Page 39 of Crossroads Magic
I had the casserole dish of shepherd’s pie in the microwave, and the four monster burritos on the griddle when Benedict Marcus pushed open the swing door, then knocked on the inside of it, while he sniffed appreciatively. “Smells very good!”
I don’t always have to be hit over the head with a baseball bat to understand subtext. “Would you like a burrito, too?”
“Me and Juda, please. Wim would like a vegetarian version.” Meaning Broch wasn’t eating. Given how uptight he’d looked, I wasn’t surprised.
“You’ll have to wait until I’ve served the others.”
“That’s fine. We didn’t think we’d be able to eat here at all.” He paused. “Can I…help?” He eyed the kitchen, which looked like a bomb site. Hopefully the cooking garlic and ham scents were covering the less savory aromas.
“Do you have any cooking experience at all?” I asked him.
“I can open cans very well.” His smile was warm, making his eyes dance.
Regretfully, I said, “Then I’m good, thank you.”
He went away, while I got out plates and rolled cutlery sets into paper napkins and put everything on chopping boards to serve it. Then I plated the meals, and took the first tray out to the bar.
Judging by the empty mugs on the table, the eight guests had finished the round I’d served and were onto the next.
I put each meal in front of the person who had ordered it, then stacked mugs and put them on the chopping block, and took them back to the bar. I left the board there, and returned to the kitchen for the second board, which, when I had offloaded the meals, I used to sweep up peanut shells and the last of the empty mugs, and took them over to the bar, too.
Hirom had emptied the first board, which I took back to the kitchen and set about making three more burritos. The time pressure was off, but I am so used to working fast, that I had the next round of burritos on the griddle inside five minutes. While they were cooking I went back and got the second board from Hirom, now empty and wiped off.
When I took the burritos over to the table by the fire, Benedict got to his feet. “Anna…this is great. Thank you.”
“No problems.” I put the proper burrito in front of the right person, and waited for someone to tell me that the man I’d figured out was Juda was Broch, instead.
“Anna, you know Wim, yes?” Benedict said.
I nodded at the brown-skinned man. He smiled at me. “Smells very good.”
“And this is Juda Malik,” Benedict added, waving toward the man I’d pegged as Juda.
Juda Malik nodded gravely at me. His eyesdidseem distant, even close up. They were a deep black, fringed with black lashes. I could see him making a woman’s knees melt if he turned his full attention upon her. He was delicious. But much too young for me, and far too detached.
“Then you must be Broch,” I said, turning to the fourth man at the table. He had a tankard in his hand, but he wasn’t drinking. He watched the other tables with the same brooding stare as before. He jerked his attention back to me as I spoke his name.
Then he put the tankard back on the table and got to his feet. As he was in the chair beside me, I got the full measure of his height. He was at least two inches over six feet, and his shoulderswerebroad, but nicely proportional for his height. Unlike Juda, when Broch looked at me with his very blue eyes, I could tell I had his full attention. He gave me a smile that revealed white, even teeth. There was a deprecating air of self-awareness about him as he said, “I’m a bit distracted. My apologies, Anna Crackstone. Welcome to Haigton Crossing.” His voice was a low tenor, and seemed to stroke my innards.
I had to shake off the effect of his gaze. I felt like I could easily drift into it and lose myself. “Thank you,” I said stiffly, shifting my focus to the table. “Eat, everyone. Don’t let them get cold.”
I headed back to the kitchen and made myself a grilled cheese sandwich with a loaf of bread I found in the chest freezer, then put everything away. Because the situation in the bar was worrying me, I made sure everything was turned off and took my sandwich out to the bar. I settled in the tall stool, which was back by the phone.
Hirom had slowed down now the guests had food to occupy them. He moved over to where I was sitting, his big boots moving lightly on the plank ledge. “Ghaliya was in earlier,” he said, tossing the tea towel he’d been carrying over his shoulder. “More tea and crackers.”
I winced. “Even more reason to get that kitchen cleaned up.” I bit into my sandwich and chewed. “I need to get some serious food into her, and have her keep it down.”
Hirom raised a brow at me. “Is she…?” he asked delicately and waved toward his belly.
I hesitated. But what did it matter? We’d be gone in a few days. “Yes. It was completely unexpected. She was told she’d never carry a child.”
Hirom pulled the tea towel off his shoulder and wiped an invisible speck off the counter. “Hmm….” The sound rumbled in his thick chest. “She’ll need coddling, then.”
It was a quaint, old word, but it was a good one. It also wasn’t the first odd word he’d used, which gave me an idea. “Hirom, do you know what ‘haig’ means?”
“Aye,” he said. “Most folk here learn about it sooner or later. There was an Old English word for ‘witch’—hægtes.” Even the way he said it sounded ancient.
“Hag,” I guessed, for the sounds weren’t dissimilar, and witches had been called hags throughout most of the history that I knew.
