Page 27 of Big Little Spells

How many times and to how many people have I said that in my life?

I have to fight to keep the calm expression on my face, but I don’t say it now. That’s something.

Jacob gives Emerson a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ve got some chores to see to. I’ll see you at Nix tonight.”

She nods and watches him leave the room. Really watches him, with a kind of gooey love-sick sigh that is so out of character that I’m about to comment on it. But then she looks back at me, her gaze clear and direct. All Emerson.

I stand up, and she reaches out to curl her hands around my elbows.

“I’m worried,” she says simply. Honestly.

So honestly, I bristle. “Why? Because I messed up an immortal scrying ritual? Who knows where that water actually came from? He could have winged it in from the River Styx.”

She squeezes my arms. “The way Frost explained it, you didn’t mess up anything.”

I want to shrug her off, knowing she won’t like it, but I don’t. Because the mention of Nicholas has me wondering how he reacted when I...burned. And collapsed. After all, he’s spent more time in my head than I care to admit. I want to know what I missed.

Did he sigh as if I’d lived down to his lowest expectations? Was he bored? Did he wave a languid hand to keep me from hitting the floor?

Or did he actually try to catch me?

I can’t imagine any of that. Or I’m imagining all of it, all at once.

I shouldn’t ask. I shouldn’t care. “I heard Jacob’s explanation. What was Nicholas’s?”

“He called it a negative reaction. That was after your eyes rolled back in your head, your knees gave out, and he caught you before you smashed to the floor. I couldn’t stop it.” Emerson slides a covert glance at me as she steps back and lets go, but I catch it. “I can’t say I understand why he’s allowed himself to get involved in all this. I like to think it’s my amazing methods of persuasion.”

“You are very persuasive.”

“He gave me a book that explained Confluence Warriors last month. It led us to the ritual that stopped the flood that I didn’t think he’d show for, but he did. Again, I’d like to think that was my convincing arguments at work, but I don’t think he’s open to any of the usual inducements.” She eyes me again, this time not covertly. “He also brought you home.”

“Against my will.”

“He seems very...intent on you,” Emerson continues, as if I didn’t point out something that should have gotten her all wound up. The whole he sucks at consent thing. Then again, maybe this is typical of brooding, detached immortals who’ve been around for literally forever. I somehow doubt he’s up on his wokeness.

And then, for a wild little second, I wonder if she knows. All those times in high school when Nicholas privately tutored me—all innocent, sure, but a secret. So many secrets I kept, that I was so sure she didn’t know about. Has she known all along?

“Didn’t you say you have to get to the bookstore?” I ask Emerson sweetly, because I desperately want to ask Emerson what she means. How he held me. How intent he is. All the things I know better than to believe are possible.

I hate Nicholas Frost. And he thinks very little of me.

The end.

Emerson makes a little noise of frustration, but also duty. She has things to do. And we both know she’s constitutionally incapable of ignoring her responsibilities.

“Fine,” she mutters. “But this conversation isn’t over. Nix. Eight o’clock. Zander’s shift starts at nine, so he can hang out for an hour before getting behind the bar. Do your best to convince Ellowyn, but if she’s stubborn about it...”

“I’ll get through to her.” I say this with great confidence because even if I can’t argue her into it, I know I’ll be able to resort to guilt-tripping. Like any decent friend would.

“Are you sure you’re feeling—”

I tap my wrist, an imaginary watch, and Emerson groans again. Then she leans in to give me a tight hug before flying off.

I’m now alone in Jacob North’s farmhouse, which is weird. But what about the past twenty-four hours hasn’t been weird? I give myself a moment to breathe, to really feel. I fold up the blanket that was over me and place it carefully on the couch. I take stock of my body, inside and out.

Nothing inside of me hurts or burns anymore. I flex my hand, but it looks and feels perfectly fine. I feel like me. Like that moment in Nicholas’s mansion didn’t happen.

What exactly did happen? For a moment, I consider going back. I could demand to know. I could demand that he tell me. No doubt he has answers.

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