They found not only Eric, tossing treats for Sid to chase, and Mark straddling a chair watching—with a clear three feet of space between them, but angled towards each other, which Christian found interesting—but Sara perched on one of the counter stools, laughing over Sid's enthusiasm.
“Ran into Sara when Eric sent me to get fresh rolls,” Mark explained.
“My parents have company tonight, so I'm just as happy to be out of there,” Sara added, and smiled. “Besides, don't tell my mom, but Eric's a better cook.”
Eric swept her a theatrical court-bow, and tossed another treat for Sid to stalk. “Many thanks, milady.”
“Convenient,” Christian said. “Since Val just watched me deal with what I think was a type of goblin, and wants answers. Just as well if I only do explanations once.”
Mark frowned. “You sure that's a good plan? You're a little too popular in some circles just now.”
Christian sank onto the nearest chair, and bit his lip. “Hadn't thought of that. Eric? What are the odds of them going after Val and Sara to get me?”
Eric shrugged. “No higher with explanations than without. And not really all that high, either way.”
Val took the stool next to Sara, and regarded Christian patiently. “Are you just about done talking around us? Look. For as long as I've known you, Chris, you and Mark have made it very clear that privacy is a big issue. Fine, that's your right, but it surprised the heck out of me that you let someone else move in here. I mean, come on. You and Mark sleep together, and Mark dresses like a girl sometimes. Big deal. This incredible library that your grandfather left you is around somewhere, but I've never seen it, so it's pretty damned well hidden, presumably for a very good reason, which is why I've never said a word about it to anyone else. And, gee, maybe the reason has something to do with how the shop was cooler last summer than it should have been and is now warmer than it should be with the heat barely on, and what I just saw Chris do in my apartment? Imagine that. Your friends don't want to pry into your blessed secrets, guys. Your friends want to be your friends. But there are times you make it really damned hard. And if we're in any kind of danger at all, I think Sara and I have a right to know that and make our own choices.”
“Opinions?” Christian looked at Mark, who shrugged, then at Eric, who laughed and shook his head.
“You remind me a lot of my grandmother, Val. My opinion is that we all grab a bowl of stew, go get comfortable in the living room, and talk about this like intelligent adults who trust each other and care about each other.”
“Obviously your grandmother was a good influence,” Val said approvingly.
Sara said nothing, which worried Christian a bit, so he said her name questioningly.
“Hearing what's going on would be good,” she said slowly, “but I haven't known any of you for more than, what, three months? There's obviously something major, here, and I'm not sure I have any right to hear it.”
“What if we just want you to hear it?”
That made her smile. “That's okay, then.”
Eric put the treats away and took a stack of bowls from the cupboard. “In that case...”
Moments later, all five were settled in the living room, Val in the chair with Sara on a pillow at her feet, Christian and Eric on the couch, Mark on another pillow but facing the rest.
“Okay, in a nutshell,” Christian said, “a predisposition towards being able to manipulate energy with will tends to be hereditary. Witchblood, it's generally called. My family, both sides, have witches a dozen generations back, if not farther.”
“My mother's family likewise,” Eric said. “It turned up in my dad's family four or five generations ago, none too strongly. I just barely qualify as being witchblood at all. I'm sensitive to a few things, but mostly I'm better off sticking with computers and leaving it all to Chris.”
“No witches in my family,” Mark said. “Me included.”
“Chris, on the other hand,” Eric said, “is respectably strong, and really darned creative.”
“Define 'witch,' please,” Sara said. Christian thought she looked a bit uncertain, still.
“Magic,” he said simply. “I still have an awful lot to learn, which is why I spend huge amounts of time in the library researching and practising. Different witches seem to have or develop different strengths, which are probably a combination of genetics, personality, early exposure, and other factors. What I seem to be best at is summoning, negotiating with, banishing, and if necessary killing the various extramundane species out there. Those come in two basic sorts. Elementals, which are connected to natural things like plants or water, and liminals, which literally means 'threshold,' they sort of have one foot on this plane and the other elsewhere. Some are friendly, some not so much.”
“So I saw,” Val said. “There was something in my apartment that was doing little things that were driving me crazy. I figured I'd ask Chris to see what he could do. As it turns out, there was really something there, and gods, it was ugly, but I don't think it took him more than ten minutes to catch and kill it. No way was that any kind of fake.”
