Page 128 of Balance
“They’re an old fae family.” Kathleen was still frowning, and glanced toward her house as her fingers twitched nervously. “They’re both Seelie and Unseelie, and guard the realm between the two courts. They’re also mercenaries. Kieran Brosnan was your mother’s guardian, and your father’s best man. He was the one who introduced the two of them.”
“But…” I twisted the frayed edges of Miles’s pants. I’d known that Keiran’s last name was Brosnan, but I had no idea it was so important. “What does that mean?”
“Ask Gregory,” she answered instead. “He’ll be able to explain better. In the meantime, this brings us back to our original conversation. You were raised by witches.”
So everyone claimed, but I never thought of my adoptive parents as such.
“They must have taught you a thing or two, even if you never realized,” she continued, looking down at the fabric in my lap. “I’m curious. Why don’t you mend those pants and we’ll see what happens?”
What would happen? Obviously, they would no longer be ripped. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that much out.
“Focus,” she said, pushing to her knees and brushing off her skirt. “Just remember to think about Miles when you do this, and just trust in yourself.”
Why in the world would I want to overcomplicate such a simple task?
But I didn’t even have a chance to ask before she turned her back on me and limped away.
The atmosphere seemed to lighten at her departure, and I tore my eyes from her retreating back and returned my attention back to the garment in my hands.
I had done a thorough job in destroying the leg—necessary at the time, but leaving Miles desperately in need of clothing. It wasn’t like he could continue to traipse around in his boxers. He would freeze, and it would be entirely my fault.
The guilt would be all-encompassing.
Kathleen had left behind a small tin, a sewing kit which rested on the dirt beside my knee. Strangely enough, even after her retreat, I could have sworn the ground around me was still humming—or maybe it was just my skin and nerves. I wasn’t sure, but the feeling grew stronger as I opened the tin, pulling out the black thread and a needle.
I glanced at it, and back to the olive pants. It wasn’t a perfect match by any stretch of the imagination, but it was all I could do right now. Unfortunately, Miles was not going to get professional-level service from me.
But I would do my best.
The distant sound of the trickling stream, the rustling of the leaves, and even the warmth of the sun faded as I chewed on the inside of my lip, focusing entirely on my goal.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Bianca
Spirit
My face warmed as I slipped back into Kathleen’s kitchen and approached Miles—who was sipping tea at the table. He turned to me, surprised, as I thrust his pants into his arms. “Here. I fixed them.”
“Youfixed them?” he asked instead of thanking me. The disbelief in his voice was almost insulting, especially as he ran his fingers over the dark threads. “How?” He turned wide-brown eyes to me.
I crossed my arms over my stomach, glancing away. Kathleen was back at the hearth, stirring a deep purple something in her cauldron. She’d barely looked up at my arrival, but at Miles’s question her attention moved briefly in our direction.
“That’s quite a protection spell,” she said, her voice mild. “She must really like you.”
“It’s not…” Their sudden attention on my work frayed at my nerves, and I shuffled my weight to my other foot. “Sorry I cut them up in the first place. I wish I could do better.”
“But…” Miles ran his index finger down the mended rip at the knee. “Howdid this happen?” he asked again.
I frowned at him, the nervous energy swirling in my stomach made it impossible to think. Why couldn’t he just get dressed? At least he had a shirt on for once. But his thighs were not any less distracting than his bare torso.
And what did he mean ‘how’? I stabbed a needle through some fabric; that was how sewing worked.
Unless, of course, he was referring to how they might have gotten destroyed in the first place. I didn’t think he’d gotten brain damage, but it was always a possibility.
“I ripped off your clothes,” I reminded him. “You know, after you dramatically fell and smashed your head on the ground. Did you get a concussion?”
Miles’s amazed expression morphed into a frown. He flushed, glancing toward the other end of the cabin. “I didnotsmash my head into the ground.”
