Page 27 of Junk Magic

I showed her where the dishes were, put some oil in a pan, and dumped in the potatoes. “Can I help?” Caleb asked.

“You can start some toast. And don’t think we’re not going to discuss this.”

“Discuss what? You need help; I’m here to help.” He looked around. “Although a toaster would be nice.”

“Toaster oven—it does four slices at once,” I said pointing it out.

“And this works how?”

“I’ll show you,” Sophie said, getting up. That amazing head of red hair was in a ponytail today, and bouncy with curls that I guessed she hadn’t had time to brush out.

“I thought you didn’t know how to cook?” I said.

“Toast is not cooking.” And, okay, couldn’t argue with her there.

Breakfast was finally completed, somehow. I even found some sausage to add to the bacon, which had mostly been eaten by the time everything else made it to the table. I discovered that the kids really liked orange juice, and went through a gallon of it along with what remained of a gallon of milk. I bumped up my visit to the grocery store to today.

After they ate, I started everybody on clean-up detail and dragged Caleb into the living room. He had that look, the crossed arms, crossed legs, leaning against the wall look of a man waiting for me to catch up. I hated that look.

“You were just put back on active duty,” I said, keeping my voice low, why I didn’t know. The talking, jeering, laughing, and occasional crash of another piece of my crockery biting the dust covered any convo we might have. But I didn’t feel like broadcasting Caleb’s problems to the world.

“Yes. And this is active.”

“Caleb, you were blind for months—”

“And now I’m not.”

Yeah, which was why he wore a magical tat by each eye. I didn’t know how bad his vision was, but it probably wasn’t good. He shouldn’t even be back yet, but as Fitzgibbon had said, that was true of a sizeable chunk of the Corps right now.

“You know,” Caleb said, when I just stood there, wondering what would work, “I’m starting to feel unwanted.”

“It’s not that—”

“Okay, then what is it?”

“You need your time off. You need to heal.”

“I’m certified competent to return to duty—”

I rolled my eyes so hard I thought I saw the inside of my skull.

“—and besides, what are you planning to do today? Go grocery shopping?”

I didn’t answer.

Caleb’s eyes narrowed, and his stance widened. I’d seen that before, too. It was his interrogation posture, the one that, all on its own, made perps nervous.

It wasn’t making me feel all that great, either.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?”

No, I didn’t say, because Caleb wasn’t the type to be put off. And because I did kind of need him. I just needed him to understand what he was getting into.

A few minutes later, we were sitting on the couch, which had been shoved up against the far wall and covered with a tarp so that nobody dribbled paint on it. Caleb was holding the picture of the Were-creature and scowling. I sat there watching my ceiling fan go round and round, wondering when was the last time was that I’d dusted it.

Never. Never was a good contender. I was a failure as a housekeeper and not much better as a cook. I sometimes wondered what Cyrus saw in me.

And then I remembered last night. Okay, there was that. Although it might be the last intimate moment for a while with a house full of Weres and a bunch of magically gifted young people with who knew what kind of abilities.

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