The doorbell chimed.
Who would be using the front door? In mid-afternoon, on a Monday, when Christian had no appointments to do readings?
Mark wiped his wet soapy hands on a towel—someone had to do the dishes—and made his way to the front of the house to answer it.
Two people stood there, human, middle to late years—a woman with faintly Asian features and colouring, and a very Caucasian man. Both were dressed well, conservatively, and extremely composed. Witches, every instinct warned even without full lamia senses.
“Yes?” he said neutrally.
“I'm Liann Chen. This is Randolph Tyler. We'd like to speak to Christian Terevan, please. It's a family matter, of sorts.”
“Come in.” He backed up, and showed them to the formal sitting room that overlooked the street—he and Christian never used it, and Christian preferred the great oak table in the dining room across the hall for doing readings and for gaming. There should be nothing in the room for them to learn anything from; as he understood it, virtually all the textiles in the room had been made or altered by Cecilia specifically to prevent that. “Make yourselves comfortable, I'll find Christian.”
“Thank you.” Liann settled gracefully into a Queen Anne chair.
Mark closed the French doors linking the room to the hall, and headed for the library at a run.
His witch looked up from the collection of books and notes strewn on the table, Sid serving as a paperweight quite happily and probably somewhat obstructively. “What's wrong?”
“There are two witches down in the front sitting room, waiting to see you.”
“There are?” Christian stood up, and stretched muscles that had to be tight from working so long. “Why?”
Mark looked him over. “Cut-offs with no shirt is way too casual. Go get dressed, but don't dress up. Just jeans. And don't hurry too much, I'll take care of them.”
“That's rather rude,” Christian argued, on his way to the door to the upstairs hall. “They're probably friendly, whatever the reason for dropping by with no warning right now might be.”
Mark sighed, and kept pace with Christian to his room. “Trust me, please? Your family warned us both that there are witches who want the library and who think they're entitled to make the rules. I don't know if that's exactly what they're after, but I am absolutely sure that their intentions are along those lines. They're claiming this as a family thing, but if your parents and grandparents never introduced you to them, there's probably a good reason for that. Right now, you have to establish the fact that you are an adult and an equal, not an irresponsible kid messing around with matters you don't understand. Don't give an inch, you'll never get it back, and don't give away any more information than you can help. No matter what they say about shared blood, do not put them in the same category as your actual family. And whatever you do, do not tell them about your tame predator, okay? I'm just your ungifted human boyfriend.”
Christian sighed, too, and rummaged in his dresser for black jeans and a green tank top. “Play powerful and mysterious. Got it, but I really don't like assuming the worst of anyone.”
“Just... I know challenges for territory and dominance, and every instinct I have is absolutely certain that that's what this is, in some form.” He stole a quick, light kiss. “See you downstairs.”
Mark stopped in the kitchen, got the pitcher of lemonade and the one of ice water, put both on a tray with four glasses and a plate of rather good cookies from a local bakery and a few paper towels, and returned to the sitting room.
“He'll be with you shortly. I'm sorry we don't have much to offer, we weren't expecting company, but there's lemonade or ice water, and oatmeal cookies.” He set the tray on the coffee table.
“Lemonade sounds lovely, it's very warm out,” Liann said.
Mark poured, and offered the plate of cookies, and generally acted polite and respectful while waiting for Christian.
Chris didn't take much longer, but the time had been well spent: he looked cool and collected, hair brushed out loose. His pentagram-cross was bright against his chest.
“I'm sorry for the delay,” he said courteously. “I'm Christian.” He seated himself smoothly in the middle of the green velvet and mahogany loveseat. Mark brought him a glass of lemonade and reseated himself, uninvited, at Christian's feet. His witch ran a hand over his hair lightly, once, as the other pair introduced themselves. Mark noted the careful evasion of any references to witch matters, and the glance or two thrown his way—they weren't comfortable with an unknown non-witch present, he thought, and were unsure what he knew.
