Mine to Spell (Mine #2) (8 page)

“
It is true that I was requested to watch over you,” he says.

This pulls me out of my ridiculous thoughts and helps my stoic face regain its facade. “Oh? And who ordered that? Edward?”

“Who’s Edward?” He sounds so genuinely puzzled that I have to believe Edward truly didn’t send him. Except then, who did? He continues, “Whoever he is, I’m helping anyway. What would have happened just now if I hadn’t?”

I have no idea, but just thinking on it sends my magic spiraling madly again. “Do you know? Being a foreigner, it’s not as if you know the customs here.”

He rocks on the balls of his feet, yet says nothing. Perhaps I’m mistaken. He could know. Perhaps they’re even harsher to their women in Chryos. Maybe doing kind things like giving women their coats when it’s raining is a way to lift them up so when they’re punished, the women have all the farther to fall. I have farther to fall.

In any case, his point is correct. Whatever happened wouldn’t have been good. Very well. He wins. For now. But I’m not admitting it aloud. I cross my arms in front of my chest and stare him down.

“I have a friend who’s good at helping with situations like yours,” he says.

A friend? That’s not cryptic. “How do you even know what my situation is?”

“Please. You’ve been outside, in the rain I have to add, since sometime before I went to the bakery this morning. Chardonia women never do that. And, though it’s not very gentlemanly of me to mention, your stomach keeps growling.”

I want to cover my stomach. I want to, but I don’t. His mention of the bakery only makes the sounds louder. Still, I keep my arms crossed, not lowering them even an inch. I don’t even give him the satisfaction of a reply.

Though my cheeks are hot, which is reply enough.

“
So we’re agreed your situation could use some, ah, aid,” he says.

“
I implied nothing of the sort.”

He ignores me as if I didn’t say anything. Which I shouldn’t have. Why do inappropriate things keep spewing out of my mouth?

“My friend thinks we may be able to help. He’s actually making his way here to check on another situation close by, and said he’d stop by and help with yours,\ as well.”

Great. Two warlocks shoving their way into my situation. Just what I need.

“I know you probably don’t want to trust me, but Za— my friend really is a good guy. He’ll do what he can.”

“
Zade? Chancellor Zade? Is that who you were going to say is your friend?”

“
Possibly,” he hedges. “What if he is?”

“
That would change things.”

“
And what if he isn’t?”

“
That wouldn’t change things.”

He sighs and pushes the strange window things farther up his nose. “Fine then. It’s Chancellor Zade. You’ve heard of him?”

Heard of Zade? If this wasn't so dangerous, I'd laugh. This has to be some sort of joke or, more likely, a trap. I put on my hard, no-nonsense expression disregarding the worry quivering through me. “What is it you want from me? Do you work with the council? Are you going to drag me somewhere no one will be able to find me? Are you here to punish me? To tarnish me? To kill me?”

“
So you are in trouble?”

How am I giving too much away again? “I’m done speaking with you.” I stride off.

Of course, he follows after. “Please, let me help. We can go to a restaurant and wait for Zade there. It’s a nice, public place. I’ll buy you something to eat while we wait.”

Being in public doesn’t mean safe. Yet his words keep tumbling though my mind. I stop, the boardwalk creaking beneath my feet. Zade, come here? It’s a trick. It has to be. Zade should be with Serena, or doing whatever else it is he’s always disappearing to do when it’s not a council day. But if it is Zade, my problems would be a lot more manageable. If.

Even if it’s not Zade, I’m hungry. This isn’t going to be a chance I’ll have again. I can claim a need to use the water closet and slip out when no one's looking. Because of father, I had a lot of practice with that. I'd even distract them with some sort of spell if I had to.

“
Fine.”

He says, “I really don’t want to pressure you, but I think you should come—wait. Did you just say you’ll come?” This time I’m the one to raise my eyebrows at him. “Right. Let’s go.”

