Martinelli bustled about the space, finding tumblers and ice, and they retreated to the receiving room. Peter cast a soundproofing spell out of habit, but he didn’t think Martinelli had come to talk shop. People who worked on highly sensitive projects were not permitted to share their classified information with those who quit.
He sipped at the alcohol. It slid down his throat with just a hint of bite.
“Good?” Martinelli said.
“Very.” He wanted to ask if it meant the promotion had come through, but he didn’t trust himself to say the words calmly. So he went with, “What’s the occasion?”
“Felt bad for you.”
Peter snorted.
“Also,” Martinelli said, swirling the liquid in his glass, “there’s no one worth insulting with you gone.”
“I miss you, too,” he said, surprised by the strength of the ache in his chest.
He had given up a lot in his escape home—an important job, a big salary, a lovely old townhouse in Washington—but the loss he felt most deeply was companionship. No one here was his friend. Most in Ellicott Mills wanted something from him, granted, but he unnerved them. The League women distrusted him. And Beatrix?—
But that was his own fault.
“Thank you for coming,” he said.
Martinelli nodded. “How long do you plan to stay out here, decompressing or whatever it is you’re doing?”
What he was doing, besides ironically helping the Women’s League for the Prohibition of Magic, was attempting to neutralize the incredibly dangerous weapon he’d invented for the Army. An explosion set off by Project 96 could level the downtown of a large city. He’d arranged matters so the Army had a replica that would eventuallydegrade, while the original sat hidden in the forest beyond his house.
So—he’d stay for however long it took to counter this portable cataclysm. Assuming he wasn’t arrested or killed first.
“I worked at the Pentagram for years,” he said, aiming for jocular but falling short. “That requires a lot of decompressing.”
Martinelli ran his hands through his hair, long and silver like every other wizard but thinning on top. He looked tired for just a moment, but then he gave that grin of his that made him look slightly maniacal and not at all middle-aged.
“It’s a woman, isn’t it.”
Peter blinked, thrown. “What?”
“You moved here because of a woman. Getting away from or moving closer to?”
“Neither.” He was relieved that Martinelli assumed the reason was sex rather than something job-related, but still: “What do you take me for?”
“Well—never tagging along with you on Friday nights, I cannot say.”
He didn’t feel up to the conversation about why he would never sleep with a woman and skip town, not after growing up as the result of such circumstances. He simply downed the rest of the scotch in his glass and held it out for a refill.
Martinelli poured a generous amount. “You getting inundated with requests from the townspeople?”
He gave the man a what-do-you-think look. “Enough to keep me occupied until the end of time. It’s not just the town,it’s the entire county. Plus the occasional resident of neighboring counties, hoping I won’t notice.”
“What’s next on the to-do list?”
“Why? You want to help me eradicate the hibernating aphids from Mr. Sederey’s farm?”
Martinelli finished his drink and grinned again. “OK. Lead on, Omnimancer.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I’m serious. C’mon.”
Peter wondered whether Martinelli was conducting official reconnaissance to see whether he was really omnimancing. Well, he was. Just not the jobs that could be done behind closed doors. And he couldn’t think of a downside to a tag-along, so off they went to help Mr. Sederey.
