Christian and Mark got off the train at the station nearest Margaret Lyndell's home. A handful of other people did, as well, and a few got on, but for the most part it was quiet. Christian left Mark to deal with the immediate, like keeping him from walking into anyone, and scanned the area with all available senses.
Only one in range had any trace of witchblood. It was weak, but it was unquestionably witchblood. Christian drew his attention back, as a tall, broad-shouldered blond in well-worn jeans and a white T-shirt approached to give them a warm and extremely charming smile.
“I'm Eric. Margaret's grandson.”
“Christian, and Mark,” Chris said, a trifle guardedly, but every instinct insisted that the blond was no threat, that he was exactly what he seemed.
Eric nodded. “I'm a poor excuse for a witch, but I can still see witchblood. And liminals and elementals, for that matter. Do you have anything else to get?”
“We travel light,” Mark said. “This is all.”
“The car's this way.”
At the car—Christian figured it was fairly new, a teal four-door of moderate size, but beyond that had no idea what it was—Mark took Chris' bag and tossed it in the back seat with his own, then joined them, leaving Christian the front seat.
“I gather this isn't the first time you and I have met,” Eric said, manoeuvring the car neatly out of the parking lot. “But we were, like, seriously young.”
“My Aunt Ruth died over ten years ago,” Christian said. “After being sick for a long time. It would probably have been been before that.”
“Mostly before school, I think. Anyway, Gran's really looking forward to having a chance to get to know you. There are some witches she corresponds with and some she'll chat with but they aren't all really friends. Plus we have a rather large family that includes a fair number of witches, but they're spread all over the continent. She says it's just not the same as sitting down with a pot of tea and a plate of cookies to unravel the mysteries of the universe. I'm not much help—I'd far rather unravel the mysteries of a new computer program. And I'm better at it, by far. Truthfully, after an encounter with the Fellowship, I'm surprised you decided to come.”
Christian rolled his eyes. “Does everyone find my life so fascinating they just have to snoop?”
Eric just laughed. “That was gossip. Gran gets word of everything. Let's see, what did she tell me about you. You work part-time in an occult bookstore, or something of the sort. You do all the usual fortune-telling stuff on the side, with a reputation for accuracy. You investigate problems with homes and generally solve said problems to the satisfaction of the residents, although there are rumours of you bragging about having killed something that should be too strong for any witch to kill. No one can see into your house from outside, and anything sent to your house doesn't come back ever. There are, however, also rumours that you're doing things in there that no good little witch should be doing.”
“That doesn't worry you?”
“Not particularly. Having met some Fellowship witches and heard lots about them, I'm inclined to respect anyone who goes beyond their idea of what constitutes acceptable subjects of study. So. That's the present gossip about you. Oh, yes, and you're rude to your elders, which I have a hunch means you think for yourself.”
“It also means he told his two visitors to leave,” Mark added.
“Oh, the horror. Why hasn't any talented, creative witch invented either an alarm that goes off only over them or a shield that won't let them within ten feet of the door of any independent witch?”
“I'll add it to the list,” Christian laughed.
“List?”
“Of things I'm researching that a good little witch shouldn't. Given how wrapped up in it I can get, it's a good thing Mark's around or I would've starved by now.”
“Sounds like me with a new program on the go.”
Before much longer, they pulled up to a sprawling, old-looking red brick farmhouse.
“Cool house,” Christian commented.
“Mmhmm. It's been in the family forever. Be welcome to our home if you come with good will, and all that stuff.” He laughed and gestured invitingly. “There's a guest house at the back. I'll have to show you, Gran doesn't get around any too easily these days.”
“A guest house?” Mark gave Christian his backpack, slung his own bag onto his shoulder, and they followed Eric around the house.
“Apparently one of my ancestors decided it was a good idea to have one for visiting witches—it keeps unfriends out of the main house's shields, and gives friends more privacy and less interference.”
“Clever idea,” Christian said.
The guest house was a single-story building of the same red brick as the main house. The room within was bright with windows, the walls a soft blue with a few simple pictures hanging on them, the curtains patterned with blue and green and yellow leaves. The hardwood floor was scattered with rugs, around a pair of brass daybeds with matching blue-and-yellow-flowered white comforters. An oak table against another wall had two hard chairs flanking it, and a dresser and matching wardrobe, also of oak, took up much of a third, along with a couple of shelves with a handful of books. One corner had been walled off, the open door allowing a glimpse of a bathroom.
