It struck me suddenly, why their voices sounded so strange, yet so familiar.
“You’re American,” I said, startled.
The witch grinned. “Well-spotted, as you Brits say. Do you want the peach? I’ve got lots of them. My grandmother has a tree in Pasadena, and sent me a whole bag.”
“But, I mean…” I swallowed, then reached out and took the peach carefully from the other witch’s hand. “You’re from California?”
The lavender-haired magia beamed. “I am. Draken’s not. Technically. But he’s lived there on and off for years. He was born in Scotland, but he’s lived in Asia and Los Angeles and a bunch of other places.” She nudged the tall, broad-shouldered mage. “We went to the same boarding school in Zurich. Along with our friend, Luc.”
I glanced past the witch to see whoever might be sitting on her other side, but the witch shook her head.
“Luc’s not with us. He was staying in Surrey so couldn’t take the same carriage. We’re meeting him there.” She held out a hand. “I’m Miranda. Miranda Rook.”
I stared at her hand.
It struck me again that neither of them had made any attempt to avoid touching me. I’d brushed Miranda’s fingers when I took the peach, and the other witch hadn’t even flinched. My leg touched the black-haired mage’s accidentally when Iturned, and he hadn’t flinched, either, or subtly inched his thigh away.
That hadn’t exactly been my usual experience in Magique so far. Even the teachers in my summer bridging course seemed loathe to touch me, or even get too close. Alaric had been the one exception, and my one bright spot, as I said.
That, and the magic itself, of course.
Now I took the other witch’s hand carefully and shook it.
“This is Draken.” Miranda inclined her head. “Don’t let his looks intimidate you. He comes by it honestly… with a rich, famous, disgustingly handsome father who married an even more gorgeous model. As one does.” She grinned. “Anyway, he’s a giant goofball, so when he pulls his sexy bedroom eyes schtick, feel free to laugh at him. I always do.”
I shook his hand, too, smiling at both of them.
It all felt so strange I wanted to laugh.
True, Alaric touched me, like I said, but Greythorne was somehow different. So many people had avoided touching me for so long, it was almost surreal to have two complete strangers offer their hands and sprawl on the couch next to me as if it were nothing.
“I’m Leda Shadow,” I said, figuring to get that part out of the way, too.
Draken and Miranda exchanged looks.
“I thought you were Leda La Fey?” Miranda asked.
“That was my mother’s maiden name,” I explained. “But growing up, we all took my father’s name. So I’ve always been Leda Shadow.”
Another silence.
Then Draken broke out in a disbelieving laugh.
“You’re a hybrid…thehybrid… and your family name is Shadow?” He snorted, and clapped me on the shoulder. “That’shonestly hilarious. Did your mother do it on purpose, do you think? Did she have a darkish sense of humor, your mum?”
“Don’t ask her that,” Miranda admonished, smacking him. “Jesus, Drake. Her mom’s dead. You insensitive baboon?”
“No, no, it’s okay,” I assured them. “Really. It’s fine.”
I thought about Draken’s question then, and smiled.
“And yes,” I said, looking between them. “She did have a dark sense of humor, I think. Much more than I ever realized.”
11
Friends
Ibit into my peach, listening avidly as Miranda continued to talk, more or less conspiring with the two of us from Draken’s lap.