Hopefully, this isn’t as bad of a decision as the rest of the ones I’ve made lately.

I follow him into a restaurant. There are no tarnished eating at this one, unlike the only other restaurant I’ve been to. The tarnished are only servers. Most everyone else is a warlock, and very few women dot the place.

He leads me to a table in the back corner. As we weave past the other tables, I hunch in on myself trying to become small, unnoticeable, with my head down as I remain a step behind. It feels as if everyone’s eyes are on me, boring into me and learning all my secrets. I wish he would have picked a table up front so at least we wouldn’t have been paraded through them all.

Once seated, everything changes. Coat Man sits with his back to one wall, and I’ve got mine to the other. Having my back to the wall already lends a sense of security, even if it’s only a small sense.

We have a good view of the entire room without making ourselves conspicuous, but most of the room has a harder time looking at us without straining their necks. And soon they forget about us anyway, going back to their meal.

Or at least they appear to forget about us. I don’t trust that their unprying eyes mean unprying attitudes. I keep a close watch on them, the door, and the man I’m sitting next to. I can’t forget he’s brought me in out of the rain and is buying me food, though it doesn’t change the fact that he’s a warlock who hasn’t proven himself unwarlock-like. His coat is still warm, wrapped around me, and dripping on the wood floor.

The waitress bustles to our table, a disgusted look on her face directed at me. Outwardly, I don’t let her scowl bother me, and I stare right back at her, but inwardly I want to crawl under the table and hide. It’s not like I want to be wet, dirty, and making a mess everywhere.

Finally, she looks away from me and I feel like I’ve won some victory, though in reality the only thing I’ve really managed is to drip more on the clean floor.

“What would you like to eat?” Her voice is much more pleasant than expected.

“
How about two bowls of stew, milk, and as many rolls as you can bring us.” Then he turns toward me. “If that’s good with you?”

I struggle not to gape at him. He’s asking my opinion? Perhaps he truly does know Zade. He’s been the only warlock to show concern over my preference. “That would be acceptable.”

Honestly, it’s more than acceptable. At the moment, I’d eat anything.

“
I’ll have it right out.” Before the waitress goes, she glances at me again, but this time with a questioning look. Probably the first time she’s seen a warlock care about a woman’s preference. What sort of thoughts will it put into her head?

In the silence that follows, there’s only the low hum of other patrons conversing and my dripping. Well, not just my dripping. I’m also attempting to watch Coat Man without giving away that I’m doing so. It flickers to my awareness that he’s wet and dripping as well. Not only that, but because of me, he doesn’t have a coat. His arms are crossed as if he’s trying to keep his heat in.

I pick at the hem of the sleeve on the coat he gave me, feeling like I should return it, but all too aware of how cold it was last night. Cold and wet. If I give it back, I’ll have nothing to protect me from that. He said I could have it, and I need it. Yet, it’s hard to remember when he’s shivering.

“
If you don’t mind,” he says, “I think I’ll be more comfortable if I dry off.”

Apparently, I wasn’t so subtle in my staring at his dripping state. But what does he mean by dry off? It’s not as if there is a towel or blanket nearby. And then he does something that has me gawking.

He casually flicks his wrist, a sky blue spell, tinted with a darker blue, glides from his fingertips. The light brushes against him, leaving everything it touches dry.

I try not to be too blatant in my staring, except I’ve never seen anything quite like it. It’s difficult not to be wide-eyed. Warlocks are rarely casual with magic. I want to study it, to see if I can discover how to duplicate it. But he quickly dries and no longer has any use for the spell. The light is extinguished before there’s much time to examine it. That’s how spells always are. Tiny glimpses, which leave me aching for more.

“I know it’s not something causally done in Chardonia, but if you don’t mind…” He runs a finger across the side of his framed windows a few times leaving me wishing he would just say what he wants to say. “I could dry you off as well.”