“Wow,” Christian said, duly impressed.
“The beds are big enough for two, if they're friendly.” Eric handed Christian a key. “There's another copy of it in the house, but no one will use it while you're here. Doesn't really matter whether you lock it or not, but you might want the option. Anything you need, ask. Do you want a chance to get settled before you meet Gran?”
“I'd much rather meet your grandmother,” Christian assured him, stopping in front of the wardrobe's mirrored door to run a hand through his hair. “Gods, I wish this heat would break, I hate looking like I just ran a marathon all the time. Well, I'm as presentable as I'm going to get.” Mark didn't look uncomfortable at all, which was unfair—unlike Alexandra, he could and did sweat, he just somehow didn't seem to show it much.
Eric nodded, and escorted them through a sunny back porch, through an equally sunny kitchen, and along a hall, one wall lined with books, the other painted with a mural of Earth from space. He tapped on a half-open door. “Gran? Christian and Mark are here.”
“Then invite them in,” a rich female voice laughed.
Eric smiled, stood back, and waved to the doorway.
Beyond waited a room of moderate size, one wall all windows, green plants everywhere.
In an oversized chair sat a large woman, her grey-white hair lying in a neat braid over one shoulder, clad in a cherry-and-cream cotton print shirt with the sleeves torn off. An embroidery frame lay on her skirt-covered lap, and a red fox sprawled at her feet raised its head to regard them curiously. No, not a fox, it had a liminal aura. Margaret had a kitsune friend?
“Come in,” she urged. “Help yourselves.” She gestured to a table, which held a frosty pitcher of water, another of what might be iced tea, half a dozen glasses, and a basket of fruit. “Make yourselves comfortable, and please forgive me if I don't get up. I'm Margaret, obviously. This is Jade.” She swept a hand in the direction of the fox, who dipped her head in a nod without changing. “I'm very glad you decided to come. You resemble your aunt Ruth a great deal, dear. I won't ask why you chose to stay when your family returned to Scotland, but I must admit, I'm selfishly glad.”
Christian smiled, and sat in the chair nearest her, with a glass of water; Mark took another chair, with iced tea, and Eric perched on a stool on her other side, peeling an orange onto a paper towel. The fox rested her head on her paws, watching them.
“I stayed because I was born here. Scotland might be nice to visit someday, but it isn't home.”
“If for any reason you need a friendly witch nearer than Scotland, be sure to let me know.”
Christian looked down into his glass, thoughtfully, then up. “This is unforgivably rude, and I'm sorry...”
“I've encountered fewer things that are unforgivable than you might think.”
“How much of this has to do with the favour you mentioned?”
“None at all, I've been meaning to invite you anyway for any number of perfectly innocent and straightforward reasons, one of them being that I miss Ruth's stories about her family. It simply occurred to me as well that you might have the solution to a dilemma. Eric has been accepted at the university near you. Money isn't an issue. We are trying to work out living arrangements, however, and we’ve spent quite some time thinking about it. University residences or sharing a house with strangers are unlikely to be good experiences for anyone with witchblood, even if very extroverted and not strongly gifted,” she threw Eric an affectionate look, and he grinned back. “An apartment alone is certainly possible, but could be a bit overwhelming in an unfamiliar city for someone who has only ever lived in the country with family. And, of course, the odds of attracting liminals, friendly or otherwise, increases with any witchblood at all, which isn’t a significant risk but does exist.”
Christian nodded slowly. “And Mark and I have a big house with two empty bedrooms, which is extremely well shielded and has nothing in it I don't invite, and I’ve lived in that city my whole life.”
“That was one thought that crossed my mind. Alternatively, you're close enough to be able to at least be a local guide and help if any liminal situations do happen to arise.” She smiled. “If nothing else, Seth and Ruth and Cecilia made it very clear that your city is yours, and it would be impolite not to get your consent before another witch moves there.”
“What? No, you’re practically family! Aunt Ruth would probably come back and haunt me for telling you that you can’t come.” Christian glanced at Eric. “No offence, but someone moving in isn’t something we can decide fast. I mean, of course I’m happy to be whatever help I can about living in the city, and sure, helping out with liminals that are being a problem is kinda what I do, so that’s a given. But having someone else move in with us is bigger.”
