, strewn with my moving boxes, half filled with belongings.
Jonathan shifted uneasily between leather-soled feet, glancing curiously around the tiny living room. Then he paced the apartment while I texted Reina and located a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge.
“Did one of you…make…this?” he asked, stifling a smile as he picked up what could kindly be called a bowl that sat on the table and held spare change.
One edge was at least a half-inch lower than the others, and my attempt at a crackled robin’s egg glass looked more like some kind of terrible mold. I rolled my eyes. Sorcerers. So good with their hands that they thought it was hilarious when anyone else struggled.
“You’re not so great, you know,” I said, pouring a couple of pint glasses. “Some of us can’t tell the clay what to do. Some of us have to use our hands the old-fashioned way.”
“Do I want to know what happens when you cook, then?”
I put the tea back in the fridge. “Not really.”
“This is your room?” He poked his head into my bedroom at the edge of the hallway.
I walked to where he stood in the doorway and looked in with him. Good, not too many clothes tossed across the bed. “Home sweet home,” I said. “At least for another few days.”
A set of dark brown furniture was still in the all-but-empty room, including a desk and several bookshelves. The rest of my belongings were either packed or in piles, with the exception of my clothes and a few things I had bequeathed to Aja. The walls were painted the periwinkle blue I had chosen when I first moved here. According to the color swatch at the hardware store, it was called “Ocean Lullaby.” It reminded me of the waves in Oregon on a bright summer day.
“Iced? Hmm.” Jonathan accepted his tea and entered the room, examining the wood furniture with a few knocks here and there to test its quality. “That’s a decent set for a post-grad.”
I shrugged. “Penny’s doing. When I first moved to Boston, I slept on my roommate’s futon for two weeks, waiting for my stipend to start. One day, I was walking down the street and Gran called to say a man a few blocks away was leaving town and getting ready to abandon his furniture on the side of the road. Two blocks down, and all of it there, in pristine condition. I’ll leave it here for the next student.”
Jonathan whistled, impressed. “She always did have amazing range.”
I smiled grimly. “It was best on sunny days when the weather was clear from coast to coast. Didn’t happen often, but every now and then…”
Jonathan nodded as if he understood perfectly. “I’m surprised you’re not keeping it all, then.”
“They’re just things.”
We returned to the living room, where he started examining the windows and the blinds. His eyes blazed just a bit, and he murmured a brief spell under his breath. I looked around the room. Nothing happened, but I suddenly felt more contained in the place than normal.
“What did you just do?”
He turned. “Muffled the sound waves and darkened the windows. Like being in a soundproof office while it lasts. Will your roommate be joining us anytime soon?”
“No, she and Nick are going out tonight,” I said. “Jonathan, what are you doing now?”
He looked over from where he had been staring at a corner of the ceiling. “Just checking for anyone who might have left something. A device. Or a spell, perhaps, to record our conversation. Then I can secure against unwanted listeners, should there be any.” He glanced at me. “Don’t you need to sain?”
Would I have known if someone had invaded my apartment? I was now a PhD, but in the world of the fae, I was a novice when it came to magic, a fact too easy to forget.