“I think it was a goblin of some sort,” Christian added. “About the right size, and it had the eyes, but I've never seen one with four arms, heavy scales, and poison in the teeth and claws before. I slapped a shield around it on all sides and killed it while it was trying to get out, and I will be perfectly happy if I never come across one of those again ever.” He saw Mark frown, but nothing was offered, so he went on. “Sara, under normal conditions, if someone sees that much, I make their memories go a bit blurry about the whole incident.”
Sara nodded thoughtfully. “That'd mess most people up bad, knowing there are things out there like that, that no one else believes in.”
“And be risky for Chris,” Eric pointed out.
“That too. I really don't mean to sound like I don't trust you, but, um... this is kind of a lot to take on faith.”
“Fair enough,” Christian acknowledged. “Hmm. What can I do as a demonstration. Most of what I deal with would be really unimpressed over being called for this...” He chewed a thumbnail thoughtfully. “Lady domovikha? Would you do us the great honour of meeting my good friends?”
Nothing, for a few seconds, then the domovikha stepped around the couch into view. She probably hadn't actually been behind the couch, but it wasn't worth trying to figure out. She was where she chose to be, within the house. She was smaller even than the goblin, but considerably less threatening, her ancient face creased with countless wrinkles, her sturdy body dressed in Old World skirts and apron.
Sara's breath caught, her eyes going wide.
Val, without missing a beat, inclined her head politely and said, “We're honoured to meet you.”
The domovikha grinned, and patted Val's knee in approval.
“The domovikha and her husband the domovoi do a very good job of taking care of the house, and the people living in the house,” Eric said. “I'm not sure we could keep this much space clean without them. There are brownies around that help out, I’m not sure of the exact number, but they do what she says.”
“Trying to count brownies doesn’t work,” Christian said. “It changes because they come and go. Lately I think more come than go and we’re creeping up on twenty, but that could drop tomorrow.”
“Figures,” Val said. “You get a wonderful lady like this, and I get a nasty goblin thing.”
Still grinning, the domovikha gave Sara's hand a gentle pat, and bustled off to find something that needed her attention.
Sara took a deep breath, and let it out. “Okay, I think I believe you now.”
“Good,” Christian said cheerfully. “Gotta remember to leave her something special tonight. Are there any graham crackers left, Eric?”
“I think so.”
“Those and some honey'll make her happy. On with the explanations. The library in this house is hidden so thoroughly because there are books in it that are hundreds of years old, and some of them are the only surviving copy, or the only copy ever if they're things like journals and notebooks, and a fair number of them could be dangerous in the wrong hands. My family drilled safety into me for years before they'd let me in there alone. These days, I spend a lot of time digging around to see what else I can learn about.”
“The problem is,” Eric said, picking up the thread—much to Christian's relief, since it gave him a chance to eat some of his stew—"there's an organization of witches called the Fellowship. They formed to try to establish a fundamental code of behaviour for witches, to keep witches safe from everyone else and each other and also vice versa. Which sounds nice in theory, but hasn't worked in practice. Some of them are fine, they just want to get on with their own lives and they feel better having a bit of structure and support and social interaction but really don’t care much whether absolutely every witch signs up. A substantial percentage, however, are more into trying to prove that they are the biggest, baddest, and better than anyone else, and it’s deteriorated to the point of petty political squabbles over status. Another serious issue is that what used to be guidelines and cautions have fossilized into absolute rules about what witchy subjects one can and cannot have an interest in and what liminals one is allowed to interact with. They are, to say the least, excessively strict in some directions, but have gaping holes in others.”
“And they're hassling you for being unorthodox,” Val said slowly.
Christian blinked, his fork halfway to his mouth. “Who said I'm being unorthodox?”
“I know you, and I've been paying attention. Am I right?”
“Precisely,” Eric confirmed. “A reasonably-strong witch who's doing things they don't understand has them terrified. Within their frame of reference, the only reason one would put so much effort into learning things is to use them for one's own advantage.”
“They don't know Chris likes learning things just to learn them,” Sara said.
“They just can't grasp the concept, I think. So they're bugging Chris to join them so they can keep an eye on what he's doing and tell him what not to do. They wouldn't turn down access to the library, either.”
“And you're worried they could use us as a weak spot?” Val asked.
“They're highly unlikely to do anything to draw attention to themselves. They're very big on keeping a low profile. And they don't know how much we might've told the two of you, so they won't take chances on giving anything away. But they can be a tad sneaky.”