Eric nodded calmly. “That's about what I figured. I'm still not sure I should be going anywhere when I'm needed here...”
“I like having you here,” Margaret contradicted. “I do not need you so greatly that I'm prepared to keep you from going where you can learn more.”
“Anyway. My interest in magic is roughly equal to my talent for it, which means, minimal. I'm good at recognizing extramundane stuff, I don't get freaked by it, and I'm very good at knowing when to stay out of the way and at minding my own business and keeping my mouth shut.”
“And he's been taught to clean up after himself,” Margaret added mischievously.
Eric rolled his eyes. “Possibly I’ll be so busy with school that you’ll hardly know I’m there. If you decide after a few days of being around here that you can put up with me, that's cool. If not, I'd rather just know that.”
“You don't know whether you can put up with us,” Mark pointed out.
Eric shrugged and smiled. “I have a hunch I could.”
“Eric's hunches are reliable much more often than not,” Margaret observed. “So. Does that help, knowing that the favour I mentioned has nothing at all to do with politics?”
“Yes,” Christian said truthfully, and sighed. “And thank you for not being insulted. I think I'm getting paranoid.”
“The line between being cautious and alert and being paranoid is hard to find,” she said sympathetically. “You're safe from them here. Relax and take a vacation. Why don't the three of you go for a swim before lunch?”
“That would feel good,” Christian admitted, with a glance at Mark, who nodded.
Eric chuckled, and hopped off the stool. “The only reason I'm not in the lake often enough to turn into a fish is because my computer won't work in the water. Want anything before we go, Gran?”
“I'm fine, dear, off with you. And don't forget your sunscreen.”
“Meet you at the guesthouse?” Eric suggested. “The lake's at the back.”
Christian nodded and rose. “If there's anything we can do while we're here...”
“You can go enjoy yourselves and then come back and have lunch with me,” she said tartly.
“We're going, we're going,” Eric laughed.
The door to the back yard and thus to the guest house was easy to find their way back to.
“Thoughts?” Christian asked, rummaging for shorts.
Mark shrugged. “I think she's sincere and honest. I don't think she's the type to waste her time on lies or deception, really.”
“What about this new housemate thing?”
Silence, briefly. “I think it would do you good to have someone else around who understands magic but won't be in the way. I think he's as straightforward as his grandmother. I think you like him already. I'm not sure whether I can be friends with another human, but I can try. He will, however, inevitably find out about me. In which case we'd both better pray he really does know how to keep his mouth shut.”
“I think he's been very carefully choosing what information he can give us while still letting his grandmother make all the decisions about us. Pearl warned us that a strong-enough kitsune could potentially spot you even as Mark. Do you suppose Jade is and can? Kitsune might tend towards live and let live, but if she tells Margaret, I wonder if she'll change her mind about that favour.”
“You're alive and healthy. Living proof that I'm not entirely some bloodthirsty, sex-crazed, violence-prone maniac.”
“Just most of the time,” Christian laughed.
A tap at the door interrupted them.
“We're as decent as we get,” Mark called.
Eric opened the door. “There are lots of towels in the bathroom if you want them. Shall we?”
Christian left his cross-and-pentagram necklace with his clothes, just so there was no risk of losing it in the lake, but his glasses were just going to have to take their chances.
A path led through a wide strip of trees behind the guesthouse, and down a gradual slope to a flatter ribbon of land along the edge of a lake.
Eric tossed his towel over a low, horizontal tree branch, and stepped into the water; the other two followed. The bottom had a few weeds, a few stones, but not many; for the most part, it was coarse sand.
They swam for a while, cooling down. A water elemental formed in the shallows, taking a vaguely humanoid shape; presumably it was just attracted by the presence of an unfamiliar witch, but it made Christian rather wary. This one was less aggressive than the one he had summoned, and simply watched briefly, then waved and collapsed back into the surface of the lake.
It was nothing like a crowded hard-edged chlorine-drenched community swimming pool in the city; Christian tended to avoid those as a general sensory overload. This was all organic, the first time he could recall being able to genuinely relax and enjoy swimming. They sprawled on the grass in the shade to dry off a bit before returning to the house.
“Lunch is a couple of kinds of salad and lots of cold meat,” Eric said. “If that's okay.”
“Sounds good to me,” Christian said.
