“Most of the testier ones aren’t business,” Robin complained, holding in another sigh when the sugar behaved impeccably for Lucas as well. “Not officially.”
Lucas turned to give him a sharper look. “People in the coven have come to you for something?”
Ghosts were never noisy when they ought to be.
Robin returned his attention to his phone. “Oh. No, not for that. Certain members like to ask for things as gifts for others, or so they say. Usually with very little notice. But the people who don’t like to pay are usually the most demanding. That’s always been the way. It’s nothing like what you’re thinking. Nothing serious.”
It didn’t make Lucas return to his work. “If my mother has spoken to anyone, they should all know you need to rest.” Robin stared at him, unblinking, less shocked than he would have been yesterday to hear Lucas’ unforgiving tone. As if conscious of that, Lucas eased his shoulders down and went deliberately back to the task at hand. “Are these gifts done? I can deliver them for you.”
“You’re doing so much already.” Robin demurred as he ought to, but the thought of their reactions when Lucas Greysmith showed up at their door made him hide a grin. “Lucas, you’re not a messenger. And certainly notmymessenger. You’re far more important than that.” Even associating with Lucas assigned Robin power he didn’t have.
“Coven politics,” Robin went on when Lucas didn’t say anything. “They’ll think… oh, that I’ve Seen something.” He said it lightly but quickly moved away from it. “Or that I can influence you. And then the next time they’re all arguing about something and need a tiebreaker, or when they can’t get Hortensia or either king on their side, they’ll approach you, possibly through me.” He put a hand out, palm up. “You see?”
Lucas was being aggravatingly silent, and after waiting a long moment for him to agree, Robin told him so.
Lucas reached into the grocery bag and pulled out a package of jumbo marshmallows, which surprised Robin into shutting up.Lucas also pulled out walnuts still in the shell, and almonds, and small plastic tubs of several spices, because Robin was even out of those. Robin didn’t even have herbs, something every cook and every witch should have on hand. It was going to take him ages to get his pantry back in order.
If some witches would honor the old ways and exchange their work for his, it would go quicker, a part of Robin whispered. But mostly he stayed focused on Lucas. “Youdosee that?” he finally asked, when Lucas still had not answered him.
Lucas lined up the spices with short, graceful motions.
“I won’t say I don’t care what they think, because I think you know I do. But also, I will do as I will do, and that includes being here, if you’ll allow it.”
He put cinnamon and nutmeg in their place, and Robin too, somehow.
It stole Robin’s breath. “Amazing,” he said at last, “how you can say something that nice but notsoundeven a little bit nice.”
“I can’t convey the right tone,” Lucas said again, then glanced to Robin as if to see how his tiny joke went over.
A small laugh escaped before Robin could stuff it back down, but Lucas smiled faintly, then returned to his marshmallows and cinnamon.
Not wanting to bother Lucas any more, or to live out his teenage years again, Robin eventually returned to his temporary office and bedroom. The couch was comfortable, even if he should have stopped to light the fire or grab clean blankets.
He answered two messages before he fell asleep again.
When he woke up, not very much time later at least, he wasn’t even surprised. He sat there and faced the unfortunate fact that he was going to have to adjust his plans if wanted to get anything done in a timely manner. If he didn’t, this would just happen again and the recovery might take longer. He suspected it was going to be slow-going as it was; at the moment, he didn’t think he could stay awake until dinner.
He stared at the blank screen of the TV for a while, watching shapes come and go though no one moved in the room but him. When his eyes got tired and his vision blurred, the screen showed him static, like snow.
TVs didn’t get snow anymore. Robin had read that somewhere, but nonetheless watched snowflakes swirl and fall, and ice crackle through the branches of the oaks down the driveway. A large shadow moved across the sky before an almost blinding light made Robin stifle a cry.
He shivered at the cold, at his breath, a white cloud against a wall of black.
Always black, he thought, then snapped his attention away and turned forcefully from the blank screen.
He raised his head, waiting for disapproving raps and bumps from upstairs, but the only sounds were the faint motions from the kitchen, the oven door opened and shut by Lucas, the embarrassingly loud creak of a cabinet that needed oil on its hinges.
Lucas would probably take care of that too while he was here, whether or not Robin asked him to. “I’ve been neglecting you,” Robin whispered to the house, to the bits of feeling attached to the bones and dust in the very walls. “No wonder you’ve responded to him like you have. I suppose…” Robin chewed hisbottom lip, thinking, “it’s nice to have other footsteps in the house. Other voices.”
He’d missed that, even though it often had driven him up a wall. Near-constant shouts from various relatives and their friends and lovers who had become relatives through the years.
Blessing! Could you come help me with this invoice? Blessing dearest, my step stool has a wobble!
The TV would have been on almost all day if someone chose to work in here so they could finish one of their shows. Flora and Bessie would have lovingly, and sometimes not-so-lovingly, bickered over their preferred sewing machine. Robin’s grandmother would have been in the kitchen, swearing over her piecrust—which she’d claimed was the only way to make it flake properly.
For months, Robin had been listening to audiobooks all day, every day without hearing a word. Just for the sound of someone talking. He’d have to listen to them all again and pay attention this time. Maybe… maybe whenever he figured out how to get the house and business in order, he could join a book club or something. There were things other than the coven. He ought to remember that more often.
The fire blazed to life behind him, and he turned to peer over the back of the couch at the logs that someone had stacked in the fireplace. ThatLucashad stacked in the fireplace, probably while Robin had been asleep. The curtains were closed. He wondered if the sun had started to set.
