Page 76 of The Sorcerer's Thief
Cricket is beaming at me as if he’s reading my mind and thinks I’m funny. He probably is. And he probably does. It would be just like him to laugh at my grappling with this concept.
That seer was right after all.
There’s only one, and only the one will do. A coin will guide you.
It wasn’t the coin I needed to find.
It was Cricket.
He is my one.
We settle around a table as if I’m not currently experiencing my life’s greatest epiphany. Someone has procured a needle to dig out the splinter, which Button insists only Cricket can do without hurting him.
“I’m sure your mama can do it too,” says Cricket.
“No, you,” argues Button, bottom lip pouted out like a sad little puppy.
“All right, all right.” Cricket turns to me. “Would you mind making some extra light for me?”
Oh, magic, yes. I could do that. I add a nice bright white light over the child’s finger so Cricket can see what he’s doing. I do this without thinking, but seconds later, the thinking hits like a summer storm, fast and hard.
I never perform magic around others. Never know what they might think. What they might want. Yet I’ve just revealed myself to about three dozen people with a total lack of hesitation simply because Cricket asked it of me.
Wow.
“Thanks,” he says as if it’s nothing and gets to work.
I turn away. I really do hate needles. But the little boy is brave, and Cricket works swiftly, and in no time, the dreaded splinter is removed, and all is right with the world.
“Who wants presents?” Crickets flings his bag off his shoulder as all the children squeal, “me, me, me.”
As the stolen toys are distributed among tiny hands, I smile to myself. Such a sweet thief he is. Considerate for a criminal.
I suppose I shall have to keep him.
The hours pass by quickly. I meet everyone and promptly forget all their names. I’m usually good at that sort of thing, but meeting so many people at once is a challenge. They are kind when I have to ask for their names a second time to commit them to memory.
Cricket calls me Jules, so after a few drinks, several townsfolk call me that as well. I like it. We eat. We drink. We dance.
I twirl Cricket around the floor while someone plays a lively tune on a stringed instrument I don’t recognize. I dance with Roslyn, then her granddaughter Flora while Cricket spins Holly until they’re both taken over by a fit of giggles.
At one point, Roslyn leans over to Cricket. “Hopper would be so happy for you.”
Cricket beams.
When it’s getting a little too late and we’ve both imbibed a little too much, he returns to my arms, even though the music has long since stopped. We sway together along with three other couples not yet ready to end the festivities.
I kiss his cheek, but he turns to capture my lips instead. My face heats. I’m embarrassed to be so affectionate like this in front of other people, but if he’s comfortable with it, then so shall I be.
As the party winds down, one of the older farmers, Jopson, takes Cricket by the elbow. “Time to go home, lad.”
Cricket’s expression comes alive with confusion. “We’re staying at Roslyn’s.”
“Not anymore, you’re not.” A twinkle lights his eyes as he pats my back. “You too, Jules. Come on home.”
What?
We leave the barn with Jopson and his wife, their children, and various cousins trailing behind. Holly and company wave good night. Roslyn and her granddaughters left hours ago.
