I kept telling myself that. Out loud. I’d been devastated before. I’d healed before.
I just needed time.
I got dressed in exercise clothes and shambled out into the castle’s early morning. Pain focuses the mind wonderfully—since you can’t really think about very much else. I went to the kitchen to make myself eat some breakfast, get the morning report, and then I would hit the gym for a couple of hours.
Squats focus the mind wonderfully, too.
Will Borden was waiting for me in the kitchen. He looked like a statue of Hercules at three-quarters scale, maybe a little under five and a half feet of heavy muscle. He wore jeans, a button-down shirt, and a blazer, all tailored to fit someone of his unusual proportions, and his eyes were thick with sleep. Will had been living in guest quarters in the castle (which was to say on an air mattress in a dank stone chamber) and had taken some time off from being a successful engineering consultant to serve as my de facto castellan.
“Harry,” Will said with a yawn and passed over a cup of steaming coffee, black.
I felt seen.
I picked up the coffee, mumbled something that could have been a curse or a greeting under my breath, and drank liquid morning for a minute or two. Will did the same. The castle’s commercial kitchen was huge, all stainless steel and polished concrete. It was also empty, for the time being.
In a bit, the volunteer cooks from the Ordo Lebes would come in and start preparing a meal for me and my staff (Will). They’d also cook for the refugees from the neighborhood, folks whose homes had burnedand who had been unable to find another place to stay—about thirty people total in a few different families.
Then there were a half dozen Knights of the Bean, all single men who had survived the battle and had nowhere else to go.
Oh, and a couple of kids who had been homeless already. The streets were a hell of a lot worse than they’d ever been, and child services were swamped. So I did what I could.
I told them all they could stay with me until they got back on their feet. Most of them were sleeping on air mattresses and camp rolls, but they had a roof, which was better than a lot of the town was doing. I could imagine how horrified the stuffier members of the White Council of Wizardry would be at my opening up my home like this. If I’d been a community activist or a cult leader instead of a wizard, I’d have been off to a great start.
But for the moment, Will and I had the place to ourselves—except for the occasional rustle and whisper of one of the Little Folk, my personal bodyguards, who were always on hand when I was outside my private chambers.
The Little Folk had stopped a bombing attempt by parties unknown a week before. The bad guys had sent gremlins. Maybe I should have put out a hit on Joe Dante.
“Okay. What’s today, Will?” I mumbled.
“Back day, so get a few extra carbs,” the brawny young man advised me.
I got out some oatmeal, eggs, bacon, and fruit. Started making breakfast for us. Second breakfast would come after the workout.
“After that?” I asked.
Will checked his list. He said something, and then said it again more slowly, and then said, “Harry?”
I looked up from where I’d been folding eggs for a few moments and remembering the blood draining from Murphy’s face. “Sorry.”
He gave me a lopsided smile. “ ’S’okay. I said you have a meeting with Michael at noon. He’s done roughing in the residential chambers upstairs and wants to talk about how you want to arrange things in the main hall.”
I grunted. “Anything else?”
Will consulted his checklist. “No—you wanted this afternoon left open to get ready, remember?”
I frowned, got out some pans, lit the gas stove, and started cooking in earnest. I honestly couldn’t recall what he was talking about and reminded myself not to beat me up over it. I wasn’t firing on all cylinders for an excellent reason.
I just needed time.
“Ready for what?” I asked him.
“Um,” Will said, frowning. “Your first date with Ms. Raith. It’s tonight.”
My cylinders did a slow turn. “Ah,” I said. “Right.”
—
Lara Raith was the power behind, above, under, around, and everywhere else except on the throne in the White Court of vampires. She’d had enough clout, a few years ago, to get the US Navy to send a ship to support yours truly after the Battle of Chichén Itzá, and word had it that she hadn’t slowed down since. Apparently, on the internet she was in pictures with a lot of people in big money. And big tech. And big pharma. And big oil. And big politics.
