He frowned, considering trying to say something, but then a hand settled on his shoulder and a firm, warm voice said, “Sleep, Blessing,” in a way that meant some magic was probably involved, and since Robin wanted to sleep anyway, he decided to listen to Lucas, just this once.
Robin slept, waking once or twice for more unpleasant drinks and one sort of pleasant one. Shapes came from the darkness to bend over him in concern until they were shooed off. Someone carefully brushed his hair, then cleaned his face.
“Try to keep still,” a voice said, as if Robin was that far gone.
“Don’t tell me what to do, Lucas,” Robin snapped back, holding fast to the hand in his when it tried to pull away at the sound of someone else’s giggles.
“All right.” The wise, blessed, marked one could be agreeable when he chose. “Would youpleasetry to keep still?”
“Better,” Robin approved sleepily, and did his best to be still and to not throw up the unpleasant drink when they brought it to him again.
Robin woke up all at once to a bright living room and an urgent, desperate pressure in his bladder. He got up off the couch, sliding to his knees on the floor and then crawling to the door before he thought getting there might go faster if he stood. Standing was a tricky proposition with his legs shaky and uncooperative and the room spinning if he moved too fast, but he managed it.
Sort of. He clung to the wall and then part of the staircase and eventually made it to the bathroom.
Once there, it took him several minutes to work up the strength to leave it. Apparently, he had been sick. He hoped his night on the couch had helped, and that there was a can of something in the kitchen to tide him over while he recovered. He could deal with anything else later. Much later. After he rested, which he did not need hovering shapes in the workroom doorway to tell him he needed to do.
He flapped a hand at them to let them know he got the message, although taking a hand from the wall was a mistake. He finally tumbled back onto the couch cushions to stare at his trembling limbs and try to catch his breath.
“Well, look who’s up,” someone chirped from the doorway.
Robin turned to Persephone Greysmith in dizzy confusion. Adopted or not, she was vexingly tall like the rest of them, and wearing a puzzling, Christmas-themed sweater.
She noticed Robin staring at it and shrugged without upsetting the tray in her hands. She set that on a small end table so she could peer at him with her hands on her hips. The sweater had Santa Claus on it—a poor substitute for the Holly King, in Robin’s opinion. She also had on a name tag amid a collection of pins, so the sweater might have been for work, although some witches found things like ugly Christmas sweaters funny.
Her cotton candy pink hair was piled high atop her head, her earrings were long and dangling. Her nails were short and strangely bare, though shining.
“The flu, I think,” Persephone said, as if she had been speaking for a while and Robin had spaced out. “You gave us a scare, you know,” she added, frowning before her usual smile returned. “Swooning into poor Lucas’ arms.”
Robin resisted the Victorian urge to clutch some blankets to his chin, although he did drag some over his lap when he saw he was in his boxers. “I’m certain I didn’t.”
“No.” Persephone took pity on him. “You fell and hit your head on the doorjamb on the way down. Not hard, but it scared us. Then you told Lucas to put you on the couch. You’re bossy even when you’re sick. Here.” She brought Robin a cup and pressed it into his hands.
The china pattern was lilac and daisies, the last of an antique tea set, and Robin’s favorite cup when he wasn’t using mugs. He didn’t think Persephone knew that, however, but accepted it and then frowned at the steaming cup of tea and the bits of leaf floating at the bottom.
“I’m not….” Thebossy little Blessingrang in his ears and he took a second to glare at the ceiling before going on. “What…. Was he…? Um. What were you two doing here in the first place?”
“Oh.” Persephone had a cup for herself, but didn’t sit down to drink it. “You messaged that my shawl was done and that you’d bring it over, and really, Blessing, you always do that, come all the way out to the house. We live in the same town, and it’s not a terrible drive for me if I’m in town anyway. I offered to come get it. Guess you didn’t get that message.”
“But why was he the one to…” Robin ended that there and took a cautious sip of tea. It was herbal and watered down and sweetened with honey. The taste was familiar. He swallowed. “Were you here all night?”
“All night?” Persephone raised both eyebrows. “I was here part of the first night, then I went to work.”
First night, Robin heard again in his mind, and thought,Oh no.
Oblivious to Robin’s dismay, Persephone continued. “Then Mama came out to keep Lucas company while he sat with you, but you seemed better by then.Ithink you mostly just needed sleep. So they called me here today to watch you while Lucas takes her home and maybe grabs a change of clothes.”
“Your mother was here?” Robin shook off the vague memory of speaking to Mallory Greysmith in favor of focusing on the more alarming part of Persephone’s statement. “Change of clothes? Lucas is coming back?”
The friendly smile vanished from Persephone face. Her eyes narrowed. “I see,” she said coldly. “I didn’t think you were one of those people who want nothing to do with Lucas.”
Her expression was close to how Robin imagined Lucas had looked during one of the times Lucas had gone beyond the pale as far as the coven was concerned. Robin had not been there, and had only heard the stories months later, but the gist was that someone had been demanding Lucas do something for them or tell them what to do. But the request had either been rudely phrased or inappropriate to begin with. Powerful witches did not exist to grant wishes, and Lucas, marked since childhood, was clearly not there to further some random witch’s personal interests.
Lucas, quiet, odd Lucas who rescued dogs and gave them to his brother to raise and who had brought home teenage runaway Persephone when still a teen himself, was hardly short-tempered.
So if he had rounded on that coven member as was alleged, and said the things he was supposed to have said, Robin was inclined to believe the coven member had deserved every word.
It hadn’t been all that shocking, anyway. A lot of fuss from witches who counted on proxies like Will Battle to do their fighting for them and had forgotten what it was to put their hands in the earth for themselves.
