He took off his jacket, slipping one taut arm after the other out of the sleeves.Then he whipped it behind her, rested it across her shoulders.It billowed down to encase her from chin to toe.He pulled the neck of it together tight, his knuckles brushing her jaw.“Please.You say the word like you’re begging.”
She straightened her spine.“I suppose I am.”
“Begging doesn’t suit you.”
“What else am I to do?”
“Not whatyoushould do.WhatIshould do.”
“And that is?”
“Help you.”He released the edges of his coat and walked away from her.
“No.You are sweet to offer.Rather chivalric.But you cannot help me.”
He whipped back around.“Remaining in the city, where anyone can find you, is careless.”
“Lady Guinevere’s shop is well guarded.I’m staying in a room above, and—” She should not have told him that.
“You like working here?You like… working?”
She laughed.“I suppose I should not.But I will brave the truth.I do not fear censure from you.”
“Because alchemists are common, brutish laborers?”
Exactly what Lady Tascott had said about him.What everyone said about all his kind.But they had never seen one pull iron from the soil as if his hand were a magnet.What would they think, then?Would this man’s life be as much a danger to the well-known order of things as hers was?
“Just so,” she said.The lining of his coat was a slippery silk, soft and warm, and the collar smelled of some spicy cologne.She’d smelled it behind the curtain, and when she’d knocked him over before that.But then he’d smelled of whisky, too.She buried her nose in his collar, inhaled deeply.
He cleared his throat.“I’m not ashamed of it.”
“I do not think you should be.I am glad to have something useful to spend my hours on.And I am learning so very much.The names of plants, which ones go in which potions.It’s fascinating.Plants are categorized, did you know, and they have Latin names as well as the common ones.”
“I did not know.”His hard face broke a little, into the barest smile.
“They do.I cannot remember them very well.Yet.Except this one.”She strode across the rooftop, guiding him to a sun-bright corner.Better this than the other conversation.Much better.She gestured to a small shrub.“Do you know what this is?”
His face broke even more.“I do not.”
“Laurel.It’s one of the few I can remember, and do you know why?”
“I cannot wait to learn.”
“We have that in common.”Oh dear.She was beaming at him.She ducked her head and tamed her lips.“That is neither here nor there.The laurel, yes.I remember it because it is named for a poor young Grecian girl named Daphne.She happened to catch the eye of a god, and the only way to escape him was to be transfigured into a laurel tree.”
He eyed the bush from top to bottom like it might suddenly become a naked woman.And it rather looked like the rough outline of a naked woman.The potions mistresses enjoyed pruning it in an hourglass shape.The bush was bustier than Diana with a padded corset.
“Which god?”he asked.
“Apollo,” she whispered.She rushed on to sweep the feeling of his name from her lips.“Mint is the other plant I’m confident at identifying.”
“Is there a story that goes with that one, too?”
She nodded.
“Will you tell it to me?”
“No.I must return to work.But before you leave, thank you.I feel oddly better after having spoken with you.I do apologize for the potion, and I am terribly glad to see no harm has come from it.”