“It's good to get to meet you finally,” Randolph said. Either he was normally the sort of person who was annoyingly hearty, or he was overacting, Mark couldn't yet decide which. “My grandfather Bruce was Cecilia's brother. Her family missed her badly when she chose to leave and cut off communication.”
“I assume she had reasons of her own,” Christian said noncommittally. “As far as I know, she was happy with the choices she made, and I grew up as much in this house with her as I did at home with my parents.”
“It seems like a very large house for one person, with your family no longer in the area.”
“It's comfortable for the two of us,” Christian said calmly, with just the faintest emphasis on the two. “I like the peace and the privacy. It makes it much easier to study, and it's a relief to come home to it after, say, cleansing someone's house of a bogle.”
In witchy terms, a witch was responsible for the actions of any liminal or elemental allies or summoned, and had every right to claim credit for all their accomplishments; he knew Christian didn't like it, but he trusted Mark enough to use it to reinforce his position. He rather doubted many witches had ever dealt successfully with a bogle by any method.
“We have heard reports of your successes,” Liann admitted. “And none of failures.”
“When I promise someone peace in their house, I will not break that promise,” Christian said quietly.
“We've heard reports of your success in Tarot readings and the like, as well. Scrying for lost pets.” Christian nodded without speaking, and she went on. “All suitable pursuits for a young witch. Your cleansing of houses is more ambitious, if a bit unorthodox in methodology, but also for the most part suitable for a strong and talented witch.”
“Thank you.”
“We, and others, are growing concerned about other directions your studies might be leading you in.”
“The whole point of study and research is to broaden one's knowledge.”
“Granted, but some waters harbour dragons.”
Randolph nodded. “Out of that concern, a number of attempts have been made to investigate, in order to reassure us of your safety or establish your danger. You are, after all, here alone with neither a teacher to guide you nor a mentor to assist you, in case you should encounter any difficulties. Not even any family to talk to and socialize with, which must get very lonely. Messengers have been sent, and not a single one has returned.”
Christian showed real surprise. “They have? I mean, haven't?”
Mark glanced up. “I'm sure your defences are quite capable of taking care of such trivial matters without disturbing you,” he murmured.
“Which brings us to another matter. This house bears shields and defences which thwart even the most powerful attempts at investigation.”
“As I said, I value my privacy. This house has been home to my family since it was built, and those shields were built with it.”
“We've been completely unable to identify the presence of any allies at all, though we would expect to find some given the talents of your mother and grandfather, or to identify the nature of your studies, or, for that matter, much of anything. Including what kinds of defences might keep making messengers disappear.”
Christian leaned back in his chair. “Are you seriously here to complain to me because you've failed at violating my privacy? These are sounding less like messengers and more like spies, and I’m certainly not going to apologize if spies disappear. Although it's rather hard on the spies, since I doubt they volunteered.”
“We're worried for you,” Liann said earnestly. “It's very easy for a young witch to start on the wrong road, and more difficult to get off it again. All information available suggests that you are involving yourself in matters witches have sensibly avoided for generations.”
“Avoided? Or forgotten? Or just never got around to investigating?”
“For a reason, in any case. For your safety and well-being, it would be better for you to have a mentor...”
Slowly, Christian nodded. “I see. I worry you, but I don't think my safety and well-being have any part in it, shared blood or not. You're here because I'm alone, but only because you think being alone means I'm more likely to fall for this. But just because my real family isn't here right now doesn't make me any less a part of it.” He set his glass on the table beside him, and leaned forward, arms crossed on his knees. “I'm not interested. Keep your games to yourselves, I want no part of them, any more than my grandparents or my parents ever have. Keep your spies out of my house and out of my business. Would you leave now, please?”
“You're at risk...” Liann protested.
“If I hadn't already proved that I can take care of myself, you wouldn't be here. I wouldn't matter enough. Don't make me repeat myself.”
Mark could recognize a cue when he heard one: he rose, crossed the room to the door to the hall, and waited pointedly.
The two elder witches stood, reluctantly. “You're making a mistake,” Randolph growled.