“This is a good thing for us to know about.”
“But the most visible thing you're doing is getting nasty stuff out of people's houses, right? How can anyone have a problem with you protecting people?” Sara asked, frowning in perplexity.
“Sounds like it isn't that specifically,” Val said thoughtfully. “More that he's refusing to play by their rules and accept their restrictions on what he can do. The consequences of his actions are secondary to the fact that he's ignoring them and their rules. And I'm going to guess that a lot of them aren't terribly strong... right?”
Eric nodded confirmation. “There are exceptions, and it doesn’t mean much, since a lot of witches in my family also aren't terribly strong, also with exceptions. Strong witches are usually from witchblood families on one or both sides, and my family and Chris' aren't the only ones that are independent. Families do better at telling the Fellowship to bugger off than individuals do.”
“Which means he's stronger than many of them and they can't predict what he has the power to do or might want to do. Which means they're scared out of their wits.”
“Bingo.”
“Lovely mess. Why do there always have to be people who try to make the rules for everyone else?”
“Welcome to being human,” Mark murmured.
“Anyway,” Christian said. “The world as a whole is happier not knowing witches exist, and witches are certainly happier that way. With that, plus this whole thing with the Fellowship, we're a bit paranoid.”
“Understandable,” Sara said. Christian thought she looked much calmer now, less restless and uncertain. “That's really awful. Sid...?”
“Is exactly what he looks like. A really sweet cute kitty who needed a home. He thinks it's pretty neat that I can speak his language, and some of the earth elementals that look after the plants over in his porch play with him sometimes, but cats are good at adapting. There's nothing more magical about him than any cat. Although cats in general are pretty special.”
“Got it,” Val said. “Now we know, and we won't tell anybody, but you can relax on keeping all the secrets.” Her expression turned wistful. “It's hereditary?”
“'Fraid so,” Christian said regretfully. Val would've been a wonderful partner to experiment with.
“Figures.”
The conversation lagged a bit, due to eating and thinking, punctuated by occasional questions.
“I bet,” Christian said, getting to his feet with his empty bowl and starting to collect the others, “that there is ice cream in the freezer for anyone in the mood for dessert.”
“Ice cream sounds good,” Val said cheerfully. “I'll come help.”
“Then what?” Mark asked. “I gather you're in no hurry to head home, Sara.”
She shook her head. “My parents' friends will be there for hours yet. I don't necessarily have to stay here, though, I can go somewhere else.”
“Look around you,” Christian said. “This house is huge. Even if everyone suddenly remembers things they have to do, I'm sure you can find a quiet corner somewhere and something to read, or something in here on TV, or toys to throw for Sid, or something, without disturbing anything. Relax.”
“If we're all looking for something to do together, I have an outline for a one-shot game upstairs,” Eric offered. “I ran it online for a party of three, and it took them about six hours. You guys could probably get through it in four.” He grinned. “Jade helped me design it.”
“Oh joy,” Mark muttered halfheartedly.
“Who's Jade?” Val asked.
“A lady I've known a long time, who has a very vixenish sense of humour,” Eric said, straight-faced.
“Sounds like fun. Can we play in here? It's more comfortable than the dining room.”
Eric glanced at Christian, who shrugged and said, “How about the den? That'll put all my books in easy reach if Eric needs them.” It wouldn't bother Mark, as long as he didn't switch to Alexandra, and that was certainly unlikely.
“Good thought,” Eric said. “I don't think it'll take much, but y'never know. I'll go grab that and my dice.”
“Any idea how Eric runs games?” Val asked, in the kitchen.
“Haven't been in one before, but I bet he's good at it. And if Jade helped, we aren't going to be able to count on anything being what it looks like.”
“Ah, that kind of thing, hm? This'll be a lot more interesting than going home and reading.”
“I bet it'll be fun.” He put the ice cream away, handed Val two bowls, and gathered up the other three himself, using just a little telekinesis to keep them balanced.
Eric had claimed Sid's favourite chair, near the fireplace; his notes lay on the oak end table next to it, while he knelt to start a fire—Seth had always seen to it that there was wood in the low shed built against the back of the house, and Christian had kept his habit of always leaving some in the iron rack near the fireplace. In one corner was an antique desk, and beside it a matching bookcase; Mark was hunting down Christian's bag of dice, the handleless mug full of pens and pencils, and the stack of blank character sheets, with help from Sara—who, Christian noted with interest, was perhaps a little closer to Mark than strictly necessary. Come to think of it, it wasn't the first time he'd noticed that, though Mark appeared to be oblivious.
