The sternness returned. “We would never enter your workspace uninvited.”
“It’s not…” Robin tightened his mouth and felt the corners pull down. “It’s a workroom, to me. Not a workspace.” Lucas shouldn’t have needed the reminder. There were traces of strength in the room still, Robin was sure, even if he couldn’t feel them. The house was full of power from generations of the talented and gifted. But none of it was his. He had the one gift, but anything done in that room was the work of his hands alone.
Lucas said nothing.
Robin clenched his hands into fists, or tried to, but he was alarmingly weak. He finally gave up with a sigh. He’d never win against that silence anyway.
“I have orders that need to get shipped out, so I can keep the company’s good reputation and what clients we—I—have left.” He made the admission with his chin up, although he looked more at the chair than at Lucas. The presents for the coven he was in no mood to finish, or even start, but they had to be done soon as well. If not by Yule, then by the new year.
He could feel Lucas’ surprise. “There is some money,” Robin informed him in a low, somewhat furious voice, “but we haven’t had our usual output in years. There’s no one for the other work. Just me, and I was busy..." caring for those now dead. He didn’t want to say it.
Lucas said it for him. “And you were caring for them. All by yourself?” he added, as a question. “What about the others?” he wondered, only to let out an irritated puff of air. He meant the coven. And evidently had realized the answer.
Robin looked at him, found Lucas staring at the doorway. Robin didn’t follow his gaze, but could guess what,who, Lucas saw there. More than mere shapes, certainly.
Lucas raised his eyebrow and a half again, attitude outraged, and Robin suspected his failings were being listed to Lucas by long-dead relatives who couldn’t even speak.
“Things got away from me this year,” Robin interrupted stiffly. Lucas’ attention returned to him. Robin gestured at the room and toward the hall, past any nagging ghosts. He was more than aware of the shape the house was in. Old paint and wallpaper, dusty shelves and unswept floors, cobwebs, creaky boards and whatever was going on with the roof. Older houses didn’t just need to be cleaned; they needed vigorous upkeep. “I am getting by,” he insisted. “But there’s the business to handle too. Next year will be better. I’ll take on more orders since I’ll have more time.”
Just thinking about the work made Robin want to flop face-first onto the couch. He couldn’t even make it up the stairs right now. Work was too much. But he had to.
Lucas fell back to silence.
Robin forced himself to keep his head up.
“What about Yule?”
Despite how he was waiting for Lucas’ reaction, the sudden question startled him.
“Yule?” Robin was aware of the month, that Midwinter was approaching, but not much else. “What about it?” Some families observed it for the whole season, some just for a month or until January. Some only for the day. Robin, on his own, hadn’t given it much thought.
It was a significant holiday. Midwinter, and the start of a new year. When the shortest day and longest night announced the return of sunlight and six months of warmth. People took the time to eat well and to celebrate the light that remained and themonths that had gone by, and to acknowledge all the years that had come before.
Yule in its many incarnations was truly ancient, even though traditions had changed over the centuries. No one in the Ravenscroft coven was going to sacrifice animals and then roast them and dance for several days to welcome the sun and the new year and honor the dead, or call to Odin for a hunt. There would be feasting and drinking, certainly, and some dancing. There would be revels for those who wished to attend, to drink to their coven’s efforts over the year and to throw off the cold and misery of winter—at least for the night.
Then families who held onto the light for longer than one night would keep their Yule logs burning, some for a week, some keeping a fire going nonstop for a month, others lighting candles. Some would hold more private gatherings or parties to remember those not with them and to enjoy the company of those who still were.
Some did give gifts. But Robin quite obviously had no one to give anything to.
He stared at Lucas blankly.
“There’s nothing in the house,” Lucas said first, more thoughtful than judging as he considered decorations or signs of any holiday traditions like favorite foods that had to be prepared days in advance. “Do you have coven obligations this year?”
Taking turns with things like space, or food, or gifts for coven gatherings was supposed to ease the burden on individuals. Robin hadn’t given that any thought either. No one had approached him, but they might have assumed he already knew.
He stared at Lucas, horrified. “Do I?”
It did not make Lucas any happier to hear that. But he bowed his head and said, “I can ask, if you like.”
Robin let out a small sound, not exactly a laugh, that he wouldn’t have said bordered on hysterical, but someone else might have. He could imagine the gossip it would set off if Lucas Greysmith asked after him with the coven.
It wouldn’t even be silly, harmless romantic gossip. At least, not the fun, speculative kind. Oh no. They probably wouldn’t even consider that, as evidenced by their shock when they’d realized Will Battle and Chester Sibley were together. No, they would wonder if something was wrong with Robin, or if some portent about him existed somewhere that had drawn the curiosity of someone like Lucas.
They’d probably steer clear of Robin, in either case. Which stifled his laughter and tamped down some of his nerves.
That was a lovely idea, actually.
But it really wasn’t Lucas’ place and Robin had inconvenienced him enough.