“The mistake would be in listening to any more of this,” Christian said.
Mark showed them out, snapped the deadbolt closed and replaced the chain, then returned to the sitting room.
Christian hadn't moved, beyond letting his head fall forward; he raised it, and gave Mark a bleak look. “What did I just get myself into?”
Mark sat beside him, Chris shifting over enough to make room, and slid an arm around him. “Less than it would have been otherwise. A lot less. You're better off setting boundaries right now.”
“I agree, but how many enemies did I just make?”
“They already were. At least now they’re in the open. Ignore them. They don't matter, there's nothing they can do to you. You keep right on studying nodes and telesensory contact and whatever-odd else, and let me take care of any attempts at interference, okay?”
“What have they been sending?”
“Nuisances that for me were boringly easy to kill, but for anyone else some of them could've been a real problem. Especially the afreet a couple of weeks ago. I misjudged—I thought it would take them longer to show up. I guess losing that afreet worried them more than I expected.” He closed his hand around Christian's. “You frighten them, it's the only reason I can think of for this. You're an unknown. Let them worry.”
Christian leaned against him. “I think they must have given up on my parents and grandparents a long time ago. They told me about witches like that, and about the Fellowship, where a few witches made rules and then decided that all witches have to follow them. Grandma said the idea and the motive were good originally, to keep everyone safe and share knowledge and support each other, and some still want that, but it got corrupted and bogged down in a lot of petty games over status and people with opinions about what should be allowed, and it turned into something that strangles instead of something to protect and support and encourage.”
“I've run into other witches, y'know. I wandered a long way for a long time. I don't know if the ones I met were from the same group, but they might just as well have been. Some were good prey, but there wasn't a single one I would've had more to do with than that. The rest never knew I wasn't human or that I could spot them. They were, at best, boring. Given what I was expecting, you were a pleasant surprise, to say the least.”
“Why don't you want them to know about you? Lots of witches have allies of one kind or another.”
“They don't any too often have allies from among the higher predators without being into heavy death-magic, either. If they know about me they're likely to accuse you of death- and blood-magic, and that's a much more serious charge. Besides, I can protect you more effectively if they don't know the nature of your defences. So I’ve been trying hard to make sure there’s no connection between Alexandra and this house.”
Christian sighed. “It's not fair. I just want to learn everything I can. I don't want to have to deal with this kind of crap. Other witches trying to limit what I can learn.”
“I have every intention of keeping the frequency with which you do have to deal with it to an absolute minimum.”
Silence fell for a long moment, Christian’s head on Mark’s shoulder.
“Why do you do it?” Christian asked suddenly.
“Do what?”
“All of it. You don't just back me up when I need you, like you told Grandpa and Mom you would. You help me practice. You make sure I stay fed and do a lot of what housework the domovikha and her husband and our colony of brownies don't, while I'm all wrapped up in research and forgetting to do regular stuff. Now you're helping me stay out of this crap. Why? You have to have something better to do than putting up with one human witch.”
Mark mulled that over before answering. “There are three reasons. One is that I've never had a real home before, and I never want to be alone and wandering ever again. One is... lamias are very powerful, sure, but we're also very limited. I can seduce, intimidate, or kill just about anything, but that's all I can do. Regardless of how much pleasure there is in hunting and fighting and sex, it starts to feel a bit pointless after a while. At least, it does for me. I think you have an incredible amount of potential, and I want to see how far you can go with it and what you choose to do with it. It gives things a reason beyond just survival.” Although every word of that was wildly un-lamia-like.
He stopped again, nerving himself. This one was even harder to say, but Chris was really shaken up and needed to hear it. His witch waited patiently. “The third reason is that you matter to me a lot. Lamias are supposedly not able to feel some things, but somewhere in there I started loving you just for being you. And I will do anything I have to, to keep you safe and happy.”
Christian looked up quickly, caught his eyes, and smiled. “Including actually saying it.”