“I'll go change to something dry and get it, then. Gran's expecting you, so just go on in, I'll bring it there. She spends most of her time in that room these days.” He frowned. “Which is a lot of why I'm not sure I should leave her.”
“She strikes me as a very independent and very resourceful lady,” Christian said. “And I'm sure it would make her happy knowing you're doing something that matters to you.”
“Yeah, I know, but I still worry about her. Anyway, dress cool, no one cares how it looks.”
“Got it.”
Christian and Mark changed quickly to dry shorts and tops, hung everything wet on the clothesline, and went inside.
The table that bore the still-frosted pitchers and fruit now held as well two large bowls of potato salad and macaroni salad, a plate heaped liberally with assorted cold meats, another of cheeses, a bag of rolls, and a small stack of plates and silverware. Eric was just buttering a roll to add to a full plate when they came in. Christian reflected that the blond certainly moved quickly. Or had the kitsune helped?
“Self-serve,” Eric said lightly. “We'll probably eat whatever's left for supper, it's too hot to cook.” He took the plate and a glass of iced tea to Margaret, and returned to start filling his own.
“Good swim?” Margaret asked, offering the fox a bite of ham, which was accepted delicately.
“Very,” Christian said.
“You don't need to wait for an invitation to wander down there. Or to raid the kitchen, or anything else. Pretend you're at home.”
“Got it,” Mark said.
* * *
Later that night, Mark and Christian returned to the guest house. The evening had been extremely peaceful, all of them in Margaret's sitting room: Mark looking through a book he'd noticed in the hall, Eric doing mysterious things with his laptop computer, the two witches deep in an animated discussion about witchy things, the kitsune curled up in Margaret's lap and listening attentively.
For a time, a photo album had emerged, one that had photos Christian recognized as Ruth with Margaret, and others that did indeed show him and Eric playing together when they were very small. A rather amusing series involved a commercial stage magic kit that Christian was obviously using his fledgeling magic to manipulate, with Eric as his assistant; another showed them both deeply engrossed in building something from Lego that was both complex and inexplicable from an adult perspective.
Somehow everything simply fit, as though they were all part of the same family and had spent countless evenings that way.
Christian spent a few minutes in trance, before bed, to throw shielding around the guesthouse. He didn't make it heavy—why go to the extra trouble?
“The ley-lines around here haven’t been tapped at all,” Christian observed.
“Why is that any kind of surprise? That’s not a normal witchy skill.”
“I know. I’m just thinking... Margaret’s good at healing, which is still one of my big weaknesses. She’s a lot better at scrying too, but I already know I’m just not particularly good at that no matter what. Those are both kitsune secondary skills that develop in time, which means Jade’s probably older and/or stronger than Pearl. I wonder whether I could trade how to reach the lines for some lessons in healing. I bet Margaret knows an awful lot about a lot of things. Maybe illusions, I’m really weak on those too.” Christian yawned and snuggled comfortably against Mark. “'Sfunny... she has a kitsune and went one way, into things a kitsune is good at. I have a lamia...”
“Have a lamia?”
“... and have been concentrating a lot on things you can help with.”
“Have a lamia? It's not some sort of witchy card collecting game—'Here, I'll trade you a kitsune and two brownies for a lamia.'” He sighed and chuckled as Chris began to giggle helplessly at the images that created. “Crazy witch.”
“Crazy lamia,” Christian retorted, still laughing. “I'd probably have to throw you in as a bonus with something else to get any sensible witch to take you.”
“Oh, go to sleep, you insufferable brat.”
“Or else what?”
“Or else you won't be awake enough to ask Margaret to teach you stuff tomorrow.”
“Hmm, good point. 'Night.”
* * *
Thursday afternoon, Eric drove them back to the train station.
“So, when should we be expecting you?” Christian asked.
Eric laughed. “Classes start after Labour Day. Second half of August sometime?”
“Sounds fair. Call so we can figure out details sometime between now and then.”
“Definitely. Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“No problem,” Mark said.
“With the extra power from the ley-lines, Gran might be able to heal herself enough by then that she won't need me so much. I owe you for that, too.”
“Hardly,” Christian said. “I think I've finally got a handle on healing. That’s going to help enormously with my feral cats. I got the better part of the deal.”
“We're going to miss the train,” Mark said. “Take care of yourself, and we'll talk to you soon.”
