You bought food.
It was said in an accusatory manner, and I smiled. “I did.”
I don’t suppose you thought of me, starving away to a mere snip of myself?
“I try to think of you as little as possible, but I did get you a tin of tuna and a tin of chicken, because we both know what a fusspot you can be.”
He sniffed, which was as close to a thank-you as I was likely to get. I put the coffee and the bags on the table and sat down on the bench seat with my back to the sea, just so I could have the pleasure of watching René arrive.
It was definitely a good decision, because the man moved with the restrained grace of a predator, though he was late enough that I’d not only consumed more than my fair share of the nibblies, but finished my coffee and started in on his.
“Sorry,” he said, slipping onto the bench seat opposite. “But I received a call from my friend?—”
“No, you didn’t,” I cut in wryly. “You went to help said friend with the trace, because you didn’t want me there or knowing where she lived.”
His eyebrows rose. “Really?”
“Yes.” I took another sip of his coffee. “I have two brothers. I can taste a lie ten feet away.”
He laughed. “I cannot imagine either of them overtly lying. It does not seem to be in their nature.”
Suggesting it was in his? “Then you have not known them long enough.” I motioned to what remained of the food. “Help yourself. You did also have a coffee, but you took so long, I decided to drink it for you.”
“Seems fair.” He helped himself to a good chunk of cheese wrapped in prosciutto. “My friend had mixed success with the tracing.”
“Because the shard was too small?”
“Because the magic held a duality.”
Surprise rippled through me. While it wasn’t unusual for “white” witches to weave spells together in order to strengthen them, I’d been under the impression dark witches never did that sort of thing because it laid them open to attack from their counterpart. I was obviously wrong.
“Suggesting she was able to trace one thread of magic, but not the other?” I picked up a fat strawberry and bit into it. His gaze dropped to my mouth, and for several seconds he did nothing but watch me eat.
It was oddly erotic.
“Yes,” he said eventually, a slow smile stretching his lips. As if he knew my thought. Or, at the very least, was thinking the exact same thing.
“And can we speak the dreaded one’s name yet, or are we concentrating on the lesser of the magics you and your friend found?”
He flicked a hand, a casual movement that reminded me of the way you flicked a touch screen across, and one that defied the strength of the spell that washed through the air. He’d yet again created a shield of some kind without bothering to spell and seemingly without effort, and yet its touch felt like lightning across my skin.
“I’ve never come across a witch capable of creating a shield without even bothering to spell,” I said, casually picking up another strawberry.
Atticus, I noticed, was studying René through narrowed eyes, a sure sign of deep concentration.
“It is a trick my father taught me.”
“Before or after he began his descent into darkness?”
He hesitated. “When he was on the cusp.”
“Meaning when he was in his ‘gray’ period?”
Wariness dimmed the stars in his eyes even further. “You could say that.”
“And does the fact that you’re able to perform that spell so easily mean you are also gray?”
He’s not gray, Atticus said, in an almost deferential manner, which was odd enough in itself.