“Including that,” Mark agreed. This witch understood him altogether too well, sometimes. “I stay with you because I want to, I do all the rest because I want to, and I'm not going anywhere.”
“Hmm.” Christian looked solemn. “Or maybe you're trying to get me as strong as possible so I'll taste better. 'Specially if I can reach the nodes, 'cause then you can get at them through me. I'm getting fattened up for slaughter.”
“Damn, you figured out my ulterior motive. Guess I'll have to lock you up in chains somewhere and start all over.”
“Chains? Sounds fun.” He laughed, gave Mark a hug, and stretched carefully. “Well, I suppose I can leave the defence of the castle in your capable hands. I have some very interesting things to play with up in my ivory tower.”
Mark wondered briefly whether Christian had broken the mood deliberately, to spare Mark the discomfort of a too-intense moment. Knowing Chris, probably. “What are you working on?”
“Alternative ways of channelling power so I won't burn myself out if I try tapping into one of the rivers that flows into the node under us. I'm using what I've learned from the juno, what I know about the streams, a few odd references in old books that I think might be related, and what I've worked out from feeding you, among other things. I'm not going to do much unless you're handy, though, in case I drop the ball.”
Mark weighed what Alexandra had so far sensed from the rivers in question against the amount of power he knew Christian could comfortably manipulate. “You might need help once, but I doubt even that much. Yell if you need me, though, I'm sure I can find a use for a whole lot of extra power.”
“I'm sure,” Christian said dryly, smiling, but he stood up, and leaned down for a quick kiss. “Thanks. For all of it. Whap me one if I ever start taking you for granted.”
“Believe me, you'll hear all about it.”
Mark watched him leave, back towards the library. The temptation was there, to simply kill any witch who came near Chris, but that was a short-term solution. The only long-term solution was for Chris to establish his own territory, physically and metaphorically, and defend it until it was clear that he could and would do so—despite how annoying the whole mess was likely to be for a while.
Ah, well, if other witches wanted to waste their lives on nonsense, let them. They just didn't matter.
The doorbell chimed.
Who would be using the front door? In mid-afternoon, on a Monday, when Christian had no appointments to do readings?
Mark wiped his wet soapy hands on a towel—someone had to do the dishes—and made his way to the front of the house to answer it.
Two people stood there, human, middle to late years—a woman with faintly Asian features and colouring, and a very Caucasian man. Both were dressed well, conservatively, and extremely composed. Witches, every instinct warned even without full lamia senses.
“Yes?” he said neutrally.
“I'm Liann Chen. This is Randolph Tyler. We'd like to speak to Christian Terevan, please. It's a family matter, of sorts.”
“Come in.” He backed up, and showed them to the formal sitting room that overlooked the street—he and Christian never used it, and Christian preferred the great oak table in the dining room across the hall for doing readings and for gaming. There should be nothing in the room for them to learn anything from; as he understood it, virtually all the textiles in the room had been made or altered by Cecilia specifically to prevent that. “Make yourselves comfortable, I'll find Christian.”
“Thank you.” Liann settled gracefully into a Queen Anne chair.
Mark closed the French doors linking the room to the hall, and headed for the library at a run.
His witch looked up from the collection of books and notes strewn on the table, Sid serving as a paperweight quite happily and probably somewhat obstructively. “What's wrong?”
“There are two witches down in the front sitting room, waiting to see you.”
“There are?” Christian stood up, and stretched muscles that had to be tight from working so long. “Why?”
Mark looked him over. “Cut-offs with no shirt is way too casual. Go get dressed, but don't dress up. Just jeans. And don't hurry too much, I'll take care of them.”
“That's rather rude,” Christian argued, on his way to the door to the upstairs hall. “They're probably friendly, whatever the reason for dropping by with no warning right now might be.”