Christian and Mark got off the train at the station nearest Margaret Lyndell's home. A handful of other people did, as well, and a few got on, but for the most part it was quiet. Christian left Mark to deal with the immediate, like keeping him from walking into anyone, and scanned the area with all available senses.
Only one in range had any trace of witchblood. It was weak, but it was unquestionably witchblood. Christian drew his attention back, as a tall, broad-shouldered blond in well-worn jeans and a white T-shirt approached to give them a warm and extremely charming smile.
“I'm Eric. Margaret's grandson.”
“Christian, and Mark,” Chris said, a trifle guardedly, but every instinct insisted that the blond was no threat, that he was exactly what he seemed.
Eric nodded. “I'm a poor excuse for a witch, but I can still see witchblood. And liminals and elementals, for that matter. Do you have anything else to get?”
“We travel light,” Mark said. “This is all.”
“The car's this way.”
At the car—Christian figured it was fairly new, a teal four-door of moderate size, but beyond that had no idea what it was—Mark took Chris' bag and tossed it in the back seat with his own, then joined them, leaving Christian the front seat.
“I gather this isn't the first time you and I have met,” Eric said, manoeuvring the car neatly out of the parking lot. “But we were, like, seriously young.”
“My Aunt Ruth died over ten years ago,” Christian said. “After being sick for a long time. It would probably have been been before that.”
“Mostly before school, I think. Anyway, Gran's really looking forward to having a chance to get to know you. There are some witches she corresponds with and some she'll chat with but they aren't all really friends. Plus we have a rather large family that includes a fair number of witches, but they're spread all over the continent. She says it's just not the same as sitting down with a pot of tea and a plate of cookies to unravel the mysteries of the universe. I'm not much help—I'd far rather unravel the mysteries of a new computer program. And I'm better at it, by far. Truthfully, after an encounter with the Fellowship, I'm surprised you decided to come.”
Christian rolled his eyes. “Does everyone find my life so fascinating they just have to snoop?”
Eric just laughed. “That was gossip. Gran gets word of everything. Let's see, what did she tell me about you. You work part-time in an occult bookstore, or something of the sort. You do all the usual fortune-telling stuff on the side, with a reputation for accuracy. You investigate problems with homes and generally solve said problems to the satisfaction of the residents, although there are rumours of you bragging about having killed something that should be too strong for any witch to kill. No one can see into your house from outside, and anything sent to your house doesn't come back ever. There are, however, also rumours that you're doing things in there that no good little witch should be doing.”
“That doesn't worry you?”
“Not particularly. Having met some Fellowship witches and heard lots about them, I'm inclined to respect anyone who goes beyond their idea of what constitutes acceptable subjects of study. So. That's the present gossip about you. Oh, yes, and you're rude to your elders, which I have a hunch means you think for yourself.”
“It also means he told his two visitors to leave,” Mark added.
“Oh, the horror. Why hasn't any talented, creative witch invented either an alarm that goes off only over them or a shield that won't let them within ten feet of the door of any independent witch?”
“I'll add it to the list,” Christian laughed.
“List?”
“Of things I'm researching that a good little witch shouldn't. Given how wrapped up in it I can get, it's a good thing Mark's around or I would've starved by now.”
“Sounds like me with a new program on the go.”
Before much longer, they pulled up to a sprawling, old-looking red brick farmhouse.
“Cool house,” Christian commented.
“Mmhmm. It's been in the family forever. Be welcome to our home if you come with good will, and all that stuff.” He laughed and gestured invitingly. “There's a guest house at the back. I'll have to show you, Gran doesn't get around any too easily these days.”
“A guest house?” Mark gave Christian his backpack, slung his own bag onto his shoulder, and they followed Eric around the house.
“Apparently one of my ancestors decided it was a good idea to have one for visiting witches—it keeps unfriends out of the main house's shields, and gives friends more privacy and less interference.”
“Clever idea,” Christian said.
The guest house was a single-story building of the same red brick as the main house. The room within was bright with windows, the walls a soft blue with a few simple pictures hanging on them, the curtains patterned with blue and green and yellow leaves. The hardwood floor was scattered with rugs, around a pair of brass daybeds with matching blue-and-yellow-flowered white comforters. An oak table against another wall had two hard chairs flanking it, and a dresser and matching wardrobe, also of oak, took up much of a third, along with a couple of shelves with a handful of books. One corner had been walled off, the open door allowing a glimpse of a bathroom.
