Page 15 of Geoffrey the Very Strange
He wanted to insist that he was fine. Everything was fine. Instead, he blurted out, "I think he hates me."
"Who hates you, sweetie? Cormac? He hates everybody except himself."
"No. I mean, yes." Aspic waved one hand over the other. "Of course, you're right about Cormac. He doesn't bother me. Too much. Most days. No, um, I meant Geoffrey."
"Geoffrey, is it?" Heliotrope nudged him with an elbow without missing a stitch in her manic sewing. "But back up a little. Why would Geoffrey hate you? And why would you look so… so…moroseabout it?"
When Aspic started with the seashell delivery, everything just tumbled out: about the conversation that first visit; how he had ended it with that idiotic quip about having fun with the shells; about his conversation with Grandma Tutti; and about his second, unscheduled visit.
"He almost threw a lightning ball at me," Aspic concluded with a sigh.
Heliotrope put her work down and took his hands. "Almostis important here. You startled him out of sleep. That's not a good idea, startling a mage of any stripe. So why do you think he hates you?"
"He told me to get out. Couldn't tolerate me another second, I guess."
"But he didn't say that."
"No, but—"
"Stop." Heliotrope put a finger over his lips. "So you like him. You're attracted to him."
"Yes." Aspic mumbled behind her finger. She removed it so he could go on. "I can't stop thinking about him. I don't really understand why. But I think he's adorable, and my horns hurt from my brain not letting go of that."
"Oof. I can't believe I'm saying this." She leaned back to let Sundrop fly out of Aspic's pocket and up to the rafters. "Geoffrey's a mess. A disaster. I've lived here all my life, and he'salwaysbeen a disaster, even before he decided to study necromancy."
"I feel like that's not the part you can't believe you're saying."
"Right." Heliotrope hopped down from her stool and went over to the stove to add more wood. "Didn't get there yet. Geoffrey's not a bad person. People will tell you he is because of what he chose. He's really not. He's still a mess, though, which is why I'd advise strongly, like stinky-cheese-smell strongly, not to get involved with him in any way. But—"
"But?"
"Hearts are stupid sometimes, and they want what they want. And if you're set on trying to win him over, you're going about this all wrong."
"Oh." Aspic put his arms on the counter and his head on top. "I've never, um. That is, relationships. It's always been someone else being interested in me."
"From anyone else, that would sound conceited." Heliotrope chuckled as she put the kettle on. "Explains some things, though. You've never pursued anyone, and it shows. First piece of advice: don't barge in on necromancers unannounced. That should just be sense."
"I was worried. And I wasn't thinking."
"More thinking, less barging. Just be polite. Announce your visit to the guardian. Wait to be admitted." Heliotrope fussed with the tea tin and mugs. "And he's in the middle of some new thing he's working on. So busy he didn't go home, right? I'm sure Grandma Tutti's bringing him food, but this is a good chance to show you care."
"With more food?"
"Yes! Geoffrey's aunt owns the bakery. She makes those iced buns you both like. You grab some of those and take them up to him after work." She glanced out the front of the shop. "Assuming the weather breaks. It's a way to say you're worried and you're thinking of him without it feeling like an invasion."
"That makes sense." He accepted a mug and blew over the top to watch the steam scatter. "Thanks, Heli. Thanks for letting me blabber at you, too."
"Hey." She bumped shoulders with him. "You have friends here. Not everyone in town, sure. But you do. Us here at the shop. Mrs. Pickle. This is what friends do, Aspic. They listen. They try to help."
"I'm… thanks," Aspic whispered, the tea and steam blurring as his throat closed up.
Friends. Of course he'd had friends before, but usually in theWhat can you do for me?sort of way. Having a friend who wanted to help just to help? It made his heart swell until his eyes overflowed. Heliotrope didn't even say anything about the tears, just handed him a clean rag and went back to sewing a sage skirt.
Late afternoonof the second full day of experiments, Geoffrey eased himself into his desk chair and scrubbed both hands over his face. He couldn't stop yet, but his back and legs ached. Just for a few minutes, he would sit and gather himself. So many shell combinations and shell-and-rock combinations, and so far, the best he'd managed was to turn one of the dead rosemary plants into a puddle of glittering, sparking goop. Interesting, definitely aresult, but hardly a successful reanimation.
He took another deep breath and turned back to his charts for keeping track of the shell-and-rock-pattern combinations in an orderly, methodical fashion. Every combination had notations of results as well. Mostly of those simply readno reaction, which he had shortened toNRby the third page of charts.
"Murex combinations next, Cecil." Geoffrey heaved himself up from his chair and had to catch himself on the desk when he nearly lost his balance. "Start from the top. Comet pattern, murex shells with clam."
