Page 35 of Boats, Moats, & Root Beer Floats

My fist curled at my side but my chance was stolen by a frizzy haired bombshell and the only other person not wearing a white coat in the hallway.

Her slap across his face echoed off every inch of ancient stone that remained exposed between the Christmas trees, followed by her voice.

“Get out.”

Her glare followed her voice as it echoed around the hall.

I nodded. “That’s enough.” I placed a hand on her shoulder that she thankfully didn’t throw off. “But she’s right. Your time here is done. Whatever you think this is?” I flicked one of the bottles, letting the tower topple on into the other as I dragged Lindy backward to a safe distance, my arm linked around her waist. “It’s not what you expect. Leave. Now.”

Sixteen years of intelligence service left me with ample practice to project my voice along the hall. Wherever Al was, he heard me, though the words weren’t for him.

The students scattered as the glass bottles crashed to the stone floor. Shattering upon impact in a wave of stick effervescent spray, taking my peace with them.

Ras was the last to leave, sending me a baleful look over his shoulder. That wound wouldn’t close any time soon, but I didn’tcare about the bridge I burned there, more about the one in my arms that singed me the moment I turned my attention back to her.

Or rather, froze me out.

Lindy systematically disengaged from my embrace, and I let her.

“The hell was that?” Lindy glared up at me.

A shattered bottle tinkled weakly on the floor.

“I agree with Al,” she added.

I rolled my lips inward. “I made a mistake.”

Lindy huffed at me.

“And that was me trying to fix that fuck up,” I snapped.

A single remaining bottle cracked and sprayed the room with root beer.

“Al calls bullshit.”

I winced. “Al would be wrong,” I hedged. “I did the wrong thing. A friend?—”

“What a good friend.” Her sarcasm could have cut metal.

“—from Oxford asked me to send him information on any paranormal activity I came across up here. I’d heard the rumors,” I took a breath, and that was my second mistake.

“Oh, so youknewabout the pestering that Al went through years ago.” Her glare pinpointed me on a skewer of my own making.

Damnit. Of course Lindy heard the stories. People told her things. That’s the sort of trust she engendered. I was a casualty of that battle myself.

“I knew.” I straightened, sensing Al’s hovering presence too. “And I’m sorry. I knew better and I was as fascinated by the prospect of learning more about the ghostly history of Witnot too. Until I learned about you.” I turned in the direction I sensed Al.

He didn’t rattle anything.

“Then you became a person. Someone I know. Someone I like and empathize with and even understand to a small degree. You are not alone in what you have suffered and I am sorry, my friend,” I said in a low voice.

“You don’t get to call him that, dammit,” Lindy snapped, all fierce and beautiful, and oh so distant.

Al rattled his glass gently.

I bowed my head. “I’ll get a bag and brush. This is my mess to clean up.”

“Damn right. All of it. Al and I will be in the bedroom. Find somewhere else to sleep. The castle has plenty of rooms. Lock yourself in the tower. Dragons are suited to those, I hear.” Lindy spun about and stomped off, her footfalls echoing along the corridor as I stared after her with a hollow chest.

---