Peter swallowed. That was the voice of experience speaking, clear as day. He suddenly remembered something that hadn’t struck him at the time: Quite a few of the Black students in his class at the Academy transferred out, opting for typic life. He’d been too miserable about his grandmother’s death to give it much thought. Now it seemed ominous.
“Those sorts of people you’re talking about …” He looked Hillier in the eye. “They’ve targeted you, too?”
A loud knock on the office door gave them both a start.
“Sorry to interrupt,” a nurse said. “Dr. Cary would like to consult with you on a trauma case.”
Hillier stood up. “Already in surgery?”
“Prepping.”
“I’ll be there momentarily.”
Hillier turned back to Peter as the nurse left. “Please be careful, Omnimancer.”
“I will, thank you. Am I cleared to get back to spellcasting?”
“If it’s an emergency, yes. Otherwise—wait until Sunday to give yourself the full two weeks. You’re much improved, but the extra few days could make the difference between taking it in stride or making yourself ill. And I don’t think you want to end up back in the hospital just now.”
He couldn’t afford it, that was for certain. Not in time or money.
“Here’s my recommendation, for what it’s worth,” Hillier said, opening the door and gesturing for Peter to go out first. “Invite a wizard friend to visit for the weekend.”
Peter’s stomach clenched as his mind went unerringly to Martinelli.
“Please give my best wishes to Miss Harper,” Hillier added.
As he left the hospital, Peter’s thoughts pinged mercilessly between the best friend he’d effectively killed and the fiancée who didn’t want to get married. He leanedagainst a mailbox to steady himself. Then—without articulating to himself why he was doing it—he went to the nearest Metro station and took two trains and one bus to Virginia.
“Omnimancer Blackwell!” Martinelli’s widow stood in her doorway, staring at him with her mouth open for a full second. Then she recovered and stepped aside. “Um, won’t you come in?”
This time she brought him into the kitchen. “He liked it here,” she said, pausing for a moment before sitting at the table. “He was quite a cook, you know.”
“He made me scrambled eggs once,” Peter said. Then he remembered: That had been the last morning of Martinelli’s life.
“Oh, you should have had hisquiche.” Mrs. Martinelli gave a small smile. “He always made such a mess in here—it was worth it, of course, but one morning after I’d gotten everything squared away the night before, I came down to find every pot dirty and lined up by the sink. All of them, he’d used for that breakfast. Six pots! For a single breakfast!”
She started to laugh even as a few tears slid down her cheek. “No, no, Omnimancer, please don’t worry,” she said, catching his expression. “I’m doing a little better. Truly. Did you want to check up on me, or was there another reason for your visit?”
It was my fault. Your husband is dead because of me.
The words stuck in his throat. He couldn’t say them because to do so would reveal every other secret he had to protect. And also because he was a coward.
“Oh, goodness,” she said, looking more closely at him. “Are you all right?”
“I—”
“What am I saying?” She shook her head. “Of course you’re not all right. You can’t do anything now without someone writing a story about it. ‘Omnimancer Peter Blackwell went to the store today and bought apples. What does he have against bananas? The public has a right to know!’”
Her delivery was so over the top that he smiled, despite the guilt biting at him.
“How can youstandthe mean things Roger Rydell writes in his column?” she asked.
He rolled his eyes. “I’ve stopped reading it.”
“Was Tim aware of—well, you know, everything that’s in the papers now?”
“Not most of it.” He could hear the strain in his voice. He cleared his throat. “But it took him roughly thirty seconds to realize I was in love with Beatrix Harper.”