“Talk about atmosphere,” Val said. “All this oak and stone. Any idea what the really pale wood is?”
“European mountain ash,” Christian said. “Also known as rowan. This room has more protections on it than I've so far been able to completely identify. Even the domovikha and the brownies will only come in here briefly to clean. With the door closed, it basically becomes a magical panic room. See the pattern?” He pointed up. The ceiling of the square windowless room was made of tin, hammered into an elaborate pattern that centred around the wrought iron and lead crystal light fixture in the centre. The tin had been painted creamy white, but the pattern remained visible, and the same theme, of knotwork and vines, continued in the carved rowan trim at waist-height around the walls. “And there’s something I can do that will activate even more complete protections that are built in.” Alexandra could tolerate it, with the door open, but it was uncomfortable; Christian wasn't sure whether being partly human was a factor, or simply strong will. “We'd be here all night if I gave you the full run-down on it, but basically, in a witchy sense, it’s a very strong saferoom.”
“Cool.” Val looked impressed. “You can tell me about it in detail sometime.”
“Plus,” Eric said, adding a mid-sized log to the beginnings of the fire, carefully, and straightening, “it's a nice comfortable room that happens to have a fireplace, too. So, like, make characters already. Partly outdoors, partly indoors, not underground, and you need a mage and a thief for sure. Chris' system's okay, roll seven scores, ditch the lowest, arrange the rest however you want. Bump your level up to, say, fifth.”
Chaos ruled briefly, while they made sure everyone had a bowl of ice cream and a blank character sheet and a pencil and enough dice to roll. Christian claimed one end of the old couch; Sara took the other end, and Mark sat on the floor leaning against the middle, between them. Val made herself comfortable on one of Cecilia's braided rugs, using a footstool as a makeshift table.
By the time the four players had, hours later, successfully found the items they'd been sent in search of—a singing harp and a hen that laid golden eggs, no less—the entire group was breathless and exhausted with laughter.
“You're as bad as Chris,” Val informed Eric severely.
He flashed her his bright, charming smile. “Thank you. I'll consider that a compliment.”
Sara stretched hugely, and paused to rub Sid's ears; the cat had settled himself between her and Chris on the couch early on. “I should probably be thinking about getting home.”
“I'll walk with you,” Val said. “Thanks, guys. It's been a long few days, with that goblin thing hassling me. I needed this.”
“Helping friends should always be so much fun,” Christian laughed. “To be serious briefly... talking about witchy stuff outside here might draw attention to you. I don't know, it depends entirely on what the Fellowship is doing, but the possibility exists. Inside the house, no one can overhear anything.”
“Got it,” Val said.
Just before she and Sara left, Val stole a hug from Christian, and whispered, “Thanks. I'll actually be able to sleep tonight.”
“Any time. If I can't help friends, what good's being a witch?”
“Looks fun,” Sara said impishly, and hugged Mark, who looked startled but returned it. “Just 'cause,” she explained. “If I hadn't run into you, I'd've been home and bored to tears all night.”
“Hey,” Eric protested. “Don't I get any hugs?”
Val hugged him. “After all that work you just did? You definitely deserve one.”
“Two,” Sara decided. “After all, you made supper, too.” She followed it with a second hug—once she let go of Mark.
“Getting rid of a goblin only rates one?” Christian pretended to sulk.
So Sara gave him a hug, too. She was about his height, and quite a pleasant armful of soft black material and vanilla scent, something he didn't think he was likely to forget in a hurry.
Val eyed Mark speculatively, but he held up both hands, palm out. “It's okay, I don't need any more hugs. One was nice, anything more is just silly.”
“So what's wrong with silliness?” Eric laughed. “As long as it gets me hugs. Are you two okay to walk alone? I don't mind walking you home.”
“I've been living in this city a long time and I know what areas to avoid,” Val assured him. “And it isn't all that late. But the concern is appreciated. Ready, Sara?”
Sara nodded, pulling on her long black coat, and the two women departed. Christian locked the door behind them, and leaned against it. “Okay, I'm worn out, now.”
“You and me both,” Eric said ruefully.
“Me three,” Mark agreed. “But it was fun.”
Which pretty much said it all.