The words are more than I hoped for. Not only showing me the spell again but helping me not be soaked? Please! Yet I mustn’t sound too eager. I think of how Serena would answer, the slight disdain for magic still hasn’t left her tone after all these months and the few spells Zade has shown us. “I suppose.”

“I don’t have to if you don’t want me to.”

Perhaps too much disdain. “It would be nice to be dry.”

His forehead wrinkles, but he casts the spell. This time it’s not just sky blue, but has red twirling around it. It moves much slower toward me than it did with him, a lazy floating as if it doesn’t have the entire restaurant of warlocks as an audience. Perhaps he’s trying not to frighten me off, except I’m anything but frightened.

The colors, heat, and flow of light are fascinating as they creep closer and closer until they brush my skin and clothes. The spell doesn’t linger against my skin, not compared with how long it took to reach me. It feels as if a gentle breeze has picked up everywhere it touches, drying me. The red parts from the blue, seeping even closer, warming me.

When the spell pulls away, all too soon, I’m feeling much better. Warm, dry, and, though I didn’t suppose it could be, even more eager for the coming food. Plus, there was a spell that wasn’t a hex, which just lingered near me. That never happens. A swell of giddiness envelopes me, making me wish I was alone to work on figuring out how to replicate the spell.

The coat is stifling now that I’m warm and dry. I keep it wrapped around me, nervous over losing another barrier between me and the world, but the heat grows. It’s hot, making sweat bead on my back. This is ridiculous. I’m no more or less in danger without the coat on, only more uncomfortable.

I take it off. And though I don’t want to return it, with how things are going so far, I can’t keep it either. He’s been much too generous for that.

I hold it out to him, my grip refusing to be anything except tight on its collar. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but I meant it when I said keep it. I don’t need it.”

I grip the coat even tighter, not believing he doesn’t need it. It’s not like I couldn’t see him shivering before. But if he’s going to insist, I’m not going to refuse. I drape it on the back of my chair, arranging it so my back presses against it. Every so often I let the back of my arm brush against it, reminding me that it’s there. “Thank you.”

“You already said that.” His smile grows. “But you’re welcome again. I’m happy to help however I can. I’m Lukas.”

And here I’ve been calling him Coat Man, not that he ever need know it. It’s a good name, like Luke. Familiar and different all at once, like he is. I’m still trying to process what the rest of what he said means when the waitress brings our order. She sets a steaming bowl in front of Lukas before placing one before me. As soon as the food is in front of me, it’s a struggle not to gulp it down.

She places a basket of rolls in the middle of the table. “Is there anything else you need?”

“
No. Thank you,” he tells her.

And I feel guilty because the spoon is already filled and in my mouth. I pretend as if this was my plan all along. Women usually don’t speak much around warlocks anyway. Though, they also usually wait for their owner or other warlocks to eat before starting. I own myself, though, and that’s good enough for me, even if she doesn’t know it, and he probably doesn’t believe it. Yes, that was my plan all along.

The thought spurs me on faster, though I still use my manners as I devour my stew. The food is so good. Hot and savory. I don’t know the last time I ate something so delicious. Or perhaps it’s because I haven’t eaten anything in almost two days. Before I know it, the soup is gone. The empty bowl is depressing, but of course I don’t let it show. Instead, I grab a roll and, now that my appetite is somewhat suppressed, daintily nibble on it.

“
You must have been hungry,” he says.

I shrug as if my behavior is normal.

He chuckles. “I’ll order you another bowl when she comes back.”

Part of me feels as if I should protest. Why is he being so nice? What does he want? I can’t pay with money, yet this must mean something— the question is, what? Whatever it is, if things get too intense and threaten my freedom, I have a plan.

“Another bowl would be welcome.”

His grin grows, but I don’t understand how exactly. The size stays the same, but something in his expression is happier. Eyes brighter or smile lines deeper. It’s hard not to study his face to identify exactly what changed.