Mark sighed, and kept pace with Christian to his room. “Trust me, please? Your family warned us both that there are witches who want the library and who think they're entitled to make the rules. I don't know if that's exactly what they're after, but I am absolutely sure that their intentions are along those lines. They're claiming this as a family thing, but if your parents and grandparents never introduced you to them, there's probably a good reason for that. Right now, you have to establish the fact that you are an adult and an equal, not an irresponsible kid messing around with matters you don't understand. Don't give an inch, you'll never get it back, and don't give away any more information than you can help. No matter what they say about shared blood, do not put them in the same category as your actual family. And whatever you do, do not tell them about your tame predator, okay? I'm just your ungifted human boyfriend.”
Christian sighed, too, and rummaged in his dresser for black jeans and a green tank top. “Play powerful and mysterious. Got it, but I really don't like assuming the worst of anyone.”
“Just... I know challenges for territory and dominance, and every instinct I have is absolutely certain that that's what this is, in some form.” He stole a quick, light kiss. “See you downstairs.”
Mark stopped in the kitchen, got the pitcher of lemonade and the one of ice water, put both on a tray with four glasses and a plate of rather good cookies from a local bakery and a few paper towels, and returned to the sitting room.
“He'll be with you shortly. I'm sorry we don't have much to offer, we weren't expecting company, but there's lemonade or ice water, and oatmeal cookies.” He set the tray on the coffee table.
“Lemonade sounds lovely, it's very warm out,” Liann said.
Mark poured, and offered the plate of cookies, and generally acted polite and respectful while waiting for Christian.
Chris didn't take much longer, but the time had been well spent: he looked cool and collected, hair brushed out loose. His pentagram-cross was bright against his chest.
“I'm sorry for the delay,” he said courteously. “I'm Christian.” He seated himself smoothly in the middle of the green velvet and mahogany loveseat. Mark brought him a glass of lemonade and reseated himself, uninvited, at Christian's feet. His witch ran a hand over his hair lightly, once, as the other pair introduced themselves. Mark noted the careful evasion of any references to witch matters, and the glance or two thrown his way—they weren't comfortable with an unknown non-witch present, he thought, and were unsure what he knew.
“It's good to get to meet you finally,” Randolph said. Either he was normally the sort of person who was annoyingly hearty, or he was overacting, Mark couldn't yet decide which. “My grandfather Bruce was Cecilia's brother. Her family missed her badly when she chose to leave and cut off communication.”
“I assume she had reasons of her own,” Christian said noncommittally. “As far as I know, she was happy with the choices she made, and I grew up as much in this house with her as I did at home with my parents.”
“It seems like a very large house for one person, with your family no longer in the area.”
“It's comfortable for the two of us,” Christian said calmly, with just the faintest emphasis on the two. “I like the peace and the privacy. It makes it much easier to study, and it's a relief to come home to it after, say, cleansing someone's house of a bogle.”
In witchy terms, a witch was responsible for the actions of any liminal or elemental allies or summoned, and had every right to claim credit for all their accomplishments; he knew Christian didn't like it, but he trusted Mark enough to use it to reinforce his position. He rather doubted many witches had ever dealt successfully with a bogle by any method.
“We have heard reports of your successes,” Liann admitted. “And none of failures.”
“When I promise someone peace in their house, I will not break that promise,” Christian said quietly.
“We've heard reports of your success in Tarot readings and the like, as well. Scrying for lost pets.” Christian nodded without speaking, and she went on. “All suitable pursuits for a young witch. Your cleansing of houses is more ambitious, if a bit unorthodox in methodology, but also for the most part suitable for a strong and talented witch.”
“Thank you.”
“We, and others, are growing concerned about other directions your studies might be leading you in.”
“The whole point of study and research is to broaden one's knowledge.”
“Granted, but some waters harbour dragons.”
Randolph nodded. “Out of that concern, a number of attempts have been made to investigate, in order to reassure us of your safety or establish your danger. You are, after all, here alone with neither a teacher to guide you nor a mentor to assist you, in case you should encounter any difficulties. Not even any family to talk to and socialize with, which must get very lonely. Messengers have been sent, and not a single one has returned.”
Christian showed real surprise. “They have? I mean, haven't?”
