Lucas had, at least according to the story, demanded to know what the coven member would give to get what they were asking, and he had not been vague in his suggestions.
“Your life?” Lucas had supposedly said, unyielding but probably not cruel. “Your familiar’s?”
There were very few who would make a sacrifice such as that, who would even consider it. But the original request—implied later to be something innocent, which Robin doubted—was probably exactly the sort of thing to require power from something that drastic.
It was horrible to think about, spilling the blood of a familiar. Robin didn’t have one, of course, but he had grown up with a few in the house, and some regular pets as well, and working dogs for the sheep. But his family was old and there were ancient ways of doing things. He knew that well enough. Any witch should, even if they didn’t want to do it.
No, what this particular coven member had wanted, more than likely, was for Lucas to do the terrible thing for them. Have the deed done with his hands since Lucas was already away from town and all the others. Then blame him again and whisper about him after he passed by.
Robin wasn’t sure if the suggestion of sacrifice was what made Lucas a monster to some of them, or the fact that Lucas hadn’t done what was asked of him. But he was sure Lucas had been right, either way.
It took flour and patience and the knowledge of fire to make bread. It had taken centuries upon centuries of trial and error to get to perfect loaves in modern ovens. It just seemed easy now because the steps to get there had been forgotten and the tools had changed. But things didn’t appear from nowhere. Lucas may or may not have meant literal blood, literal sacrifice, but considering what Lucas had lost to learn what he had, he had probably been trying to give the coven a lesson.
They hadn’t wanted to hear it.
Robin met Persephone’s icy disapproval as directly as he could and then shook his head. “I’m sure Lucas has better things to do than to hang around here.”
Persephone’s frosty attitude immediately melted. “Oh yeah,” she said sarcastically, “the busy social life of an outcast-slash-mystic. Nothing but parties for Lucas.”
Robin drowned his opinions about that in a gulp of tea. It hurt a little, going down, so his next drink was smaller. Even that tiny amount of liquid sloshed around in his empty stomach.
“I think I’m hungry,” he offered to the silence of the room. He seemed to recall having that realization before, and then the following realization that he would have to order food. He probably still would have to, if walking to the bathroom exhausted him. “I might order something,” he suggested, half to his stomach to judge its condition, half to Persephone. “Are you hungry too?”
Persephone plopped her cup back on the tray. “Oh, Mama brought stuff over.” She clucked her tongue in an exact imitation of her mother. “The state of your kitchen, Robin….”
Robin took another quick sip of tea. “I’ve been busy.”
Persephone dragged a scathing look over Robin and then the messy couch. “Lucas is worried,” she pronounced, possibly as a warning. Robin had no argument for that. He had more weak tea and didn’t meet her gaze. “If you keep that tea down, I am allowed to get you some broth. If you keepthatdown, you get crackers.” Persephone crossed her arms. “That drink is an Athenais Sibley blend, by the way.” She seemed pleased when Robin glanced up, startled. “Lucas had a whole box full of them.” That was startling too. “He says your lungs sound fine, so don’t worry about anything lingering.”
“How would he know?” Robin grumbled to his cup, not for Persephone to hear. He thought of whatever magic Lucas must have worked to get Robin better faster. He thought of Lucas’ head on his chest. Then he tried not to think about it.
“I said exhaustion,” Persephone reiterated. “Mama said sure, probably, but also the flu and maybe soul sickness. Really, Robin. If you’d said anything, I would have told you to forget about the shawl.”
Robin had a childlike urge to squirm. “Not so loud,” he said at last, when he had to speak. They would hear upstairs and never let it go. Persephone gave him a puzzled look. Robin moved on. “How did Lucas get so much of Athenais’ blends?” He was genuinely curious. Athenais didn’t hoard them intentionally, but she rarely left her greenhouse, which meant someone had to approach her to ask for a potion or tisane. And, as her greenhouse had a generallethalair about it, she was not often approached.
“I believe she owed him a favor.” It was said with the general attitude thatof courseAthenais Sibley would owe Lucas Greysmith a favor. “You’d have to ask him what for.”
Which Robin would not do. He had several questions, in point of fact, but asked none of them. Even the witches who feared Lucas would still come to him with problems, often secretly, which Marise had always thought was funny.
Marise had known too much, Robin decided.
He considered that, then carefully nestled the cup in the pile of blankets over his legs so he didn’t have to hold it anymore, which was tiring.
He cleared his throat. “This was nice of all of you. You really didn’t have to.”
“I suspect this is whatcovenis supposed to mean.” Persephone surprised him with the bitter remark. “Maybe it does, for some.”
“Maybe make your own,” Robin suggested, an old family joke in a house full of clothmakers and spinners. He thought he’dsurprised her in return, but his eyes had closed and he couldn’t be sure. “Or, if the mistake cannot be corrected; throw the piece out and start over.”
“Tired again?” Persephone asked softly and crept closer to take the cup from him. She didn’t tuck Robin in at least, although he felt her pat one of the crocheted afghans he’d pulled over his knees. “These are lovely,” she commented in a soothing whisper. “The colors are fantastic. Did you make these?”
“The fine crotchet is by Ethel-Rose Redferne. It’s very old.” Robin sighed it a little. “These are from later. My dad made one, you know. Before he left the first time. Before me.” It was in the pile somewhere. Robin had pulled it from his room.
“Well, if you know how, I should pay you for lessons.” Persephone did tug the blankets up higher. Robin didn’t seem to mind this time. “Sleep now though, okay? He’ll be back soon.”
Robin would have given her a stern look, but he was tired. “I wasn’t worried that he wouldn’t come back.”
Persephone patted the top of Robin’s head. “More people should have your faith in him.”
