Not that this mattered to the Greysmiths, who kept to the outskirts of town like Robin’s family did, if for different reasons. Robin sometimes thought his family would probably have scorned the coven altogether if not for their history. The Blessing-Redfernes were wise enough now to see the need for allies and protection—hence the free craft work some in the coven asked for, even if they really ought to offer something of their own crafting in return. No more standing alone and getting burned for it for the Blessings and the Redfernes.
The Greysmiths, however, probably stayed out on their property because it was extensive and they could all fit there. But they also had some power, Mallory and Lucas in particular, so the witches in town tolerated the family’s eccentricities. Like a certain bitchy Winter King, the Greysmiths had their uses to those in charge, reluctant though many in the coven might be to admit it.
The Greysmiths were the opposite of Robin, who had the bloodline the coven admired but none of the power, and sorarely had anyone calling to ask his advice on matters of significance.
Despite that, he understood some of how it must feel for those from the proud, older families to have to approach Lucas Greysmith with the flutter of ravens around him, and his penetrating gaze, and, well, those shoulders.
No ravens tonight. They probably hadn’t wanted to be out in this weather. Sensible birds, ravens, but too large.
Robin dropped his head because it felt heavy, and his neck was sore, and Lucas really was tall in an irksome way. Lucas had his hands at his sides. His nails were painted, a shining, gothic black, no doubt. That was new. But Robin supposed it was one of Lucas’ sibling’s doing. He didn’t think Lucas cared much about his appearance beyond washing up or shaving.
Robin had used to care about his appearance. In a house full of people who could and had made their own clothes when it suited them to, of course he had. But that had been years and years ago. He’d been busy since then. Tired. Grieving.
A shudder went through him as a gust of wind carried past him into the house. He wondered in a distant, startled way if he was fully dressed, if he had pants on.
Robin looked down.
He did not.
Thick, knitted, purple socks, boxer shorts, dye-stained t-shirt, baggy red cardigan, but no pants.
He looked up quickly. Lucas’ gaze snapped to Robin’s face.
Robin wondered if either of them would speak. He couldn’t seem to.
He wasn’t often alone with Lucas. He hadn’t even seen Lucas since a glimpse in town a month ago, and before then… possibly not since Marise’s memorial. Lucas looked well, if confused, or maybe worried. Anything that would worry the marked, blessed Lucas Greysmith couldn’t be good.
“I didn’t think the wise man got confused all that much,” someone commented, and oh, that had been Robin, in a rough, dry voice that should not have carried over the sound of the rain.
Lucas seemed even more confused, his half eyebrow drawing close to the full one in a puzzled frown. It was strange how young Lucas could sometimes look with that white streak in his hair. Then the light would hit him and he wouldn’t be just another young man with tanned skin from working outside or a rare, careful smile, but something else, someone to be feared.
The light right now made him look lost and a bit sorrowful. Robin focused on the source of the light, a car, which he hadn’t noticed with Lucas in front of him.
The car was idling, Persephone behind the wheel, watching them both and probably impatient. Lucas could drive, but likely wouldn’t want to in weather like this. But why either of them would be here now was…
“Oh,” Robin realized aloud, then promptly forgot what it was he’d realized except it involved Persephone. He brought his attention back to Lucas’ face and wondered if he was imagining the circles beneath Lucas’ eyes. They shouldn’t be there, but the coven would not go easy, not even on Lucas, if the need was great.
“Blessing?” Lucas asked, still using that especially soft version of his already soft voice.
Another shiver went down Robin’s back, so strong he reached out to grip the doorframe and stay on his feet.
A high whistling sound broke through the pounding of the rain and the elated rush in Robin’s ears.
“There’s no one left who calls me that,” he told Lucas quietly. With the ringing growing louder, he was not sure he was heard. Robin raised his head and tried again. “Yes, Lucas?” That was better, although he could barely hear himself.
“Blessing,” Lucas said the name again, “are you all right?”
The whistling was truly annoying now.
Of course, Lucas would ask him that. Robin so rarely saw Lucas these days, and when he did, it was,Do you need anything, Blessing? Are you well, Blessing? When was the last time you rested, Blessing?Which were absolutely terrible questions because Robin had no way to answer them. Anyway, he lacked power that nearly every other witch had, but he wasn’t helpless.
If he said that, though, Lucas would look at him in that sharp way of his, as if waiting for Robin to add something else that Robin resolutely was not going to add. Or Lucas would say something cryptic and wise. Or he’d say and do nothing at all, letting people figure out their own problems despite knowing the answer.
That was probably what drove those in the coven up a wall and kept them from approaching Lucas until they were desperate. They didn’t know that Lucas simply liked silence, found it comfortable, and he might not mean anything by it. When Lucas spoke, it was usually with purpose.
So perhaps he was asking after Robin because Robin had spent the last few years caring for people he loved as they weakened and slowed and died, and those were the kinds of questions people asked of someone who had done that.
Or were supposed to ask. Robin was a bit fuzzy on that since he couldn’t remember too many other people asking him anything of that nature. The Greysmiths in general, Lucas specifically, and Robin’s nearest neighbor to the west who did not know about witches. No one else.