They found not only Eric, tossing treats for Sid to chase, and Mark straddling a chair watching—with a clear three feet of space between them, but angled towards each other, which Christian found interesting—but Sara perched on one of the counter stools, laughing over Sid's enthusiasm.
“Ran into Sara when Eric sent me to get fresh rolls,” Mark explained.
“My parents have company tonight, so I'm just as happy to be out of there,” Sara added, and smiled. “Besides, don't tell my mom, but Eric's a better cook.”
Eric swept her a theatrical court-bow, and tossed another treat for Sid to stalk. “Many thanks, milady.”
“Convenient,” Christian said. “Since Val just watched me deal with what I think was a type of goblin, and wants answers. Just as well if I only do explanations once.”
Mark frowned. “You sure that's a good plan? You're a little too popular in some circles just now.”
Christian sank onto the nearest chair, and bit his lip. “Hadn't thought of that. Eric? What are the odds of them going after Val and Sara to get me?”
Eric shrugged. “No higher with explanations than without. And not really all that high, either way.”
Val took the stool next to Sara, and regarded Christian patiently. “Are you just about done talking around us? Look. For as long as I've known you, Chris, you and Mark have made it very clear that privacy is a big issue. Fine, that's your right, but it surprised the heck out of me that you let someone else move in here. I mean, come on. You and Mark sleep together, and Mark dresses like a girl sometimes. Big deal. This incredible library that your grandfather left you is around somewhere, but I've never seen it, so it's pretty damned well hidden, presumably for a very good reason, which is why I've never said a word about it to anyone else. And, gee, maybe the reason has something to do with how the shop was cooler last summer than it should have been and is now warmer than it should be with the heat barely on, and what I just saw Chris do in my apartment? Imagine that. Your friends don't want to pry into your blessed secrets, guys. Your friends want to be your friends. But there are times you make it really damned hard. And if we're in any kind of danger at all, I think Sara and I have a right to know that and make our own choices.”
“Opinions?” Christian looked at Mark, who shrugged, then at Eric, who laughed and shook his head.
“You remind me a lot of my grandmother, Val. My opinion is that we all grab a bowl of stew, go get comfortable in the living room, and talk about this like intelligent adults who trust each other and care about each other.”
“Obviously your grandmother was a good influence,” Val said approvingly.
Sara said nothing, which worried Christian a bit, so he said her name questioningly.
“Hearing what's going on would be good,” she said slowly, “but I haven't known any of you for more than, what, three months? There's obviously something major, here, and I'm not sure I have any right to hear it.”
“What if we just want you to hear it?”
That made her smile. “That's okay, then.”
Eric put the treats away and took a stack of bowls from the cupboard. “In that case...”
Moments later, all five were settled in the living room, Val in the chair with Sara on a pillow at her feet, Christian and Eric on the couch, Mark on another pillow but facing the rest.
“Okay, in a nutshell,” Christian said, “a predisposition towards being able to manipulate energy with will tends to be hereditary. Witchblood, it's generally called. My family, both sides, have witches a dozen generations back, if not farther.”
“My mother's family likewise,” Eric said. “It turned up in my dad's family four or five generations ago, none too strongly. I just barely qualify as being witchblood at all. I'm sensitive to a few things, but mostly I'm better off sticking with computers and leaving it all to Chris.”
“No witches in my family,” Mark said. “Me included.”
“Chris, on the other hand,” Eric said, “is respectably strong, and really darned creative.”
“Define 'witch,' please,” Sara said. Christian thought she looked a bit uncertain, still.
“Magic,” he said simply. “I still have an awful lot to learn, which is why I spend huge amounts of time in the library researching and practising. Different witches seem to have or develop different strengths, which are probably a combination of genetics, personality, early exposure, and other factors. What I seem to be best at is summoning, negotiating with, banishing, and if necessary killing the various extramundane species out there. Those come in two basic sorts. Elementals, which are connected to natural things like plants or water, and liminals, which literally means 'threshold,' they sort of have one foot on this plane and the other elsewhere. Some are friendly, some not so much.”
“So I saw,” Val said. “There was something in my apartment that was doing little things that were driving me crazy. I figured I'd ask Chris to see what he could do. As it turns out, there was really something there, and gods, it was ugly, but I don't think it took him more than ten minutes to catch and kill it. No way was that any kind of fake.”