“Wow,” Christian said, duly impressed.
“The beds are big enough for two, if they're friendly.” Eric handed Christian a key. “There's another copy of it in the house, but no one will use it while you're here. Doesn't really matter whether you lock it or not, but you might want the option. Anything you need, ask. Do you want a chance to get settled before you meet Gran?”
“I'd much rather meet your grandmother,” Christian assured him, stopping in front of the wardrobe's mirrored door to run a hand through his hair. “Gods, I wish this heat would break, I hate looking like I just ran a marathon all the time. Well, I'm as presentable as I'm going to get.” Mark didn't look uncomfortable at all, which was unfair—unlike Alexandra, he could and did sweat, he just somehow didn't seem to show it much.
Eric nodded, and escorted them through a sunny back porch, through an equally sunny kitchen, and along a hall, one wall lined with books, the other painted with a mural of Earth from space. He tapped on a half-open door. “Gran? Christian and Mark are here.”
“Then invite them in,” a rich female voice laughed.
Eric smiled, stood back, and waved to the doorway.
Beyond waited a room of moderate size, one wall all windows, green plants everywhere.
In an oversized chair sat a large woman, her grey-white hair lying in a neat braid over one shoulder, clad in a cherry-and-cream cotton print shirt with the sleeves torn off. An embroidery frame lay on her skirt-covered lap, and a red fox sprawled at her feet raised its head to regard them curiously. No, not a fox, it had a liminal aura. Margaret had a kitsune friend?
“Come in,” she urged. “Help yourselves.” She gestured to a table, which held a frosty pitcher of water, another of what might be iced tea, half a dozen glasses, and a basket of fruit. “Make yourselves comfortable, and please forgive me if I don't get up. I'm Margaret, obviously. This is Jade.” She swept a hand in the direction of the fox, who dipped her head in a nod without changing. “I'm very glad you decided to come. You resemble your aunt Ruth a great deal, dear. I won't ask why you chose to stay when your family returned to Scotland, but I must admit, I'm selfishly glad.”
Christian smiled, and sat in the chair nearest her, with a glass of water; Mark took another chair, with iced tea, and Eric perched on a stool on her other side, peeling an orange onto a paper towel. The fox rested her head on her paws, watching them.
“I stayed because I was born here. Scotland might be nice to visit someday, but it isn't home.”
“If for any reason you need a friendly witch nearer than Scotland, be sure to let me know.”
Christian looked down into his glass, thoughtfully, then up. “This is unforgivably rude, and I'm sorry...”
“I've encountered fewer things that are unforgivable than you might think.”
“How much of this has to do with the favour you mentioned?”
“None at all, I've been meaning to invite you anyway for any number of perfectly innocent and straightforward reasons, one of them being that I miss Ruth's stories about her family. It simply occurred to me as well that you might have the solution to a dilemma. Eric has been accepted at the university near you. Money isn't an issue. We are trying to work out living arrangements, however, and we’ve spent quite some time thinking about it. University residences or sharing a house with strangers are unlikely to be good experiences for anyone with witchblood, even if very extroverted and not strongly gifted,” she threw Eric an affectionate look, and he grinned back. “An apartment alone is certainly possible, but could be a bit overwhelming in an unfamiliar city for someone who has only ever lived in the country with family. And, of course, the odds of attracting liminals, friendly or otherwise, increases with any witchblood at all, which isn’t a significant risk but does exist.”
Christian nodded slowly. “And Mark and I have a big house with two empty bedrooms, which is extremely well shielded and has nothing in it I don't invite, and I’ve lived in that city my whole life.”
“That was one thought that crossed my mind. Alternatively, you're close enough to be able to at least be a local guide and help if any liminal situations do happen to arise.” She smiled. “If nothing else, Seth and Ruth and Cecilia made it very clear that your city is yours, and it would be impolite not to get your consent before another witch moves there.”
“What? No, you’re practically family! Aunt Ruth would probably come back and haunt me for telling you that you can’t come.” Christian glanced at Eric. “No offence, but someone moving in isn’t something we can decide fast. I mean, of course I’m happy to be whatever help I can about living in the city, and sure, helping out with liminals that are being a problem is kinda what I do, so that’s a given. But having someone else move in with us is bigger.”
