"You said I could ask five questions," I pointed out. "So this is number two."
"There's not much to tell on that front," she said as she watched her puppy. For a moment, I thought that was all she was going to say on the matter, but then she let out a loud sigh. "I used to like to show off my magic, so the humans associated me with death."
"You must have found that hard."
She shrugged. "Why would it be hard? I'm a necromancer. Death is my thing. You have two questions left."
"Three," I countered. "That was a statement, not a question."
She let out a sigh. "Fine. You have three questions left."
"I could go for the obvious and ask who hurt you..."
"Nobody hurt me," she said. "I got hurt by the passage of time. I'm sure you've lost people in your life, you know how hard it is."
"My dad," I responded. "About ten years ago. It left a hole in my heart, no one should lose one of their parents while still in their twenties."
"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I know that can't have been easy."
"I survived."
She let out a sigh. "Well, imagine that pain and multiply it by seven hundred years. That's family, friends, lovers. At some point it was easier not to make the connections in the first place rather than wait for the inevitable grief."
"It sounds lonely."
"It's not. I have some of my family left. I spent time with my uncle and brother. Not so much my father, but that's because Loki is off doing whatever it is that Loki does."
"Loki," I echoed. "You know, I'd not made the connection. I knew Loki was Thor's brother, but I figured you might be his niece through an unknown sister or something."
"It's not really important." She watched as her puppy ran over to a tree stump and sniffed it before peeing. "Good boy."
He gave a happy yap and came running over to her, tail wagging and an adorable look on his fluffy face.
"Yes, you did a good pee," she said as she crouched down and pulled a piece of chicken out of her treat pouch. "I can't believe I have to teach you all of this again, but you're still a good boy."
"He doesn't retain any of his memories?" I asked curiously.
"I don't know," she admitted. "He's never scared of me, so I assume he retains something because he knows who I am. But I have to teach him all of the basics all over again every time he becomes a puppy. Now you have one question left. And I'm being generous with that."
"That might make asking you about death stuff difficult," I said, not arguing with her about the number of questions, even if I thought her calculations were incorrect.
"That's different. I said I'd talk to you about your potion stuff if you made an appointment, and that's what I intend to do."
"You have no idea how much I appreciate that."
She shrugged. "I imagined it was important, or you wouldn't have made the appointment in the first place. Most people wouldn't want to sit across from someone they slept with who had told them nothing else would happen."
"Speaking from experience?"
"Is that your final question?"
"No."
"Then I won't be answering." She turned her attention back to the puppy, and I assumed that meant this part of the conversation was over.
I watched the woman beside me as she interacted with her puppy and tried to work out who she was. I could understand the boundaries she'd put down, but they didn't all seem to make sense. I could understand not wanting to get hurt, but if she really didn't want to get close to people, then she wouldn't need all the rules. And she certainly wouldn't be willing to answer my questions or do a favour for Daisy by actually talking to me. But I knew better than to push.
It did mean that I was going to make my final personal question to her a good one.