“I think it was a goblin of some sort,” Christian added. “About the right size, and it had the eyes, but I've never seen one with four arms, heavy scales, and poison in the teeth and claws before. I slapped a shield around it on all sides and killed it while it was trying to get out, and I will be perfectly happy if I never come across one of those again ever.” He saw Mark frown, but nothing was offered, so he went on. “Sara, under normal conditions, if someone sees that much, I make their memories go a bit blurry about the whole incident.”
Sara nodded thoughtfully. “That'd mess most people up bad, knowing there are things out there like that, that no one else believes in.”
“And be risky for Chris,” Eric pointed out.
“That too. I really don't mean to sound like I don't trust you, but, um... this is kind of a lot to take on faith.”
“Fair enough,” Christian acknowledged. “Hmm. What can I do as a demonstration. Most of what I deal with would be really unimpressed over being called for this...” He chewed a thumbnail thoughtfully. “Lady domovikha? Would you do us the great honour of meeting my good friends?”
Nothing, for a few seconds, then the domovikha stepped around the couch into view. She probably hadn't actually been behind the couch, but it wasn't worth trying to figure out. She was where she chose to be, within the house. She was smaller even than the goblin, but considerably less threatening, her ancient face creased with countless wrinkles, her sturdy body dressed in Old World skirts and apron.
Sara's breath caught, her eyes going wide.
Val, without missing a beat, inclined her head politely and said, “We're honoured to meet you.”
The domovikha grinned, and patted Val's knee in approval.
“The domovikha and her husband the domovoi do a very good job of taking care of the house, and the people living in the house,” Eric said. “I'm not sure we could keep this much space clean without them. There are brownies around that help out, I’m not sure of the exact number, but they do what she says.”
“Trying to count brownies doesn’t work,” Christian said. “It changes because they come and go. Lately I think more come than go and we’re creeping up on twenty, but that could drop tomorrow.”
“Figures,” Val said. “You get a wonderful lady like this, and I get a nasty goblin thing.”
Still grinning, the domovikha gave Sara's hand a gentle pat, and bustled off to find something that needed her attention.
Sara took a deep breath, and let it out. “Okay, I think I believe you now.”
“Good,” Christian said cheerfully. “Gotta remember to leave her something special tonight. Are there any graham crackers left, Eric?”
“I think so.”
“Those and some honey'll make her happy. On with the explanations. The library in this house is hidden so thoroughly because there are books in it that are hundreds of years old, and some of them are the only surviving copy, or the only copy ever if they're things like journals and notebooks, and a fair number of them could be dangerous in the wrong hands. My family drilled safety into me for years before they'd let me in there alone. These days, I spend a lot of time digging around to see what else I can learn about.”
“The problem is,” Eric said, picking up the thread—much to Christian's relief, since it gave him a chance to eat some of his stew—"there's an organization of witches called the Fellowship. They formed to try to establish a fundamental code of behaviour for witches, to keep witches safe from everyone else and each other and also vice versa. Which sounds nice in theory, but hasn't worked in practice. Some of them are fine, they just want to get on with their own lives and they feel better having a bit of structure and support and social interaction but really don’t care much whether absolutely every witch signs up. A substantial percentage, however, are more into trying to prove that they are the biggest, baddest, and better than anyone else, and it’s deteriorated to the point of petty political squabbles over status. Another serious issue is that what used to be guidelines and cautions have fossilized into absolute rules about what witchy subjects one can and cannot have an interest in and what liminals one is allowed to interact with. They are, to say the least, excessively strict in some directions, but have gaping holes in others.”
“And they're hassling you for being unorthodox,” Val said slowly.
Christian blinked, his fork halfway to his mouth. “Who said I'm being unorthodox?”
“I know you, and I've been paying attention. Am I right?”
“Precisely,” Eric confirmed. “A reasonably-strong witch who's doing things they don't understand has them terrified. Within their frame of reference, the only reason one would put so much effort into learning things is to use them for one's own advantage.”
“They don't know Chris likes learning things just to learn them,” Sara said.
“They just can't grasp the concept, I think. So they're bugging Chris to join them so they can keep an eye on what he's doing and tell him what not to do. They wouldn't turn down access to the library, either.”
“And you're worried they could use us as a weak spot?” Val asked.
“They're highly unlikely to do anything to draw attention to themselves. They're very big on keeping a low profile. And they don't know how much we might've told the two of you, so they won't take chances on giving anything away. But they can be a tad sneaky.”