Mark glanced up. “I'm sure your defences are quite capable of taking care of such trivial matters without disturbing you,” he murmured.
“Which brings us to another matter. This house bears shields and defences which thwart even the most powerful attempts at investigation.”
“As I said, I value my privacy. This house has been home to my family since it was built, and those shields were built with it.”
“We've been completely unable to identify the presence of any allies at all, though we would expect to find some given the talents of your mother and grandfather, or to identify the nature of your studies, or, for that matter, much of anything. Including what kinds of defences might keep making messengers disappear.”
Christian leaned back in his chair. “Are you seriously here to complain to me because you've failed at violating my privacy? These are sounding less like messengers and more like spies, and I’m certainly not going to apologize if spies disappear. Although it's rather hard on the spies, since I doubt they volunteered.”
“We're worried for you,” Liann said earnestly. “It's very easy for a young witch to start on the wrong road, and more difficult to get off it again. All information available suggests that you are involving yourself in matters witches have sensibly avoided for generations.”
“Avoided? Or forgotten? Or just never got around to investigating?”
“For a reason, in any case. For your safety and well-being, it would be better for you to have a mentor...”
Slowly, Christian nodded. “I see. I worry you, but I don't think my safety and well-being have any part in it, shared blood or not. You're here because I'm alone, but only because you think being alone means I'm more likely to fall for this. But just because my real family isn't here right now doesn't make me any less a part of it.” He set his glass on the table beside him, and leaned forward, arms crossed on his knees. “I'm not interested. Keep your games to yourselves, I want no part of them, any more than my grandparents or my parents ever have. Keep your spies out of my house and out of my business. Would you leave now, please?”
“You're at risk...” Liann protested.
“If I hadn't already proved that I can take care of myself, you wouldn't be here. I wouldn't matter enough. Don't make me repeat myself.”
Mark could recognize a cue when he heard one: he rose, crossed the room to the door to the hall, and waited pointedly.
The two elder witches stood, reluctantly. “You're making a mistake,” Randolph growled.
“The mistake would be in listening to any more of this,” Christian said.
Mark showed them out, snapped the deadbolt closed and replaced the chain, then returned to the sitting room.
Christian hadn't moved, beyond letting his head fall forward; he raised it, and gave Mark a bleak look. “What did I just get myself into?”
Mark sat beside him, Chris shifting over enough to make room, and slid an arm around him. “Less than it would have been otherwise. A lot less. You're better off setting boundaries right now.”
“I agree, but how many enemies did I just make?”
“They already were. At least now they’re in the open. Ignore them. They don't matter, there's nothing they can do to you. You keep right on studying nodes and telesensory contact and whatever-odd else, and let me take care of any attempts at interference, okay?”
“What have they been sending?”
“Nuisances that for me were boringly easy to kill, but for anyone else some of them could've been a real problem. Especially the afreet a couple of weeks ago. I misjudged—I thought it would take them longer to show up. I guess losing that afreet worried them more than I expected.” He closed his hand around Christian's. “You frighten them, it's the only reason I can think of for this. You're an unknown. Let them worry.”
Christian leaned against him. “I think they must have given up on my parents and grandparents a long time ago. They told me about witches like that, and about the Fellowship, where a few witches made rules and then decided that all witches have to follow them. Grandma said the idea and the motive were good originally, to keep everyone safe and share knowledge and support each other, and some still want that, but it got corrupted and bogged down in a lot of petty games over status and people with opinions about what should be allowed, and it turned into something that strangles instead of something to protect and support and encourage.”
“I've run into other witches, y'know. I wandered a long way for a long time. I don't know if the ones I met were from the same group, but they might just as well have been. Some were good prey, but there wasn't a single one I would've had more to do with than that. The rest never knew I wasn't human or that I could spot them. They were, at best, boring. Given what I was expecting, you were a pleasant surprise, to say the least.”
“Why don't you want them to know about you? Lots of witches have allies of one kind or another.”
