Even though his next words were these: “Cassie, god. Is that what you think happened?”
“Thatiswhat happened. And it’s fine, okay?”
“It isn’t fine for you to think you weren’t enough.”
“Why not? It’s obviously true. I was a boring dork, and you wanted something cool. And I don’t blame you for that. I don’t blame you for grabbing it when you had the chance. I just wish, you know. That you—”
“Hadn’t treated you like shit?”
God, the way he just keeps copping to it, her brain hissed at her. As if she didn’t know. As if she wasn’t feeling it—and so hard now that it was making her want to do some very inadvisable things. Like maybe yelling,you didn’t treat me like shitandanyway I forgive youand thenlet’s be best friends again. Even though she definitely didn’t want any of that.
And there was no way he did.
He was wanting her help, that was all. So that was what she needed to focus on.
After she’d wiped her eyes, and firmed up her voice.
“You know, we should really get back to important stuff. Like what you need to stop any potential arm rot so you can leave me in something like peace,” she said, as she turned back to him to see exactly how convincing she’d been.
And judging by his relieved expression, the answer was: convincing enough.
“I think I just need my medicine.”
“You mean the herbal remedy you were searching for last night.”
“Yep. That’s it. That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You got it.” He snapped his fingers and gave her some finger guns.
“Right. So then it’s the one my grandmother made for you.”
“That’s totally it. She totally did.”
“Because she knew you were a werewolf.”
“Well yeah, of course she did. What else were you thinking?”
“Oh, I dunno. That my grandmother wasn’t apparently awitch,” she said—and even managed to do it pretty calmly. But not so calmly that he didn’t wince in response. Like it was just hitting him that she hadn’t known or understood any of this.
And he was breaking most of it to her really badly.
So of course he tried to calm things down. He put his hands out, like, easy, easy. “Well, she wasn’t exactly a witch. She was more like a cobble,” he said. Like a total fucking dipshit.
“And you think some weird supernatural term I don’t understand is going to make this new piece of information any less shocking? That just makes this whole thing seem even more enormous than it already is! I mean, it hasterminology.”
“Cass, it’s not terminology. It’s just a description of someone who can sort of half make spells. Like, they can repeat what a real witch made up, and it will kind of work. As in—they cobble together some magic.”
“So some real witch did what, exactly? Leave her spell book here?” she asked, one eyebrow raised as sardonically as she could possibly make it. But he just carried on being as exasperated as he already plainly was.
“There is no spell book. Your grandmother just had everything written down in a journal. Like stuff from memory, probably. She was once buddies with Gertrude the Great, and Gertrude the Great told her a thing or two, and there you go.”
“Well, can we call this Gertrude the Great?”
“Of course not, she doesn’t exist. I made her up for the purposes of this demonstration.” He glanced at the ceiling for inspiration. For some sort of way to explain this that made sense. “Look, Cassie. I just need those books she scribbled everything in. You don’t even have to give me them. I can simply jot down the recipe and, you know. Try to make it myself.”
“So you’re a cobble now.”
“I’m not anything. I just have to give it a shot.”
“Fine,” she conceded. “So then tell me what they look like.”
