Her father chuckled, running a hand through his thinning but still-brown hair. “Never did like technology, did you?”
Oh, if only it were that. “It’s more that it doesn’t like me.”
He must have caught the undercurrent to those words because he stopped gazing with soppy affection at his new toy and shot her a look of mild concern. “Something wrong, Em?”
“No,” she lied, wishing yet again that she could tell him.
“Hmm,” he said, which was what he always said when he wanted a better answer.
“Dad—”
“Hmm.”
“It’s just ... complicated.”
He shook his head in a decidedly rueful way. “Ah. A man.”
Thatwasan accurate answer to what was wrong. She sighed and nodded.
“Not going so well, I take it,” he said.
Every nerve in her body buzzed at the memory of Hartgrave’s lips, hands, tongue. Then that part of the mental replay was over, pushing forward to the look on his face as she pulled away.
“It’s not going anywhere. It doesn’t matter,” she added, wincing at this second lie and hastening to tack on a truth: “I’m sure you would think he was inappropriate, anyway.”
“Oh dear.” He slung an arm around her shoulders and led her out of the barn. “Inappropriate people are always the hardest to get over. Darn inconsiderate of them ... Would you like some cookies?”
She laughed, leaning into his wiry frame, and the tight knot of anxiety eased. Difficult to remain worked up about Hartgrave, anti-magic and her precarious position in the world when her position in this small corner of it was so familiar and comfortable.
But four days later, she approached her car for the trip back with the anxious knot filling her entire stomach.
“Drive straight there so you don’t get caught in that storm they’re forecasting,” her father said, setting in her trunk a full-to-bursting box of books—Christmas presents and old college texts she hadn’t gotten around to moving.
Her mother snapped one last photograph with her professional-grade camera—that was what she’d spenthersquirreled coins on—and stood on her toes to kiss the top of Emily’s head, a childhood ritual she refused to relinquish just because a certain daughter was now slightly taller than she was.
“I wish you’d get a cell phone for emergencies,” her mother lamented. “Really—we’ll pay the bill if you can’t manage it yet. You should have let us cover your tuition, you know—”
“Mom,” Emily cut in with fond exasperation. Given enough time, all conversations with her mother came around to student loans. “I’m fine now. Actually have money in the bank and everything. Anyway, someone lent me a phone for this trip.”
“Oh! That was nice.”
“Yes.” Emily sighed. “It was.”
She drove off, white-knuckled under her gloves, but everything seemed okay—until roughly thirty miles from Ashburn. Then she heard an ominous clunk. She stopped on the shoulder, willing it to be a normal sort of clunk, and kept the motor running while waiting to see what would happen.
Nothing, as it turned out. No warning lights blinked on. No other unusual sounds manifested. Accelerating back onto the highway in the deepening dusk, she crossed her toes and hoped for the best.
Twenty-five miles from Ashburn, the “check engine” light flickered on, and she admitted defeat.
Hartgrave’s voice was faint over the scratchy connection, but the emotion in it was unmistakable.“What.”
“My car,” she said, leaning against the headrest and wondering if it wouldn’t have been better to simply walk the twenty-five miles back to campus.
“Did you pull over?” This time he sounded far more worried than annoyed.
“Yes.”
“Get out. Now. Stay at a safe distance.”
