“This is a break? No, never mind, tell me later,” she said, glancing at the crowd.
She went down the queue, assigning numbers with two-minute appointments so people who weren’t near the front could go away and return later to state their case. (“Not a second over two minutes,” he heard her warn, “or we’ll end up with another ridiculously long line.”) He retreated to the forest with leaf-picking volunteers whose number swelled to fifty within an hour.
Miss Harper’s day revealed itself in bits and pieces as he passed by the receiving room with piles of leaves.
To a stooped man in overalls, she said: “All right, I’ll see if the omnimancer can do something about that gopher.”
To a young woman in an old dress: “Yes, I’m certain wizards cannot determine whether an infant has magical ability. We’ll just have to wait until he turns thirteen, I’m afraid.”
And to the haggard mother who’d wailed about her sick child: “An ear infection absolutely should be looked at. I’m putting your daughter at the top of the list.”
After his helpers left with promises to return and the last batch of leaves sat atop a wonderfully large pile in the cellar, Peter walked down the driveway toward Main Street and the inviting glow of Reed’s Diner. He hadn’t so much as a can of soup in the house, and he’d eaten the instant meals stuffed in his trunk for emergencies. No doubt Miss Harper was ravenously hungry, too.
“Omnimancer!”
The man calling out to him from the sidewalk was tall and sharply dressed in a pinstripe suit, a standout among the farmers who constituted most of the county. “Welcome home. You were a few years behind me at school, so you probably don’t remember me—Mitchell Gray.”
He said the name as if it should mean something. Peter searched his memory and came up empty.
“I’m afraid not, but it’s good to meet you again,” he said. “I hope you’ll forgive the inevitable lag to have your requests filled.”
Gray laughed. “Oh, I’m not on your waiting list. The General Assembly has its own omnimancer. Rotten shame, the shortage of wizards. It’s been awfully hard on my constituents. How did you convince Washington to do without your skills?”
“I resigned.”
“Well, that’s one way.” The politician’s grin was conspiratorial and brief. Then he shook his head. “So they’renot giving you any of the usual support and they’re not paying you. How long do you intend to work here for free?”
“Long enough to get all the residents squared away for a while, I hope.”
“I’ll see if I can get you a stipend when the General Assembly reconvenes in January,” Gray said, clapping him on the shoulder.
“Not necessary,” said Peter, who didn’t care to be beholden to the man, “but thank you all the same.”
Gray lowered his voice. “How are you managing to pay an assistant?”
“Savings.”
“It’s remarkably good of you to do this.”
This too was a question: Why? Peter put on the bland smile he’d perfected in Washington and said, “Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, be it ever so humble?—”
“—there’s no place like home.” Gray sounded sincere. Either an improvement on the D.C. pols, who would take pleasures and palaces any day, or an especially skilled liar.
Peter had no interest in sticking around to try to figure out which. “Are Reed’s sandwiches as good as I remember them?”
“Better. Sorry to keep you—you must be famished. Just one more thing before I forget,” Gray added as Peter took a step toward the diner and its food. “You do realize Beatrix Harper is part of the anti-wizard movement? I’d hate to think she finagled her way into your employ through false pretenses. She could be waiting for an opportunity to undermine you.”
“Actually, she didn’t want to work for me,” Peter said, suppressing a frown. “I heard of her administrative talents and I insisted. But thank you for looking out for my interests. Good evening.”
He walked into Reed’s, momentarily transported back twenty years. The aroma of gravy and hot roast beef, the glossy hardwood floor reflecting his face back at him, the buzz of conversation all around. Then the chatter died as the rest of the diners caught sight of him.
It was so much more awkward to be a wizard here than in D.C., wizarding capital of the free world.
“Am I that frightening, or is everybody holding a grudge about my inability to help them all simultaneously?” he asked the owner, who looked grayer than he remembered but still hale, standing behind the counter rather than sitting.
“I think it’s more along the lines of ‘impressed.’” Edgar Reed grinned, eyes crinkling. “You’re the most important person to ever come out of Ellicott Mills, and suddenly you’re back. Glad you’re home.”
“Mr. Reed,” Peter said, shaking the proffered hand with both of his, “your kindness when I was the least important person in town kept me from starving. I’m glad to see you again.”