“This is a good thing for us to know about.”
“But the most visible thing you're doing is getting nasty stuff out of people's houses, right? How can anyone have a problem with you protecting people?” Sara asked, frowning in perplexity.
“Sounds like it isn't that specifically,” Val said thoughtfully. “More that he's refusing to play by their rules and accept their restrictions on what he can do. The consequences of his actions are secondary to the fact that he's ignoring them and their rules. And I'm going to guess that a lot of them aren't terribly strong... right?”
Eric nodded confirmation. “There are exceptions, and it doesn’t mean much, since a lot of witches in my family also aren't terribly strong, also with exceptions. Strong witches are usually from witchblood families on one or both sides, and my family and Chris' aren't the only ones that are independent. Families do better at telling the Fellowship to bugger off than individuals do.”
“Which means he's stronger than many of them and they can't predict what he has the power to do or might want to do. Which means they're scared out of their wits.”
“Bingo.”
“Lovely mess. Why do there always have to be people who try to make the rules for everyone else?”
“Welcome to being human,” Mark murmured.
“Anyway,” Christian said. “The world as a whole is happier not knowing witches exist, and witches are certainly happier that way. With that, plus this whole thing with the Fellowship, we're a bit paranoid.”
“Understandable,” Sara said. Christian thought she looked much calmer now, less restless and uncertain. “That's really awful. Sid...?”
“Is exactly what he looks like. A really sweet cute kitty who needed a home. He thinks it's pretty neat that I can speak his language, and some of the earth elementals that look after the plants over in his porch play with him sometimes, but cats are good at adapting. There's nothing more magical about him than any cat. Although cats in general are pretty special.”
“Got it,” Val said. “Now we know, and we won't tell anybody, but you can relax on keeping all the secrets.” Her expression turned wistful. “It's hereditary?”
“'Fraid so,” Christian said regretfully. Val would've been a wonderful partner to experiment with.
“Figures.”
The conversation lagged a bit, due to eating and thinking, punctuated by occasional questions.
“I bet,” Christian said, getting to his feet with his empty bowl and starting to collect the others, “that there is ice cream in the freezer for anyone in the mood for dessert.”
“Ice cream sounds good,” Val said cheerfully. “I'll come help.”
“Then what?” Mark asked. “I gather you're in no hurry to head home, Sara.”
She shook her head. “My parents' friends will be there for hours yet. I don't necessarily have to stay here, though, I can go somewhere else.”
“Look around you,” Christian said. “This house is huge. Even if everyone suddenly remembers things they have to do, I'm sure you can find a quiet corner somewhere and something to read, or something in here on TV, or toys to throw for Sid, or something, without disturbing anything. Relax.”
“If we're all looking for something to do together, I have an outline for a one-shot game upstairs,” Eric offered. “I ran it online for a party of three, and it took them about six hours. You guys could probably get through it in four.” He grinned. “Jade helped me design it.”
“Oh joy,” Mark muttered halfheartedly.
“Who's Jade?” Val asked.
“A lady I've known a long time, who has a very vixenish sense of humour,” Eric said, straight-faced.
“Sounds like fun. Can we play in here? It's more comfortable than the dining room.”
Eric glanced at Christian, who shrugged and said, “How about the den? That'll put all my books in easy reach if Eric needs them.” It wouldn't bother Mark, as long as he didn't switch to Alexandra, and that was certainly unlikely.
“Good thought,” Eric said. “I don't think it'll take much, but y'never know. I'll go grab that and my dice.”
“Any idea how Eric runs games?” Val asked, in the kitchen.
“Haven't been in one before, but I bet he's good at it. And if Jade helped, we aren't going to be able to count on anything being what it looks like.”
“Ah, that kind of thing, hm? This'll be a lot more interesting than going home and reading.”
“I bet it'll be fun.” He put the ice cream away, handed Val two bowls, and gathered up the other three himself, using just a little telekinesis to keep them balanced.
Eric had claimed Sid's favourite chair, near the fireplace; his notes lay on the oak end table next to it, while he knelt to start a fire—Seth had always seen to it that there was wood in the low shed built against the back of the house, and Christian had kept his habit of always leaving some in the iron rack near the fireplace. In one corner was an antique desk, and beside it a matching bookcase; Mark was hunting down Christian's bag of dice, the handleless mug full of pens and pencils, and the stack of blank character sheets, with help from Sara—who, Christian noted with interest, was perhaps a little closer to Mark than strictly necessary. Come to think of it, it wasn't the first time he'd noticed that, though Mark appeared to be oblivious.
