“Hey, Poppy,” he greeted me easily, slinging a towel over one broad shoulder. “Thanks for bringing them on such short notice.”
“No problem.”
“And you must be Klaus?” Roy asked, extending his hand.
Klaus didn’t take it. “I am. What manner of creature are you? A yeti?”
“Um, Klaus is still learning how to interact with people in public. I’m currently trying to socialize him,” I said in apology.
Roy chuckled and pulled his hand back. “I’m a sasquatch, actually.”
“Hmph,” Klaus replied.
“Want lunch?” Roy asked, leaning down to grab the box from my hands. I let out a satisfied groan when the weight of it eased from my shoulders.
“We are in a hurry,” Klaus started.
“Sure, we’d love lunch,” I answered, then gave him a look.
“Hmph.”
“It’s on the house,” Roy said, not seeming to notice Klaus’ ill mood. “You’re seriously saving my bacon by making extra for Fifi this month. Her pheromones are off the charts at the moment, owing to the baby. I don’t want to have to lock her in the house to keep the creeps away.”
I nodded, beyond happy that the two of them were now expecting. “It’s not a problem, seriously. You don’t have to—”
“I want to. Olga’s here doing a favor for me too, and I’m paying her off with steak. You two can join her at her table if you want? She’s sitting over there.”
Then he guided us over to a booth in the corner of the room and, sure enough, to Olga Fischer. She watched us approach from across the room, still as a post. She had the look of someone impossibly old, though her body apparently hadn’t caught up yet. Witches didn’t age the way humans did. Even if I reached her age, I wouldn’t look half as good. Well, that and I’d be dead.
Olga’s long white hair was coiled into a tight knot on top of her head, and her skirts, royal blue and trimmed with gold, trailed across the dusty floorboards. She might’ve been beautiful once. Maybe she still was, beneath the fatigue in her face and the dark hollows beneath her eyes.
“Good evening, Poppy,” Olga said quietly. Then her gaze shifted over my shoulder. A faint dusting of pink appeared on her cheeks when she glanced at Klaus, who was standing near my shoulder like a dark cloud.
I glanced back at him, trying to figure out what she was blushing about. Even though he was healed and the poison was gone from him, he still looked like he’d stepped out of a Charles Dickens book. His coat was long and black, well-made but worn at the edges, the kind of garment that might’ve belonged to a scholar a few generations back. And he was covered in dust.
But strangely, when he met Olga’s gaze, he looked similarly frozen.
“Olga, this is my teacher, Klaus. Klaus, this is Olga.”
He took her hand, expression dazed before he gave it a light shake and then seeming to remember himself, brought it to his lips like he’d just turned into Mr. Darcy.
“It is my pleasure, Miss...”
“Fischer,” Olga said, batting her lashes up at him.
Klaus’ face softened in ways I hadn’t yet witnessed. It was subtle, but there. Olga didn’t say or do anything at first, then, almost imperceptibly, her lips curved into a small, knowing smile.
“I’ve been following your mezods for quite some time, Herr...”
“Please, call me Klaus.”
“And likewise, please call me Olga.”
Klaus blinked, then smiled. “Is that so, Olga—you’ve, er, been following my methods, you say? And which parts, may I ask?”
Olga’s eyes sparkled. “All of it. I confess, I’d be zrilled to talk to you about your mezods, if you vould be interested?”
“There is nothing I’d prefer more.”
