“Yes. Most people would have destroyed it.”
That answer was different from what she’d expected.
Bas crossed the kitchen and sat opposite her. “You did something extraordinarily difficult, Brianna. Not merely magical. Precise. Instinctive. You bent time without unraveling yourself.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“The universe rarely waits for permission.”
Outside, snow drifted softly past the kitchen window. The old clock over the sink ticked loudly enough to become irritating.
Brianna stared at her tea. “So what exactly do you people do at that mansion?”
Bas leaned back slightly. “We help people conventional authorities cannot help.”
“That sounds suspiciously like vigilante witchcraft.”
“It occasionally is.”
Brianna blinked.
Bas continued smoothly. “We investigate supernatural threats. Dangerous artifacts. Curses. Possessions. Temporal anomalies.”
“Temporal anomalies,” Brianna repeated weakly.
“Yes. You.”
“That’s rude.”
Again, that almost-smile.
Brianna hated that she was beginning to like her. “I’m not powerful like you think,” she admitted quietly. “I’m an accountant. I do people’s taxes. I panic during phone calls from the IRS.”
“Everybody does that.” Bas waved one elegant hand. “Most witches have anxiety. Magic attracts people who think too much.”
“Well, that explains literally everyone in Salem.”
For the first time, Bas laughed outright.
The sound startled Brianna almost as much as the teleportation.
“You remind me of someone,” Bas said.
“Who?”
“Myself. Several centuries ago.”
Brianna nearly inhaled her tea.
“I’m sorry, centuries?”
Bas ignored that entirely. “You’ve already been using magic for years, haven’t you? You probably thought you were trained to use it wisely. But you cannot control your gift of time travel.”
Brianna froze.
“When emotional,” Bas continued gently, “electronics malfunction around you.”
“…Sometimes.”
