“But it’s my turn—”
“He’s extracted a far larger payment from you already,” Hartgrave said, jaw tight. “You’ll see.”
She waited until they were out of the restaurant, heading back to campus, before taking this on. “I seem to recall you thinking I wasn’t entirely helpless two hours ago.”
“You were incredibly lucky. I can’t believe you want to risk yourself like that again—” He stopped, shakinghis head. “Actually, Icanbelieve it. It’s just the sort of thing that someone who goes after apparent intruders, barges into mysterious rooms and hangs around a man who gave her a head injury would be likely to do.”
This was said so matter-of-factly—and was so patently true—that her exasperation gave way to a laugh. “Perhaps I’m just a bit adventurous.”
He threw up his hands. “Perhaps you’ve read a few too many adventures.”
Also true. Still: “These wizards are killing people. Doesn’t every fiber of your being cry out against that? Don’t you feel you absolutely must do something?”
They’d come to a stop. He stared into the distance in a way that made her think what he saw wasn’t Main Street, the campus beyond or anything else in town.
“Yes.” The word came out choked. He was slouching more than ever, as if he wanted to curl up into a ball. “Every day.”
Heart twisting, she wrapped her arms around him. He let out a shuddering breath and pressed her closer.
“I don’t want anything bad to happen to you,” he murmured into her hair.
“Maybe this is my grand purpose. Have you thought of that? You can’t stand in the way of someone’s grand purpose—it’s impolite.”
His laugh sounded soggy. She gave him a moment and stepped back, going up on her toes to brush her lips against his. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”
They walked the rest of the way to the Inferno in silence, Emily deciding that now was not the time to make him talk. But oh—the questions. She had so many.
She kept them contained when he suggested she sleep in his room for safety’s sake—in his bed, no less, though not with him in it. She distracted herself for a few minutes more by calling her parents on his old cell phone to let them know she got back OK, not (of course) mentioning what had actually happened on the trip.
The questions began to slip out, however, after he convinced magic to form a second bed a few feet shy of the first.
“Do you know why they’re killing convincers?” she asked.
Her guess: a modern witch hunt. If this group was carrying out a complicated plan for world domination and wanted no magical competition—
“Microchips,” he said.
She blinked. “Uh ...”
“It’s at least partly that, anyway. A microchip is the brain of a computer. They’re in cars, mobile phones—”
“Cameras, watches, microwaves and just about every other household appliance,” she said, recognizing his list as the one he’d recited the day before she left to visit her parents.
The angle of his lips was decidedly ironic. “I’m touched. I’d no idea you paid such close attention to anything I said.”
Her recall ability was excellent, a handy skill for test-taking. And for dealing with this man.
“I remember everything you’ve said.” She gave him a pointed look. “For instance, you also told me there was no conspiracy to keep magic quiet. But what, thereis?This Organization has something to do with all these devices?”
“I never explicitly said there wasnoconspiracy—”
“Honestly! Did you ever once give me a straight answer?”
“See it from my point of view.” He sat on the edge of his magical, semi-transparent bed, looking so earnest it was hard to be angry at him. “My one advantage over them was that they thought me dead, so secrecy was critical. It wasn’t about you. I haven’t told anyone besides Willi and Ballantine, and they were already inextricably caught up in it.”
She walked between the beds, careful not to touch the one made of magic, and perched on the other. They were close enough that she could reach out and run her fingers down his thigh, but she abstained—as tempting as it was.
(What would it feel like to touch more than his hands and face, skin to skin?)
