Page 34 of Boss Witch

Clem couldn’t bring herself to confide in her cousin when Danica looked like microwaved shit.

But that left her carrying the weight alone, just like always.

***

Gavin never thought he’d find himself pruning shrubberies instead of following his old man’s edicts, but he liked Leonard substantially better than this own father.

In some ways, he reminded him of the grandfather he hadn’t seen since he was thirteen.

Once, they had been close.

With an emphatic snip, he severed an unruly branch. If only his thoughts could be controlled so easily.

He was almost finished, and the hedges looked level, though he hadn’t checked by measuring. If Leonard wanted military precision, he could pay someone for this.

A short while later, the older man brought two icy bottles of beer and gestured to the patio furniture on the cement pad that passed for a terrace in these parts. “You said you want a drinking buddy. Here I am.”

“I meant at O’Reilly’s, but your back garden is nice too.”

Leonard laughed. “I can’t figure you out, son. You don’t look like any college professor I ever met, and I get a funny feeling about you.” The old man narrowed his eyes. “Yep, you’re definitely keeping secrets.”

That was astonishingly on the mark, but Gavin lifted a shoulder, accepting the amber bottle and tracing the cool condensation down the side. “If you like, I can bore you to tears with a lecture on the War of the Roses. Would that make me seem more professorial?”

“It probably would,” Leonard allowed. “And it would also conceal that fact that you just deflected, instead of addressing my original point.”

“You’re relentless,” he said with a bewildered sort of admiration.

“Oops, you did it again, just like that poor Britney Spears.”

From the gimlet gaze fixed on him, Gavin could tell he had to say something, and that his usual jokes wouldn’t suffice. Neither would the truth. So he decided to obfuscate with a different version of it.

“If you must know, it’s highly probable my sabbatical from university will become permanent. I can’t find any joy in academic writing these days, and it’s a rather ruthless prestige system. If I don’t produce, they’ll hire someone who will. Which leaves me unemployed and wondering what to do with the rest of my life. I have some savings, but…”

“They won’t last forever,” Leonard said. “You’re looking at an early midlife crisis, then. Is that why you’re touring America on a motorcycle?”

“Perhaps. It cost me three hundred pounds to send it over, but it has sentimental value.” Gavin sipped his beer, knowing this meant he was committed to hanging out at Leonard’s house until he metabolized it. “But enough about me. I suspect you’re nursing a crush on Gladys. How’s that coming along?”

The old man glared at him. “That’s none of your business. And slow. I keep telling her that we’re old and we shouldn’t waste time, but she enjoys keeping me wrapped around her adorable little fingers.”

Right, that’s too cute for words.

He concealed the smile with some effort. “Shall I write her some love poetry you can Cyrano her with?”

“Mind your own business!”

“Understood.”

They drank for a bit in silence while he tried to figure out a subtler way to seek information about the weird residents of St. Claire. As usual, he had been using detection snares here and there, but nothing had popped so far. Sometimes he ran across a tingle of old magic, but he couldn’t get a lock since it was faded and weak.

Eventually Leonard said, “What’s on your mind? You’ve got a serious thinking face on, so you might as well spit it out.”

“I was just curious who the interesting people are around here. There’s a pensioner in the village where I grew up who knits sweater vests for cats.” That was a lie.

He’d read about that woman on the internet. There was no cozy home village or heartwarming story from his past, just hard lessons from Da. When he looked back, his world kept getting smaller, with Da winnowing away those who loved him—­first Nan, then Mum, and finally Grandad.

Wonder if they’re safe and happy, if they think of me at all.

“You’re curious about our local oddballs, huh?” Leonard laughed. “First one that springs to mind is Dale the Prepper. He lives out at the old Oswald farm, only comes into town twice a year. Never met anyone who hates people more, and he’s constantly ordering supplies for when the world ends. And…”

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