“Talk about atmosphere,” Val said. “All this oak and stone. Any idea what the really pale wood is?”
“European mountain ash,” Christian said. “Also known as rowan. This room has more protections on it than I've so far been able to completely identify. Even the domovikha and the brownies will only come in here briefly to clean. With the door closed, it basically becomes a magical panic room. See the pattern?” He pointed up. The ceiling of the square windowless room was made of tin, hammered into an elaborate pattern that centred around the wrought iron and lead crystal light fixture in the centre. The tin had been painted creamy white, but the pattern remained visible, and the same theme, of knotwork and vines, continued in the carved rowan trim at waist-height around the walls. “And there’s something I can do that will activate even more complete protections that are built in.” Alexandra could tolerate it, with the door open, but it was uncomfortable; Christian wasn't sure whether being partly human was a factor, or simply strong will. “We'd be here all night if I gave you the full run-down on it, but basically, in a witchy sense, it’s a very strong saferoom.”
“Cool.” Val looked impressed. “You can tell me about it in detail sometime.”
“Plus,” Eric said, adding a mid-sized log to the beginnings of the fire, carefully, and straightening, “it's a nice comfortable room that happens to have a fireplace, too. So, like, make characters already. Partly outdoors, partly indoors, not underground, and you need a mage and a thief for sure. Chris' system's okay, roll seven scores, ditch the lowest, arrange the rest however you want. Bump your level up to, say, fifth.”
Chaos ruled briefly, while they made sure everyone had a bowl of ice cream and a blank character sheet and a pencil and enough dice to roll. Christian claimed one end of the old couch; Sara took the other end, and Mark sat on the floor leaning against the middle, between them. Val made herself comfortable on one of Cecilia's braided rugs, using a footstool as a makeshift table.
By the time the four players had, hours later, successfully found the items they'd been sent in search of—a singing harp and a hen that laid golden eggs, no less—the entire group was breathless and exhausted with laughter.
“You're as bad as Chris,” Val informed Eric severely.
He flashed her his bright, charming smile. “Thank you. I'll consider that a compliment.”
Sara stretched hugely, and paused to rub Sid's ears; the cat had settled himself between her and Chris on the couch early on. “I should probably be thinking about getting home.”
“I'll walk with you,” Val said. “Thanks, guys. It's been a long few days, with that goblin thing hassling me. I needed this.”
“Helping friends should always be so much fun,” Christian laughed. “To be serious briefly... talking about witchy stuff outside here might draw attention to you. I don't know, it depends entirely on what the Fellowship is doing, but the possibility exists. Inside the house, no one can overhear anything.”
“Got it,” Val said.
Just before she and Sara left, Val stole a hug from Christian, and whispered, “Thanks. I'll actually be able to sleep tonight.”
“Any time. If I can't help friends, what good's being a witch?”
“Looks fun,” Sara said impishly, and hugged Mark, who looked startled but returned it. “Just 'cause,” she explained. “If I hadn't run into you, I'd've been home and bored to tears all night.”
“Hey,” Eric protested. “Don't I get any hugs?”
Val hugged him. “After all that work you just did? You definitely deserve one.”
“Two,” Sara decided. “After all, you made supper, too.” She followed it with a second hug—once she let go of Mark.
“Getting rid of a goblin only rates one?” Christian pretended to sulk.
So Sara gave him a hug, too. She was about his height, and quite a pleasant armful of soft black material and vanilla scent, something he didn't think he was likely to forget in a hurry.
Val eyed Mark speculatively, but he held up both hands, palm out. “It's okay, I don't need any more hugs. One was nice, anything more is just silly.”
“So what's wrong with silliness?” Eric laughed. “As long as it gets me hugs. Are you two okay to walk alone? I don't mind walking you home.”
“I've been living in this city a long time and I know what areas to avoid,” Val assured him. “And it isn't all that late. But the concern is appreciated. Ready, Sara?”
Sara nodded, pulling on her long black coat, and the two women departed. Christian locked the door behind them, and leaned against it. “Okay, I'm worn out, now.”
“You and me both,” Eric said ruefully.
“Me three,” Mark agreed. “But it was fun.”
Which pretty much said it all.
