Once the demarcation stones were in place, Peter gestured to Martinelli. He wanted to help?Hecould cast. Even after the walk, Peter still felt buzzed from the scotch.
A moment later, they both gaped at Martinelli’s results. The field had turned an alarming shade of orange.
“Uh,” Martinelli said. “Is that a … side effect of killing the bugs?”
Peter couldn’t take his eyes off the soil. Holy heck, what if they couldn’t get that spell off? “No. Do you think you could?—”
Martinelli hurriedly cast the generic reversal—which only worked on spells you’d cast yourself, and occasionally not even then—and they both heaved sighs of relief as it took effect.
Martinelli was the first to start laughing. It was a while before they could stop.
“You were hazing me, weren’t you,” Martinelli said, poking him. “Admit it.”
“No, I swear I wasn’t. But next time you’re about to tell me that omnimancing isn’t rocket science …”
“Hah! Noted. Also—youtake it from here, thanks very much.”
After they’d dealt with the bugs, Mr. Sederey rushed over to plead for help with his calving heifer in distress. It was off-season and the vet was out of town. Yes, of course they’d do their best.
A lot of trial and error later, Peter had blood and calf poop up to his shoulders and a grin that probably rivaled Martinelli’s. The calf was alive. The mother, too. They’d done it. The spells had been only marginally helpful, but they’d done it.
“Stay for supper,” Mr. Sederey urged. “The missus is getting an early meal on the table right now.”
Peter turned to Martinelli. “Can you?”
Martinelli hesitated, then shrugged. “Why not.”
“Need to call your wife?”
He shook his head. “Visiting her mother.”
Martinelli gingerly pulled leaves from his coat, which was sun-yellow in contrast to Peter’s midnight blue, and cast a cleaning spell over them both. After that, they had a lovely meal with the farmer, his wife, their three teenage sons and a daughter who looked to be about the age of Beatrix’s sister.
None of them seemed unnerved to have two wizards at their table. Perhaps people were getting used to him. A cheering thought.
When he and Martinelli walked back to the overgrown Victorian on the town’s highest hill, stumbling in the twilight over the uneven pavement and joking about it, he felt so good.Happy.
Martinelli elbowed him. “Are you interested in Lillian Sederey?”
He needed a second to remember that was the daughter’s name, and then he laughed. “No! She’s, what, twenty? Far too young.”
“Oh,fartoo young.” Martinelli snorted.“Bushwa. What are you, whippersnapper, all of twenty-six?”
“Thirty-three, thank you very much.”
“A perfectly respectable age gap. She seems nice. If you’re going to stay …” Martinelli stopped halfway up the driveway, turned and looked down Main Street, the soft glow of fading sun and Christmas lights showing only the beauty, not the boarded-up stores or decades-old cement. “If you’re going to stay, you should find someone to take care of you.”
He didn’t want someone to take care of him. He wanted Beatrix. God help him.
“Are you going to stay?” Martinelli looked at him, and if the question was on behalf of Army superiors, the man’s face showed no sign of it. “Do you have any plans to come back?”
Whatever the reason, the truth would do. “Absolutely none.”
Martinelli nodded. He continued up the driveway.
Peter caught up with him. “What, no more appeals to my better judgment? No cracks about bugs and cow gunk?”
Martinelli’s smile was tinged with something that wasn’t humor. “I get it now, boss. I didn’t before, I admit, but—I had fun today. I can’t remember the last time I hadfunat the Pentagram.”
