Chapter Twelve
“Lilly, I get why everyone wants to know, but I'm feeling corralled into it.” I sat in my nighttime sun room, in the middle of removing baby spider plants from a giant torso-sized mother plant. Lilly blinked at me with wide eyes, holding a bag of household décor magazines.
“That's not why I'm here,” she said. “Your house is so barren.”
“Yeah-huh. It is.”
“You don't believe me.”
“I think you had multiple reasons for visiting.” I brushed the old potting soil off on my trousers. The little plants would either grow in the pots with their older companions, or they'd die. Knowing spider plants, they'd take off as if they were in premium rooting soil. “I'm not going to tell you in advance of the others.”
“I don't think you plan on telling us at all. You drip-feed us tidbits and act surprised that we can't connect the breadcrumbs. In your opinion, the whole episode should just be swept under a rug and forgotten about. Barnes has gone through the old reports, you know.”
“I wonder what those have to say.”
“That's not funny.”
“I'm not joking.” A pot jumped out of my hands, crumbs of soil scattering over clear sealed bricks. A touch of honeysuckle twisted under my nose, the wind rumbled by the house. They'd dismissed too much. I'd heard so many people say that. Wheels of justice, indeed. Breathing slowly, I forced the anger back. “Let's talk about duvets or whatever they're called.”
Lilly frowned, the expression creasing a line above her nose. I thought she was going to press the subject. She said, “Duvets go on the bed. You already have a comforter. We could get a duvet, though.”
Tension eased out of my body. “Right, so what sort of thing were you thinking of?”
“Can I start up some drinks? I brought decaf and my InstaBrew pot.”
“Sure.”
The atmosphere settled as Lilly put milk into one chamber, coffee into the other, and used bottled water once she realized the kitchen sink poured turmeric colored water. It hissed and bubbled. I remembered my blue willow pot sadly.
When we were situated again, it was much more peaceful. I could almost forget that everyone wanted me to lay out the part of my past I was ashamed of.
She spread out a variety of magazines. Each came from a different store. Illusions filled the room with each flip of a page, showing how the furniture looks. It was rather amusing to arrange things with the drop of a page.
“We need to get you a wardrobe for the clothes you'll be getting,” Lilly said over steaming drinks. Lilly had a list in one hand and a flamingo feather quill in the other.
My butternut latte was too sweet, so I drank it slowly. “Mordon has a chest in the shop I like. It has space distortion enchantments.”
Lilly's quill wobbled in her hand. She said, “If that is what you want. Now, we need to get you potion brewing equipment.”
“Why don't you take me to the shop you like, and let me pick what I need? I keep hearing that Swifts are different in their techniques.”
“You should have some home pots, too, and plates. And towels, linens, something to sit on. It's too much all for one day. Right. Prioritize. Living essentials first.”
“Potions first.”
“Do you do anything but work?” Lilly shook her curls.
“Why don't we get a table and chairs, some towels, and a cooking pan? That will be basic enough.” I added a smile. “And then I can have some time to get my potions closet organized.”
I wondered how I was going to ever pay her back. The money I saw changing hands was all in coins, and different coins than I had ever seen. I didn't know their value, and was too embarrassed to ask.
“Did you and Mordon fight?”
The question brought me out of pondering money matters. Surprised, I said, “What makes you say that?”
Lilly jabbed her pen at me. “He's never so quiet and distracted. What happened?”
“Did he say something?”
Lilly sighed. “Fera. What's going on? He came out of your house.”
“Nothing's going on,” I said, suddenly bright red with a blush.
Lilly tapped her quill on the page, then shrugged. “If that's how you want to be. Just…he's a drake. As far as I know, they don't go on dates or have awkward first kisses or ask for your phone number.”
“Not that anyone here would ask for my number anyway,” I muttered, thinking about how the magical community didn't use phones.
“Fera, you know what I mean. I'm saying, don't break his heart and don't break your own.”
“We're not doing anything.”
Lilly raised up her hands. “I'm not saying you are. Well, fine, I am, but my point is, make sure you two are on the same page?”
“Fine, fine,” I muttered, leaned back and crossed my arms. A smile drifted onto my lips and I added, “But he is handsome.”
Lilly laughed. “I think he's sort of funny looking, but if you like him…” Then she sighed and said, “Fera, just be careful.”
Now I frowned. “There's not something about him you want to tell me, is there?”
She looked alarmed. “Like what?”
“I don't know. He doesn't lose his temper or anything?”
“Oh!” She said, startled. “Not that I've seen. No more than anyone else.”
I sipped at my cooled coffee. Anything sweet had been starting to turn my stomach, and I assumed that was due to the mandrake potion. I considered Mordon in a new light. Suppose that he did care for me? I could certainly be interested in him.
And Mordon hadn't given me any indication of wanting to enter a relationship.
These thoughts turned one way then the other as we browsed magazine after magazine. I eventually picked out an unvarnished wooden table which would work as a cutting block, and five mismatched chairs in case the coven ever decided to gather at my house.
I didn't pay attention to the towels Lilly selected, and soon came to regret that decision when I realized they boasted floral arrangements which had buds which opened and closed as I watched them. By then I was too tired to object.
Lilly was exclaiming over a recent too-cute set of rugs when I flopped on the bed. I turned off the gas lights. She sat down beside me, a blue orb floating overhead.
“You going to stay the night?”
“I'll leave once you're asleep. Meanwhile, so many decisions to make.”
I shook my head and pulled back the covers.
A curled piece of parchment caught my eye lying in the very center of my pillow.
“… I mean, clouds went out last year, but look at these!”
I stared at the small scroll, unable to answer. I recognized the seal on the gold wax holding the parchment closed. It was a stylized, elegant G with two feathers draping overhead.
Beneath the imprint the letter was addressed in graceful handwriting to MISS F. H. SWIFT. There was a faint scent of smoke lingering on it. The skill required to burn a letter so it arrived on a pillow … that was precision.
It unrolled in my palm. Nothing was in it. As I watched, letters appeared. Not in the ink-rising-to-the-surface way of my book, but in the wet, directly applied way.