“I’ve lost a file,” she said.
“Get—”
“—as far away as possible, yeah. Because you hate me, or do you make everyone do that?”
One side of his mouth curved up. Almost a proper smile. But then he said, “No, just you.”
Humph. The feeling was entirely mutual.
He hunched over the PC. “What’s the file name?”
“‘Essay.’ Now,” she added, lowering her voice even though Bernie was gone for the day, “as long as you’re here: How many people can do magic? And don’t say anything along the lines of ‘at least one.’”
She just hoped the number wasn’t extraordinarily small. What if Hartgrave really was it?
He shot her a dirty look over his shoulder. “Confound you, Daggett—did you drag me halfway across campus just for this?”
“There really is a lost file. No,really. But I don’t see why you can’t do both at once, unless you never planned to honor your promise.”
“I planned on seven in the evening. And it will be seven in the evening, starting tomorrow, so don’t think your knack for buggering up this pitiable machine will speed things along.”
He’d clutched the tower more passionately than usual. She managed not to laugh, but it was a near thing.
“Starting tomorrow?” she said, the question coming out a bit choked.
He half-turned in her direction. “As you said, I’m here already. Unfortunately.”
He followed this with silence.
“Well?” Her voice trembled with excitement and impatience.
“How many people are using magic? Is that your question?”
“No. How manycan—are physically able to use it.”
Hartgrave’s normal setting, as far as she could tell, was tense. So it was remarkable, really, how his frown deepened, his slouch increased and his neck muscles tightened at her question. He turned back to the computer and delivered his answer to the screen. “Virtually everyone.”
She goggled at him. “You’re pulling my leg.”
“No.”
“But—but if that were true, nearly everyone would beusingmagic—it would be part of everyday life ...”
She trailed off, dazzled by the possibilities. She knew from her post-grad research how badly some societies behaved when they assumed witches and sorcerers were everywhere, but magic shot through twenty-first-century life would be different. Amazing.
“Think of all the problems that could be solved if everyone used magic,” she murmured.
Hartgrave’s snort startled her. She’d forgotten he was there.
“How naïve,” he said, typing harder on the keyboard than necessary.
“Give me a little credit—I think about magic for a living.” (Well, partially. And it wasn’t much of a living.)
As if he’d read her mind, he said, “And where has it got you? The cellar of a little college in the middle of nowhere.”
“Says the man in precisely the same place!”
His typing faltered. “I have my reasons.”
