Page 57 of An Amateur Witch's Guide to Murder
No.
The human him.
The only him.
Him.
The picture is replaced with Ophelia’s face, her fingers in his hair. “There you are. It’s okay,” she whispers, her words suddenly coherent.
“What the hell?” he manages around an inability not to breathe like he’s just been forced to run a mile. But he can already tell what the hell because the arms he wraps around Ophelia aren’t claw-tipped. No blade-teeth meet his tongue. He reaches to his eyes, which are still wet, fingers coming away with black, but Ophelia assures him softly that they look normal again.
“Interesting,” Ulla says in the tone of someone who doesn’t find it interesting at all but has other things to do because it’s not her drama. “What’s the plan now?”
“Give him a minute,” Ophelia snaps.
Where she touches feels like what he imagines being irradiated feels like, electric and hot in every cell as if too much pressure might make it all slough off. He can’t stop wiping his cheeks, amazed that he’s only smearing around what was already there. The leaking had felt natural, like of course shit just comes out of his face all the time, and now it’s weird not to have it. His life is so messed up. “How did you know that would work?”
“Lucky guess,” Ulla says with a raised eyebrow. It’s such a bad joke.
“Okay. Human-faced again. Thanks for that,” he says, trying not to stare at his hands. They feel wrong even though they’re the hands he’s had his whole life. “Quincy took Christopher to bail out Topher. When they’re back, we get everyone in the same room and talk.”
“Pedestrian,” Ulla says, which isn’t a rebuff because she doesn’t follow it up with a counter or complaint. She might be incapable of enthusiastic agreement. Her gaze shifts to Ophelia. “You. What do you do?”
“Astral projection,” Ophelia says readily, uncharacteristically willing for interrogation.
“Possession?” Ulla asks. A flicker on Ophelia’s face. Surprise? Then thoughtful.
“No,” but Ophelia doesn’t say it firmly. It’s almost a question.
“I cannot believe this is the help I’ve found. Infants who don’t know how to do anything,” Ulla complains, but it’s nowhere near the heat of the complaints about her sister. She starts pacing, another cigarette between her lips two steps in. “Fine, fine. Topher will be safest here. My sister is annoying, but she loves her son. The house is warded a particular way that isn’t obvious unless you’re well versed in my sister’s flavor of protection craft. It won’t allow entrance for anyone with ill intentions against Topher.”
She gives Mateo a pointed look. And suddenly he knows why she’d agreed to meet them so easily. Just being in the house meant he was on Topher’s side. The first good thing to happen in fully 72 hours. Magic had actually helped them prove their intentions.
“Every day I expected this house to expel Christopher,” Ulla gripes, blowing a perfect smoke ring. “But he cares about Topher in his own horrible way. He’s just also an asshole.”
An earlier disquiet returns, one he should have thought of before he sent Christopher off to get Topher, but there’d been a detached certainty to a lot of his actions of the past few hours. “Are we sure Christopher isn’t involved in whatever’s after Linnéa? I heard tales of abuse.”
Critical, storm-cloud gray eyes turn to him. “Bullshit. He used to worship the ground she walked on, and when that faded, he recognized the free ride she was. She fell out of love with him as soon as he made it clear he was a poor father, but they had an understanding.”
Huh. Mateo had only been in Christopher’s presence a few minutes total, but the narrative seemed sound. It was easier to think that Linnéa hadn’t been honest with her sister. In his mother’s book, Christopher’s entry had saiduseless, but his mom was also an asshole. Useless could mean dangerous to other people. “Linnéa wanted out of their contract. Could you see him getting abusive then? That could have been Christopher in the evil wizard outfit. We couldn’t see who was in the outfit and they were tall.”
“Who’s Quincy?” Ulla asks, ignoring his concern entirely.
“Topher’s driver,” Mateo says, knowing what she’s getting at. “He doesn’t have anything to do with any of this but volunteered to help.”
She doesn’t need to say anything for the expression on her face to make him feel like a fool. If you don’t know Quincy, sure, that weak-ass defense sounds suspicious. But Quincy had been so consistently solid and helpful. He’d been cool with everything. Including magic existing and Mateo’s demon state.
And.
It’s weird that he was so cool about it, isn’t it?
Ophelia’s phone bings. “Quincy,” she says. “Says Topher’s being processed for release.”
Mateo gives Ulla a look. Likesee, I’m right about Quincy, who he’s suddenly feeling defensive about. He really had helped a lot. Or it’s that it would be amazingly ironic if, after all of this, they’d sent the evil wizard right to Topher. But he wouldn’t text if that was the case.
Ulla makes a displeased noise but there’s nothing to do but wait, so she wanders away to do whatever angry luck spirits do in their sister’s ex’s homes when no one’s around.
Mateo and Ophelia lie down on the gray living room couch. It’s L-shaped and Ophelia’s short, so she takes the arm of the L and Mateo takes the stem, the tops of their heads nearly touching. It’s not a comfortable couch but he’s exhausted, and Ophelia can always sleep.
