He wasn’t there.
On instinct, she tried his bedroom door. Locked. She pressed her ear against it but was unable to hear anything over her heartbeat, so she detoured downstairs to look up the strongest unlocking spell in his library.
“Onirnan,” she murmured at the doorknob before turning it gingerly.
He was in bed, deeply asleep.
She retreated, feeling foolish—what else would he be doing? She spent the rest of the day thinking of nothing but brews. Trying to, anyway.
The next night was similarly dreamless. And the night after that. By the fourth night, it was obvious he hadn’t gotten off-kilter by accident. He was staying up nights and sleeping days on purpose. Circumventing their link.
What a relief it should have been. The sharp edge of loss was not supposed to enter into it, leaving her both upset and mortified. Switching her own sleeping schedule had seemed unworkable. Now she wondered if she’d simply justified an action that would allow her to carry on a relationship with Blackwell—in a manner of speaking—without having to admit she was hopelessly compromising her principles.
And Blackwell—he’d said he loved her. Why was he doing this? Was his id so out of step with his rational mind that he couldn’t stomach what it was getting up to while he slept?
She was, after all, her mother’s daughter. He’d said her parentage didn’t enter into his decision to hire (compel, subjugate) her, but there was a great deal of difference between an employee and a lover.
She didn’t intend to ask him. She hardly saw him, in any case. But when he trudged into the brewing room near the end of an afternoon to assist with sleeping drafts, dark smudges under his eyes serving as proof that he ought to be taking them himself, she blurted out, “Why?”
He didn’t pretend confusion, but he took his time with an answer. “Getting nightly glimpses of what you want but can’t have is agony.”
Oh.Her heart revved up. “Youwerehaving it. The dreams were practically indistinguishable from real life.”
“It wasn’t you.”
“I can’t?—”
“I know,” he said, eyes on the ingredients. “I know you can’t.”
The quiet words, no hint of resentment to them, nearly overcame her resistance. She rushed through the steps for the brew and fled home.
After dinner and dishes,she made a beeline for Ella, marking assignments in the sitting room.
“I’m sorry to interrupt ...”
Ella set the papers aside. “Oh, please do. I desperately need a break from reminders that my students don’t seem to listen to a word I say.”
Beatrix attempted a commiserating smile. “Well—I could really use your advice. I promise to listen.”
“Shall we take a walk?”
“No,” she murmured, glancing over her shoulder. “I can’t risk anyone overhearing. My room?”
Ella followed her up the stairs and closed the door behind them. “You have my undivided attention.”
Beatrix’s courage momentarily failed her, but she grasped enough of it to force the words out. “Peter Blackwell is in love with me, and I—I think I’m falling for him.”
Ella’s eyes went predictably wide. “Good God! What is it with you and wizards?”
Exactly. She managed an extremely half-hearted laugh.
“Well, this explains why he was suddenly helpful,” Ella said.“Pleasetell me you’re not looking for my blessing.”
“No! I want you to talk me out of it.”
Ella shook her head. “You can’t be reasoned out of feelings, Beatrix. They’re notoriously unreasonable. Besides—I couldn’t talk you out of Wizard Garrett.”
“I’m trying to learn my lesson.”
