“Sorry. Here. Have some water.”
I ignore her. There are waves of anxiety washing over me. I’m trying to figure out if they start in my stomach or my head.
“Agatha . . . have some water.”
I look up at Niamh and take the water bottle from her hand. I drink some.
“Do you want some fresh air?” she asks.
As if that’s what’s been lacking. I climb out of the car anyway. Perhaps Niamh will leave me here and pick me up on her way back to London.
“Look,” she says, “there’s even some shade.”
I follow her to a tree, a little bit away from the road. She’s holding her hands out, like she might have to catch me if I faint. I’m sure Niamh could carry me if she had to. She’s built like a lumberjack.
I lean against the tree trunk, sliding down to the ground.
“All right?” she asks.
“Still no.”
Niamh stands there for a minute with her hands on her hips, watching me. “Has this happened before?”
“No,” I say. Then, “I don’t know.” (I fainted once when I was abducted by a troll. Does that count?)
“Should I call your dad?”
“No.No, I’m just carsick. I just need a minute.”
Niamh sits down near me. “Drink some more water.”
“I’m carsick, not dehydrated.”
“You look rattled.”
I take another drink. “I’ll be fine.”
She’s watching me, red-faced and unhappy.
“What time is your appointment at Watford?” I ask. I could stay here under this tree. I have my phone. And Niamh’s water. And my wand, I suppose.
“It’s not an appointment,” she says.
“I’m just checking in on the goats.”
I set down the water. “The goats?”
Niamh nods.
“Ebb’sgoats?”
“Ebb Petty is dead,” she says, and wow, this is exactly what I mean about her terrible bedside manner. What if I was a loved one? Or a friend of Ebb’s who hadn’t heard? Or what if I wasanyonewho found this news upsetting in some way?
“I know,” I snap. “But you’re checking on her goats?”
“They’re the Watford goats,” she says. “The school herd.”
“Whatever,” I mumble, looking down again.
