I shrugged, twisting my boot toe into the tight-looped carpet. "I didn't say it was easy."
Crossing his knees, he rubbed his beard as if noticing not many men had them. Though very quiet since our shopping trip, he had clearly been taking everything in, processing it. Even his words, few as they had been, were starting to sound . . . less odd.
"Your brother," he said, gesturing at him with his chin, "said you want to devote your life to this?"
I smiled somewhat sheepishly. "The I.S. Yes." A sudden worry pulled my brows together. "Why? You think I shouldn't?"
"No," he rushed. "A daughter's wish to follow in her parent's occupation is proper."
Startled he knew my dad had worked for the I.S., I caught my breath until I remembered our conversation in the bus. "Oh. You heard that."
He ducked his head. "Yes, mistress witch. And who am I to tell you the profession of protecting the helpless is too dangerous? I live for it."
I felt a quiver of connection, that he might really understand. Pierce, though, gave me a wry look. "Lived for it," he amended sourly.
Used to arguing about my chosen profession, I lifted my chin. "I'm stronger every year," I said as if he had protested. "I mean, markedly stronger."
"You suffered an illness?" Pierce asked, seemingly genuinely concerned.
I nodded, and then feeling some honesty was due, added, "I still am sick, sort of. But I'm doing much better. Everyone says so. I have more stamina all the time. I attend classes to keep from slipping back, and I haven't been in the hospital for about four years. I should have died, so I really don't have any cause to complain, but I want to do this, damn it. They can't keep me out because of my health. I got a black belt and everything."
I stopped, realizing not only was I babbling to the first understanding person I'd found, but I was swearing, too. "Sorry," I said, twisting my foot again. "That's probably gutter talk for you."
Pierce made a soft sound, neither accusing nor affirming. He was looking at my middle in a soft puzzlement. "You're passionate," he finally said, and I smiled in relief. I knew he would be gone by sunrise, but I didn't want to alienate him. I liked him, even if he was a ghost. Oh God, I was not crushing on him.
"I'm in the medical books, you know," I said, trying to get his mind off my bad mouth. "The only survivor of Rosewood syndrome."
He started, turning from where he had been watching Robbie argue with his interviewer. "You . . . Rosewood? You survived? I lost two sisters and a brother to that, passed before they were three months. Are you sure that's what ailed you?"
I smiled because there was no pain in him. The hurt, apparently, was old. "That's what it was. Is. Modern medicine I suppose, or all the herbal remedies they gave me at that Make-A-Wish camp for dying kids. I was there for three years until they kicked me out when I quit dying so fast."
The wonder was stark in his gaze as he settled back as if not believing it. "You're a wonder, mistress witch."
I scoffed and ran my fingernails to bump over the chair's fabric. "I'm not really a witch yet. I haven't gotten my license. You can call me Rachel."
Pierce's subtle fidgeting ceased and I looked up to find him staring. In sudden understanding, I warmed. Crap, giving him my first name might be extremely intimate. He certainly didn't seem to know how to react.
Embarrassed, I focused on Robbie. "I, uh, am sorry for bringing you from your rest," I said. "I was trying to call my dad. See, I had this bet with Robbie. I said Dad, my father, would want me to put my application in to the I.S., and Robbie said if he were still alive, he'd want me to get a higher degree in my earth witch studies. So Robbie challenged me to call him and ask. If I could do it, I promised I'd do what Dad said; if not, I'd go with Robbie and go to school for four more years. I didn't figure on him being at peace. I suppose I should be glad," I said, feeling guilty. "But I really wanted to talk to him."
"Miss Rachel," Pierce said, and my head came up when he took my hand. "Don't weep for your father. I expect he's at rest, watching you and wishing you happiness."
"You don't know that," I said contrarily, pulling away. "You're stuck in purgatory."
But instead of taking that as a brush-off, he nodded as if he liked it.
"You do know the intent behind your brother's challenge was to prove to you how skilled you are at earth magic, so you will follow that path?"
My mouth dropped open and I looked at Robbie. "The dirtbag," I whispered. "Well, I'm not doing it," I said while Pierce puzzled over the modern phrase. "We don't know if my dad would have approved or not, so the deal is off. I'm not going to Portland. I'm going to stay here with my mother and become the best damned runner since my dad."
Crap, I'm swearing again, I thought, then gave Pierce an apologetic smile. "What do you think I should do?"
The small man leaned forward, startling me with his intensity. "I believe," he said, inches away, "that if you don't follow your passions, you die slowly."
He was holding my hand again. A slow quiver built in me, and I pulled my hand away before I shivered outright. The office chatter seemed to grow loud, and Pierce resettled himself.
"My apologies," he said, clearly not sorry at all. "I've overstepped my boundaries."
Yeah, like I don't want you to? "It's okay," I said, boldly meeting his gaze. "I've held hands with guys before." And kissed them. I wonder what it's like to kiss a ghost? God, he had a beard. It would probably be all prickly and nasty. But maybe it was soft?
Yanking my thoughts back where they belonged, I looked down the open walkway to Robbie. He was clearly upset as he talked to the man, his arms moving in sharp angry motions. "I wonder what they're saying," I murmured.
Pierce still had that devilish look, but I liked it.
"Let me see if I can commune with the ever-after," he said. "I've a mind to speak a charm to hear them, though it's wicked to do so." But almost immediately his enthusiasm faltered. "I can't find a line," he said, touching his beard as if nervous. "Being a spectre, one might think it would be easier, not forbidden."
Well, nuts to that. I want to know what Robbie is saying. In a spontaneous motion, I grabbed Pierce's wrist. My focus blurred as I searched for the nearest ley line, finding the university's glowing in my thoughts: a dusky red ribbon of power all witches could tap into regardless of where their talents lay.