Page 24 of Her Dreadful Will
She’d heard of people who were immune to specific types of witch magic. They were calledantigens, and they were extremely rare. But there was always a reason for the immunity—for example, someone might be immune to nature magic because they’d been born in a forest, or to illusion magic because they had a unique kind of astigmatism. Neither Soleil nor Highwitch Erlich had been able to identify a parallel antigen for her mind-flex magic. Not in all her years in school and at college, not during all her working summers or family vacations had she ever found someone whose sphere she could not sense.
How was Achan Gilliam so completely invisible to her?
Mentally she flicked through the possibilities. The antigen theory was the most likely. And there were complicated mandalas that witches could use to foil each other’s powers, but those were applied with powerful rituals known only to the topmost echelon of witches—the Witchlords. From the scant information she’d found on the topic, such shielding rituals required painful and permanent marking of the body.
The idea of this polite young dentist having access to arcane Witchlord magic was laughable. Unless—
He met her gaze, frowning slightly, and she realized how abruptly she’d stopped speaking, and how intently she’d been staring at him. “Um, so—what are you going to order?” she asked.
“A steak, I think. You?”
“The same, probably.”
“So you’re not vegan. That’s a relief. My ex was.”
Oh, thought Soleil.So we’re doing the ex talk right away.
“Nothing wrong with being vegan, of course,” said Achan. “It’s a healthy lifestyle. But it did complicate our dining plans.”
“I can imagine.” Should she say something about her past relationships? College had been a series of sporadic dates with boys who didn’t ask her out again. She’d had a sweet something in high school with a kind-hearted, fresh-faced boy who loved her far more than she cared for him. They had learned romance together—soft, tentative kisses in movie theaters that smelled of sweat and stale popcorn—slow exploration of each other’s bodies in half-lit bedrooms among outspread textbooks.
She couldn’t speak of that relationship to this man, with his perfectly ironed shirt and his eyes of broken glass.
“Drinks?” The abrupt question burst from a glowering woman with a notepad—their server, apparently. Late thirties and painfully bleach-blond, she had the prematurely leathery skin of someone who had spent too much time in the sun, or too much time smoking. Or both.
Soleil was about to order sweet tea, but decided that a dentist might frown on sugary drinks like that, especially after the incident with the “rotten” tooth. “Water for me, please.”
“I’ll have water as well,” said Achan.
“Wine?” Soleil offered. She was paying, after all. Might as well go all out.
But Achan shook his head. “No, thank you.”
Strange. But Soleil had met a number of people who didn’t care for alcohol. She was a “white wine on the weekends” girl herself. Not that she wouldn’t have liked a nice Cabernet Sauvignon with the steak, but just in case he was a recovering alcoholic or something, she decided to pass. “Just water then.”
The server ignored her, studying Achan. “You’re that dentist. The new one.”
“I am, yes.”
“You don’t remember me?” She stuck the end of her pen in her mouth, clamping her teeth on it and blinking. Was that supposed to be flirting? Soleil unfolded her menu to hide a smile.
“I’m afraid I haven’t learned all my patients’ names yet.” Achan’s voice was mellow and apologetic. “Forgive me, you’ll have to refresh my memory.”
“I’m Zillah Dean. Cavity?”
“Of course. Is your tooth feeling all right?”
“Well, now, I don’t know. I might have to come back in for a checkup. Got any time to squeeze me in?”
The way she said “squeeze,” with a wriggle of her hips—Soleil had to bite her knuckle behind the menu to stifle a giggle. At the same time, she felt a little ashamed of her laughter, and slightly sorry for Zillah Dean. The woman’s volisphere throbbed with restless lust and angry dissatisfaction. Soleil had done her share of waitressing during the summers. She knew first-hand how demanding, rude, and downright unreasonable customers could be, how hard and thankless the job often was. How welcome any pretty distraction could be—and Achan Gilliam was both pretty and distracting.
“You can call the office anytime during regular business hours, and Ms. Ramirez will set up an appointment for you,” said Achan, with a cool, impersonal smile. “I think we’re ready to order, aren’t we, Soleil?”
“Um, yes.”
The server took their order in silence, not bothering to verbally confirm any of it before stalking away. Soleil’s sympathy dissipated. Maybe there were bigger reasons this woman was angry and lonely, and maybe some of those reasons were her own fault.
Maybe none of it was Soleil’s business at the moment.