Eric nodded calmly. “That's about what I figured. I'm still not sure I should be going anywhere when I'm needed here...”
“I like having you here,” Margaret contradicted. “I do not need you so greatly that I'm prepared to keep you from going where you can learn more.”
“Anyway. My interest in magic is roughly equal to my talent for it, which means, minimal. I'm good at recognizing extramundane stuff, I don't get freaked by it, and I'm very good at knowing when to stay out of the way and at minding my own business and keeping my mouth shut.”
“And he's been taught to clean up after himself,” Margaret added mischievously.
Eric rolled his eyes. “Possibly I’ll be so busy with school that you’ll hardly know I’m there. If you decide after a few days of being around here that you can put up with me, that's cool. If not, I'd rather just know that.”
“You don't know whether you can put up with us,” Mark pointed out.
Eric shrugged and smiled. “I have a hunch I could.”
“Eric's hunches are reliable much more often than not,” Margaret observed. “So. Does that help, knowing that the favour I mentioned has nothing at all to do with politics?”
“Yes,” Christian said truthfully, and sighed. “And thank you for not being insulted. I think I'm getting paranoid.”
“The line between being cautious and alert and being paranoid is hard to find,” she said sympathetically. “You're safe from them here. Relax and take a vacation. Why don't the three of you go for a swim before lunch?”
“That would feel good,” Christian admitted, with a glance at Mark, who nodded.
Eric chuckled, and hopped off the stool. “The only reason I'm not in the lake often enough to turn into a fish is because my computer won't work in the water. Want anything before we go, Gran?”
“I'm fine, dear, off with you. And don't forget your sunscreen.”
“Meet you at the guesthouse?” Eric suggested. “The lake's at the back.”
Christian nodded and rose. “If there's anything we can do while we're here...”
“You can go enjoy yourselves and then come back and have lunch with me,” she said tartly.
“We're going, we're going,” Eric laughed.
The door to the back yard and thus to the guest house was easy to find their way back to.
“Thoughts?” Christian asked, rummaging for shorts.
Mark shrugged. “I think she's sincere and honest. I don't think she's the type to waste her time on lies or deception, really.”
“What about this new housemate thing?”
Silence, briefly. “I think it would do you good to have someone else around who understands magic but won't be in the way. I think he's as straightforward as his grandmother. I think you like him already. I'm not sure whether I can be friends with another human, but I can try. He will, however, inevitably find out about me. In which case we'd both better pray he really does know how to keep his mouth shut.”
“I think he's been very carefully choosing what information he can give us while still letting his grandmother make all the decisions about us. Pearl warned us that a strong-enough kitsune could potentially spot you even as Mark. Do you suppose Jade is and can? Kitsune might tend towards live and let live, but if she tells Margaret, I wonder if she'll change her mind about that favour.”
“You're alive and healthy. Living proof that I'm not entirely some bloodthirsty, sex-crazed, violence-prone maniac.”
“Just most of the time,” Christian laughed.
A tap at the door interrupted them.
“We're as decent as we get,” Mark called.
Eric opened the door. “There are lots of towels in the bathroom if you want them. Shall we?”
Christian left his cross-and-pentagram necklace with his clothes, just so there was no risk of losing it in the lake, but his glasses were just going to have to take their chances.
A path led through a wide strip of trees behind the guesthouse, and down a gradual slope to a flatter ribbon of land along the edge of a lake.
Eric tossed his towel over a low, horizontal tree branch, and stepped into the water; the other two followed. The bottom had a few weeds, a few stones, but not many; for the most part, it was coarse sand.
They swam for a while, cooling down. A water elemental formed in the shallows, taking a vaguely humanoid shape; presumably it was just attracted by the presence of an unfamiliar witch, but it made Christian rather wary. This one was less aggressive than the one he had summoned, and simply watched briefly, then waved and collapsed back into the surface of the lake.
It was nothing like a crowded hard-edged chlorine-drenched community swimming pool in the city; Christian tended to avoid those as a general sensory overload. This was all organic, the first time he could recall being able to genuinely relax and enjoy swimming. They sprawled on the grass in the shade to dry off a bit before returning to the house.
“Lunch is a couple of kinds of salad and lots of cold meat,” Eric said. “If that's okay.”
“Sounds good to me,” Christian said.