“They don't any too often have allies from among the higher predators without being into heavy death-magic, either. If they know about me they're likely to accuse you of death- and blood-magic, and that's a much more serious charge. Besides, I can protect you more effectively if they don't know the nature of your defences. So I’ve been trying hard to make sure there’s no connection between Alexandra and this house.”
Christian sighed. “It's not fair. I just want to learn everything I can. I don't want to have to deal with this kind of crap. Other witches trying to limit what I can learn.”
“I have every intention of keeping the frequency with which you do have to deal with it to an absolute minimum.”
Silence fell for a long moment, Christian’s head on Mark’s shoulder.
“Why do you do it?” Christian asked suddenly.
“Do what?”
“All of it. You don't just back me up when I need you, like you told Grandpa and Mom you would. You help me practice. You make sure I stay fed and do a lot of what housework the domovikha and her husband and our colony of brownies don't, while I'm all wrapped up in research and forgetting to do regular stuff. Now you're helping me stay out of this crap. Why? You have to have something better to do than putting up with one human witch.”
Mark mulled that over before answering. “There are three reasons. One is that I've never had a real home before, and I never want to be alone and wandering ever again. One is... lamias are very powerful, sure, but we're also very limited. I can seduce, intimidate, or kill just about anything, but that's all I can do. Regardless of how much pleasure there is in hunting and fighting and sex, it starts to feel a bit pointless after a while. At least, it does for me. I think you have an incredible amount of potential, and I want to see how far you can go with it and what you choose to do with it. It gives things a reason beyond just survival.” Although every word of that was wildly un-lamia-like.
He stopped again, nerving himself. This one was even harder to say, but Chris was really shaken up and needed to hear it. His witch waited patiently. “The third reason is that you matter to me a lot. Lamias are supposedly not able to feel some things, but somewhere in there I started loving you just for being you. And I will do anything I have to, to keep you safe and happy.”
Christian looked up quickly, caught his eyes, and smiled. “Including actually saying it.”
“Including that,” Mark agreed. This witch understood him altogether too well, sometimes. “I stay with you because I want to, I do all the rest because I want to, and I'm not going anywhere.”
“Hmm.” Christian looked solemn. “Or maybe you're trying to get me as strong as possible so I'll taste better. 'Specially if I can reach the nodes, 'cause then you can get at them through me. I'm getting fattened up for slaughter.”
“Damn, you figured out my ulterior motive. Guess I'll have to lock you up in chains somewhere and start all over.”
“Chains? Sounds fun.” He laughed, gave Mark a hug, and stretched carefully. “Well, I suppose I can leave the defence of the castle in your capable hands. I have some very interesting things to play with up in my ivory tower.”
Mark wondered briefly whether Christian had broken the mood deliberately, to spare Mark the discomfort of a too-intense moment. Knowing Chris, probably. “What are you working on?”
“Alternative ways of channelling power so I won't burn myself out if I try tapping into one of the rivers that flows into the node under us. I'm using what I've learned from the juno, what I know about the streams, a few odd references in old books that I think might be related, and what I've worked out from feeding you, among other things. I'm not going to do much unless you're handy, though, in case I drop the ball.”
Mark weighed what Alexandra had so far sensed from the rivers in question against the amount of power he knew Christian could comfortably manipulate. “You might need help once, but I doubt even that much. Yell if you need me, though, I'm sure I can find a use for a whole lot of extra power.”
“I'm sure,” Christian said dryly, smiling, but he stood up, and leaned down for a quick kiss. “Thanks. For all of it. Whap me one if I ever start taking you for granted.”
“Believe me, you'll hear all about it.”
Mark watched him leave, back towards the library. The temptation was there, to simply kill any witch who came near Chris, but that was a short-term solution. The only long-term solution was for Chris to establish his own territory, physically and metaphorically, and defend it until it was clear that he could and would do so—despite how annoying the whole mess was likely to be for a while.
Ah, well, if other witches wanted to waste their lives on nonsense, let them. They just didn't matter.
