Wanting to be good and having the capacity for it were two different animals. But now I worried—what example would I set for Lark?
Angeline hummed for a moment as she placed the vase on the scratched wooden table, which matched the style of the hutch. She groaned as she lowered into her chair; I frowned in response.
“I imagine a great deal of mothers miscalculated you, my girl. Plus, any man lucky enough to win your heart would be a fool to let their mother’s tongue wag about you.”
She said that now, but I wasn’t pursuing her child. Most found me likable up until that point. I sat across from her, and she poured the tea into two clay mugs. She fixed mine with cream and no sugar as I preferred.
Shaking my head, I said, “I’m certain my heart is past being won, Angie. But thank you.”
I’d once dreamed of being swept into a love like my parents’.
As a girl, I often caught Mama and Papa dancing in the parlor to a song only they could hear. They used to embrace at every opportunity. It seemed so simple.
“I have serious doubts about that,” Angeline said, her tone sly and her expression too smug.
A memory of a silver-haired ghost surfaced. He leveled me with a devastating, cocky grin and said,Miss me, huh?I did.
Now, he existed as a phantom of my imagination. Men’s smiles had won me before, and look where it had gotten me.
“I was quite the wild one in my day too, before Leo. Many a tryst in the hay on my father’s farm,” she said as though knowing I needed the laugh.
I let my jaw drop in mock shock. “Angeline! Whatever would your dear husband say?”
Leo would love her regardless; his son carried that same heartfelt devotion for the people he cared for.
My heart lurched into my throat. The inability to keep away from him, the coy teasing, the sultry comments… it’s how it all had once started before.
Angie laughed and said, “I assure you Leo pretends that I’ve learned every trick from him.”
I snorted. Conversations with the older mortal were always a delight. She was fiery, yet demure when need be, and oh-so witty.
I glanced past her at the series of paintings of the Central Corridor countryside that hung on the stone wall behind the table. Rich greens and golds captured the landscape impeccably.
“Have you painted anything new recently?” I asked her, eager to switch the topic of conversation.
Angeline placed a shortbread cookie on a linen napkin and pushed it toward me. “Not for some months. My hands don’t always cooperate long enough to find it enjoyable.”
This part of immortality made the hair on my arms stand. Watching my mortal friends grow older, frailer, and knowing that they would leave me too soon.
“I’ll speak to Wyeth about what tonics might help.”
Angeline scoffed. “Oh, quit your fretting. Don’t worry about me. Helping Leo in the garden keeps me busy. I’m quite happy with spending time with him there. I’ll pick up my brushes again soon. Your orchards in Lamoreaux would make an amazing landscape when snow-covered.”
“I’d love an Angeline Faulker original above my fireplace,” I agreed. “But you’ll let me commission it.”
She waved her hand. “Your coin is no good here. What use do I have for it? I’ve all I need.”
I would not win this debate. I’d someday pay her back in her son’s freedom from his curse. The relics were one thing to find. Waking him was another challenge. Both tasks were top of mind whenever I searched an ancient ruin.
Taking my first bite of shortbread, I let out a satisfied hum as it melted on my tongue. The jam at the center was tangy andsweet. “Sources, Angeline. I know you have no Source magic, but there is no way that this isn’t sorcery.”
She laughed. “Have you never made shortbread cookies? The ones with jam are Em’s favorite. I made them for him every birthday.”
“I am not allowed near a kitchen,” I admitted.“In my early years in the Sahlms, I learned to roast whatever ghastly game we could catch over an open flame. By the time we built the city, I was so used to eating vermin that good food tasted odd for about fifty years. Then Umber House was constructed and the kitchens were charmed to cook for us.”
The years following the exile of all Source-wielders from Henosis had been difficult to survive.
“You come by here anytime, and I’ll teach you. I know it isn’t a necessity, but there’s a satisfaction in making something by hand. No charm or magic can bake with love.”