“I'll go change to something dry and get it, then. Gran's expecting you, so just go on in, I'll bring it there. She spends most of her time in that room these days.” He frowned. “Which is a lot of why I'm not sure I should leave her.”
“She strikes me as a very independent and very resourceful lady,” Christian said. “And I'm sure it would make her happy knowing you're doing something that matters to you.”
“Yeah, I know, but I still worry about her. Anyway, dress cool, no one cares how it looks.”
“Got it.”
Christian and Mark changed quickly to dry shorts and tops, hung everything wet on the clothesline, and went inside.
The table that bore the still-frosted pitchers and fruit now held as well two large bowls of potato salad and macaroni salad, a plate heaped liberally with assorted cold meats, another of cheeses, a bag of rolls, and a small stack of plates and silverware. Eric was just buttering a roll to add to a full plate when they came in. Christian reflected that the blond certainly moved quickly. Or had the kitsune helped?
“Self-serve,” Eric said lightly. “We'll probably eat whatever's left for supper, it's too hot to cook.” He took the plate and a glass of iced tea to Margaret, and returned to start filling his own.
“Good swim?” Margaret asked, offering the fox a bite of ham, which was accepted delicately.
“Very,” Christian said.
“You don't need to wait for an invitation to wander down there. Or to raid the kitchen, or anything else. Pretend you're at home.”
“Got it,” Mark said.
* * *
Later that night, Mark and Christian returned to the guest house. The evening had been extremely peaceful, all of them in Margaret's sitting room: Mark looking through a book he'd noticed in the hall, Eric doing mysterious things with his laptop computer, the two witches deep in an animated discussion about witchy things, the kitsune curled up in Margaret's lap and listening attentively.
For a time, a photo album had emerged, one that had photos Christian recognized as Ruth with Margaret, and others that did indeed show him and Eric playing together when they were very small. A rather amusing series involved a commercial stage magic kit that Christian was obviously using his fledgeling magic to manipulate, with Eric as his assistant; another showed them both deeply engrossed in building something from Lego that was both complex and inexplicable from an adult perspective.
Somehow everything simply fit, as though they were all part of the same family and had spent countless evenings that way.
Christian spent a few minutes in trance, before bed, to throw shielding around the guesthouse. He didn't make it heavy—why go to the extra trouble?
“The ley-lines around here haven’t been tapped at all,” Christian observed.
“Why is that any kind of surprise? That’s not a normal witchy skill.”
“I know. I’m just thinking... Margaret’s good at healing, which is still one of my big weaknesses. She’s a lot better at scrying too, but I already know I’m just not particularly good at that no matter what. Those are both kitsune secondary skills that develop in time, which means Jade’s probably older and/or stronger than Pearl. I wonder whether I could trade how to reach the lines for some lessons in healing. I bet Margaret knows an awful lot about a lot of things. Maybe illusions, I’m really weak on those too.” Christian yawned and snuggled comfortably against Mark. “'Sfunny... she has a kitsune and went one way, into things a kitsune is good at. I have a lamia...”
“Have a lamia?”
“... and have been concentrating a lot on things you can help with.”
“Have a lamia? It's not some sort of witchy card collecting game—'Here, I'll trade you a kitsune and two brownies for a lamia.'” He sighed and chuckled as Chris began to giggle helplessly at the images that created. “Crazy witch.”
“Crazy lamia,” Christian retorted, still laughing. “I'd probably have to throw you in as a bonus with something else to get any sensible witch to take you.”
“Oh, go to sleep, you insufferable brat.”
“Or else what?”
“Or else you won't be awake enough to ask Margaret to teach you stuff tomorrow.”
“Hmm, good point. 'Night.”
* * *
Thursday afternoon, Eric drove them back to the train station.
“So, when should we be expecting you?” Christian asked.
Eric laughed. “Classes start after Labour Day. Second half of August sometime?”
“Sounds fair. Call so we can figure out details sometime between now and then.”
“Definitely. Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“No problem,” Mark said.
“With the extra power from the ley-lines, Gran might be able to heal herself enough by then that she won't need me so much. I owe you for that, too.”
“Hardly,” Christian said. “I think I've finally got a handle on healing. That’s going to help enormously with my feral cats. I got the better part of the deal.”
“We're going to miss the train,” Mark said. “Take care of yourself, and we'll talk to you soon.”
