But he was right, “Inferno” did fit the vibe.
“Be that as it may,” she said, “there’s no reason you shouldn’t have a scrying device. Lots of historical conjurors were said to have owned them. Agrippa, for instance.”
Hartgrave made a dismissive noise. “I read hisDe occulta philosophia. A load of crap.”
“Oh?” she said, interested. “Why?”
“If you really want my opinion, you’ll have to ask tomorrow.”
That was her cue to thank him for easing her conscience and wish him a pleasant evening. (Well, maybe not “pleasant.” A bad choice of words.) Butsecond-closest thing to a friendreasserted itself.
She sighed. “Would you like some coffee?”
His lips twitched again. “Someone ought to drink it.”
Definitely time to acquire real friends.
She poured him a cup and turned back just in time to catch him about to throw away the remains of the one she’d broken. “Wait—don’t! I want to try to fix it.”
“You’re deeply attached to this generic Ashburn mug?”
“It’s not mine, it’s the department’s.”
“They’re ten dollars. Buy a new one.”
There would go her life savings. “I’d rather not.”
Hartgrave squinted at her as if, of the two of them, she were the harder to fathom. Then he sat at the table, cup pieces in hand. When he started fitting them together, she caught on and crowded in.
“Daggett.”
“Right, right.” But she took only one step back, wanting to be as close to the action as he’d allow.
He wrapped his hands around the four pieces. She just had time to hold her breath, and then he let go, revealing a perfectly intact mug. No cracks. Not even a hint. Hey, presto.
“That’s truly amazing,” she whispered.
He shrugged in a weary sort of way. What, was he too cool formagic?What a strange wizard he was. Convincer. Whatever.
“Thank you,” she said, reaching for the results. “I’ll put it back.”
He whisked the cup away by its handle. “No!”
This was odd enough that she couldn’t come up with any response besides, “Uh …”
“Give it time to sit,” he said. He leapt up and pushed the cup into the cabinet—behind other examples, as if he didn’t want her to even look at it.
She would have suspected he didn’t actually fix it if not for the clear evidence that he had. “So it’s, what, not quite ready to be used? You were holding it without problems.”
“I’m a convincer and you’re not.”
“That could be remedied,” she said, trying for nonchalance and failing miserably.
“No, it couldn’t.”
Clearly she hadn’t dripped on him enough.
He gave her a measuring look. “Why are you so obsessed with magic?”
