I settled down into the chair next to his, scooting as close as he’d let me. My good cheer was gone, replaced by a sense of shame as I tried to explain.
“Do you remember what I did when we were on the run from that monster a while ago?”
It had been one of the strangest and scariest road trips I’d ever been on. When we weren’t dodging demons and vampire models, we’d been participating in some of the most obscure magics I’d ever encountered.
“Yeah, I remember.”
“Then you remember that I set a demon on fire without meaning to.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it’s one thing if my potions boil over when I’m brewing. The house might smell a little funny for a few hours. But if I’m doing alchemy and something boils over...”
I let the sentence hang there. It had been the theme of several nightmares hence.
Finn absorbed that before nodding slowly. “Okay, I get that. Can they make the lab fireproof?”
“I sure hope so.” I looked out at the two of them, where it appeared they were arguing about something. “One of them is a dragon. It would be a shame if all his work went up in flames in case he sneezes.”
“Why would he sneeze?”
I looked at my son. “My point is that he’s probably figured out a way to make sure all his hard work doesn’t burn down.”
“Ah, okay, that makes sense.” Then his nose was back in his math book, and I was pretty sure the word ‘hell’ was going to revisit me very soon.
***
There was a brief, quiet lull after Finn finished his homework and retired to his bedroom to play video games. It was the sort of quiet that hummed softly beneath the noise of the refrigerator and the rustle of pages turning. I stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, a bottle of elderflower liqueur in one hand and a half-cut lime in the other. I measured with my heart, for the most part. A splash here, a dash there, and a muttered curse when I overpoured the gin.
At the table, Andre had settled in with one of his old books on magic, the spine cracked and corners turned. The lamplight picked out the edges of his hair in gold.
He looked up when the shaker clinked. “Do you want help with those before your friends get here?”
I shook my head, smiling faintly at him over one shoulder. “No, I’m fine. You’d just make them too perfect. Alcohol in all the right measurements.”
“Isn’t that sort of the point, love?”
“Not when Wanda wants to get plastered.” I took a breath. “Besides, I have to interrogate her tonight, and you know she’s more likely to spill magical secrets if I get her good and schnockered first.”
Andre chuckled, low and warm. “Well, far be it from me to impose sobriety on a meeting of the Black Cat Cocktail Club. How did you come up with that quaint little sobriquet anyway?”
“That is a very long story,” I muttered, adding another dash of gin to the mixture. “And one that Wanda will exaggerate if I let her. Tell you later. Rain check?”
He watched me a moment longer than necessary before turning another page. “Sure.”
My bar kit was nothing fancy. A shaker, a long-handled spoon with the bowl bent slightly to one side, and a row of mismatched glassware that had survived both experiments and social disasters. The smell of gin mixed with rosemary and lime made a bright counterpoint to the earthy, alchemical funk beneath it.
Andre closed the book but left one finger marking the page. “It smells like you’ve been busy,” he said, eyes flicking toward the cluttered counter.
I laughed softly, heat rising into my cheeks. He was getting good at reading my mishaps by now. It made me feel warm and tingly and nervous in a way I couldn’t quite describe.
“You can tell? I tried to clean up after the sleeping potion, but the valerian root doesn’t like to leave quietly.”
He leaned back in the chair, stretching his long legs out beneath the table. “The Valerian isn’t what’s bothering you, is it?”
I glanced down, feeling the heat prickle from my neck onto my cheeks.
“No, it’s this thing with Indigo. I still can’t look at her without seeing Lydia’s face. It’s like my cousin’s still there, just… behind Indigo’s eyes.”
