“Didn’t Zev tell you I’m a witch? Just trace the circle and think about heat.”
Micah groped around the pipes until he found the lever that let the water out of the barrel, and once the tub was filled, he turned to the slate. He traced the circle slowly, thinking of the hot spring out near the Lukoi village, and yelped when steam started to rise from the water.
“Did it work?” That was Sasha’s voice, eager and booming.
“Yes?” Wasn’t it supposed to? Micah stepped into the bath, which was warm enough to make him want to weep in relief, and sank down until he was entirely submerged.
He bathed quickly, scrubbing himself with a bar of soap that hung on a string by the tub, then fumbled for the drain. After he dried off, he put on one of the robes. It was magnificent and fit him well, even if he really was too tall for it, and when he stepped out of the bathing room, he braced himself for the stares and inevitable comments.
No one said a thing. Sasha gave him a quick once-over, and Viv nodded as if she was satisfied with something, but Micah was left alone to make his way back to the alcove, where he tucked himself into a corner and pulled the book off the table and into his lap.
“Here we go,” Sasha said, dropping plates of seared meat, peppers, and onion on the table in front of them. There was a great deal of onion. He leaned down to kiss Viv, who tugged at his collar until he gasped and sank to the floor at her side. He was beautiful on his knees, big and muscular and worshipful, and Micah suppressed a spike of envy. No submissive would ever look at him that way.
Viv pushed a plate toward Micah. “Go on. Eat. Magic only does so much. Food goes farther.”
Micah shook his head, still unsure why these strangers would care enough to do more than clean him up and send him on his way, and gingerly reached out to take his plate.
* * *
“So, he’s a witch,” Sasha said.
Viv looked up from where she was weaving warp threads through her loom. It was well-made, having been built by Sasha’s older cousins as a wedding gift, and took up most of what Sasha liked to call Viv’slair. Weaving room was more accurate, but Sasha did like his dramatics.
“He heated the bath,” she said. “And you know you’ve never been able to. I’d like to get a look at that book of his.”
“Good luck with that.”
Viv smiled wryly. They’d left Micah sleeping off dinner, wrapped up in blankets with the book hugged to his chest. “I don’t like him going out there alone with wild magic. It isn’t safe. But he might not respond well to learning he has it if he doesn’t know already.”
“If he stays much longer, it’s gonna be too cold for him to leave.”
Viv grimaced. “I know. I don’t want to burden you with extra hunting this close to winter, but we might need to prepare for an extended visit.”
Sasha stared at her long enough that Viv stopped fiddling with the thread and looked up. He sat next to her, balanced precariously on the end of her weaving bench. “You hate visitors.”
“I don’t hate them. I just like my privacy.” Viv sighed. “Is it so strange, Sasha? This is the first time I’ve met another witch. I can’t help but be a little protective.”
“And he’s underfed and alone,” Sasha added. Viv narrowed her eyes. “Admit it, baby. You have a weak spot for people like that. It’s why we went camping for a week to look for Zev.”
“It’d be easier if you didn’t know me so well,” Viv said, and Sasha kissed her, cradling her cheek in one hand.
“I’m gonna barter for more thread in the Compound,” he said, winking at her. “Maybe get something for the witch, though I suspect you’re planning on making him something yourself.”
“Clothes take days to make,” Viv said, feeling her cheeks heat. Sasha smiled and walked off, and Viv turned to look at her loom. The threads were all cool colors, with a line of gold running through. They would bring out the pink in Micah’s skin and complement his hair. “Depressingly predictable,” she muttered, and got to work.
It was easy to get lost in the repetitive work of weaving. There was a rhythm to it, and it gave Viv time to think while her hands took up the patterns she’d learned as a child in Sasha’s grandmother’s lap. Her own parents had hand looms and shuttle looms, but Sasha’s family were the true weavers, and they’d taken Viv under their wing like a flock of birds adopting a misplaced cat.
It was hard to deny the excitement Viv had felt when Micah heated the water in the bath. Witch blood ran in her family, but most of the spellcraft Viv knew, she’d figured out on her own. There was no manual to follow, no training, and Viv couldn’t help but wonder if that had doomed her.
Because something was wrong, she knew that much. All three of her siblings had died before their sixth birthday. By the time Viv came around, her parents barely noticed her. Her father soon left her mother for a new, healthy family, and her mother treated her like Viv was already dead.
But maybe her mother was right. Viv couldn’t help but feel like she was living on borrowed time. She’d been told as much ever since she was a child, and every time she had a relapse, the fever was harder to break. It wouldn’t be long, now. Maybe she’d make it through the coming winter. Maybe not.
“That’s beautiful.”
Viv twisted in her seat. Micah was standing at the doorway to the weaving room, gazing at the loom. The pattern she’d chosen was simple, meant for a coat for a man who was skinnier than he ought to be, but he looked at it as though it were woven from sunlight itself.
“It’s how we make our cloth, here,” she said. “You don’t have looms?”
