"Magic is intent," Elwood said. "You know that. You've known it since your first lesson."
"I know, but dark magic is bad, and–"
"Just stop that line of thought right there," he said gently. "You weren't trying to manipulate anyone. You were frustrated. You were baking. Your magic found the feeling and followed it. That's not dark magic, my boy. That's a young witch who hasn't yet learned to keep his heart out of his mixing bowl."
Declan let out a breath. "I really didn’t mean to do it.”
"I know." Elwood's eyes crinkled. "The important thing is no one was harmed. No one was compelled to do anything against their nature. You simply made it easier for people to say what was already true." He squeezed Declan's hand once. "That's a very different thing from what was done to those growlers, as Nadia will soon learn.”
"You're not going to report me to… whoever you'd report something like that to?"
"I’m whoever you'd report something like that to," Elwood said mildly. "And I'm telling you now. No harm, no foul. But we will work on it. There are ways to manage intent when you bake. Ways to keep what you're feeling from wandering into the recipe uninvited." He picked up his mug again. "That will be our next lesson."
George, apparently satisfied with his examination, retreated back into the pocket.
Declan stood there for a moment, then he said, "I'm moving in with Gideon."
A satisfied smile crossed Elwood's face. "Well," he said. "It's about time."
"We haven’t known each other very long," Declan said, like he’d expected an argument.
"And?" Elwood raised an eyebrow at him. Then he looked at me. Then back at Declan. "Some things don't need a lot of time to be certain."
George reappeared from the pocket and fixed Declan with a look of such pointed approval that Declan actually laughed.
"Even George agrees it’s time," I said.
Declan glanced between his grandfather, his familiar, and me, and shook his head slowly. "I’m surrounded by smug people."
"And a mouse," I said.
"And a mouse," he agreed. But he was smiling.
“Do you two want to stay for breakfast?” Elwood asked.
“No, we’re headed over to watch the 5K. Sandy’s running, and we told him we’d come support him.”
“These days I don’t run unless someone’s chasing me,” Elwood said with a chuckle. “You two have fun.”
The 5k had drawn a better turnout than expected on a Saturday morning, which meant Leon was in his element. The race started in front of the town hall, wound around past the school and the pond, south to Hearth and Griddle, looped back along the river before eventually winding up on Main Street to finish on the southern end of the town square right in front of the library. Amodest crowd had gathered near the finish line with coffee cups and a level of enthusiasm that varied considerably by person.
Before going to the 5k, Declan and I stopped by the Thistle Café and picked up a couple of breakfast sandwiches and some coffee to bring with us.
Beckett Hayes was already there when we arrived. He was standing near the water station, which was set up twenty yards before the finish line. It was a perfect spot. Close enough to see the finishers come in but far enough back to be out of the way, so we joined him.
"Morning," he said.
"Morning." I positioned myself beside him. "Didn't take you for a spectator."
"Normally, I'd be running it." He turned the cup in his hand. "Didn't feel like being stared at for five kilometers."
That was fair. The arrest was still fresh enough that Ravenstone hadn't finished processing it yet.
"I wouldn’t like that either,” Declan said. “But eventually, people will forget.”
"Yeah. Maybe." Beckett didn't sound convinced, but he didn't sound hopeless either. "You two coming to the finish line party after?"
“No, we have other things to do this morning," I said.
