Page 60 of Crossroads Magic
“Not that one,” he said. “Not yet.” He glanced at me. “You are an unusual woman, Anna Crackstone.”
I shook my head. I wanted more than anything to cling to the ordinary. “I’m completely average,” I assured him. “Even my name is ordinary. It’s the 83rdmost popular name in the United States. Not even in the top five.”
“Names can have special value, but they are not the person who uses them,” Benedict said.
“I’m so ordinary, I’m invisible,” I protested. “If I was in a room with other people and you walked in, you wouldn’t notice me.”
“I absolutely would see you,” Benedict replied.
“I…don’t make an impression on people,” I replied. “I got paid to put high paying clients at their ease, but they only remembered that they talked about themselves. They never remembered who they were talking to. My boss at the diner, the one who just fired me, he once locked me in the store one night. He didn’t know I was still there. He hadn’t noticed me.”
“That was their loss.”
“I can’t get waiters to come to my table,” I said desperately.
“There are no waiters here.” Benedict stopped and turned to face me. His hand still held mine. His black eyes were warm. “You’re in Haigton now, Anna. Things are different here.”
I shivered, because now I knew how different they were.
Benedict opened the gate on the house two up from his. It was the smallest house on the street, reminding me of the tiny houses that were so popular now. Only this house had a basement, instead of wheels.
The path to the door had been swept clear of snow and dirt. This house did not have a porch or a deck, the way the other houses did. It just had concrete steps and a tiny stoop serving the front door, which was a weather-beaten silvery grey. The windows looked just as old. The frames were wood, but they had been caulked and painted more recently than the door.
Benedict knocked. There was no call button. He waited for long seconds.
From inside the house came a wavering call. “Door’s open!”
Benedict reached for the old-fashioned latch handle and depressed the latch with his thumb, then eased the door open.
Immediately, the powerful smell of cannabis burning enveloped us like a miniature cloud.
I coughed and waved my hand. “Yeesh!”
“We can come back later, if you prefer,” Benedict said.
“No, we’re here now.” And I wanted this over and done with, so I could go back to the narrow sitting room, shut the door, and pretend the world had not been turned on its head.
Benedict pushed the door wider and stepped into the room lying behind it. I followed him in. The room beyond was tiny, which went with the size of the house overall.
It did have a brick fireplace at the far end.
On the opposite wall, to the left, a set of steep stairs ran up to the next floor, which would have a bedroom, perhaps two very small ones, and maybe a closet-sized bathroom.
An open door to the left of the fireplace revealed basic kitchen cupboards and counter.
The fireplace had a fire going in it, showing barely a flicker of flame, but lots of red coals.
And sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, his legs crossed, was Trevelyan. He faced the fire and didn’t move.
Benedict shut the front door, then moved over to the fireplace. He put an elbow on the high mantelshelf, and looked down at Trevelyan. Then he waved me forward.
I was reluctant to move. What was I about to learn about Trevalyan, who had seemed like a somewhat mischievous old man? But curiosity drove me to step forward and take up a position by the other end of the mantelshelf.
Trevalyan cradled a large pipe bowl in one hand. The stem was straight and very long, and the end hovered near his mouth. He looked up at Benedict, then at me, his eyes hooded. “Hey…!” Smoke curled up around his head, lingering in the still air.
“Hey yourself,” Benedict said. “Are you straight enough to talk, Trev?”
“Is anyone ever really sober?” Trevalyan asked, his voice sepulchrous. “Is anyone ever fully aware of the truth about them?”
