After a final battery of tests, Doc declared Danny recovered and released him to my care. It had been two days since we’d been home and I’d begun to stop bracing for side effects. But it appeared that in the end, despite the serious tarnish on his armor, Volos had turned out to be the big hero.
Asshole.
“You feel awesome, huh?” Pen asked my brother with a raised brow. “Guess that means you’re ready to head back to school?”
A sudden, very fake coughing fit greeted the comment. “Maybe I could rest a few more days,” he rasped. “Just to be sure.”
I laughed. “If you think that’s best.”
He stifled a yawn.
“All right, my friend,” I said. “You stay here and rest. We’ll be in the kitchen if you need us.”
He nodded but his eyelids were already getting heavy.
Pen and I went to the kitchen, where Baba was cooking something at the stove. Pen made a beeline for the fridge and removed three beers.
“How’s the patient?” Baba asked, stirring a large pot of something that smelled pleasantly of browned meat, tomatoes, and cheese. “Polish soul food,” as she called it.
“He’ll live.” I lowered myself into a chair, cringing at the pain in my leg. Bane’s bullet had scored a nasty trough into my thigh. I’d live, but the doc was pretty sure I’d have a permanent scar to remind me of that fucked-up day.
“He really does seem completely cured,” Baba said. “It’s a miracle.”
I nodded. “Yeah, he’s all good, I think.”
“I hate to admit it,” Pen said, “but it looks like Volos really came through for you guys.”
The idea of anyone praising Volos made me feel all itchy, but I couldn’t tell her the truth. I’d told her the same revisionist tale I’d told Gardner, so she had no idea I’d cooked magic, not once but twice. I just couldn’t stomach the get-back-on-the-wagon speech that admission would require. Or risk her accidentally saying something about it to the team. So instead of agreeing with Pen’s praise of John, I just took a long swallow of beer to wash down the acrid taste of resentment.
“So, is Agent Hottie coming by today?” Baba asked too casually.
“No, Drew has some meeting with Gardner.”
Baba’s hopeful expression fell, but Pen’s brows rose. “About the task force?”
I shook my head. “No idea.”
Baba tapped the wooden spoon on the lip of the pot. “Maybe I should make some Sexy Juice for him, eh? Maybe his schwanz needs a little encouragement.” She arced the spoon upward to illustrate her point.
“Absolutely not,” I said in my best and-that’s-final tone. “And since when do you speak Yiddish?”
She pursed her lips and shrugged. “Gladys at the senior center’s been teaching me so I can make the moves on the widower Goldman.”
I shook my head at her. “Just promise me you won’t give Morales any of your witch’s brews, okay? And for that matter, please don’t bring any more over here. I appreciate that you’re trying to help, but I really prefer for my home to be free from magic.”
Baba’s face went pale. Across the table, Pen froze with the beer at her lips and her eyes were wide as if she expected the old woman to have a heart attack or a conniption fit. Instead, Baba cleared her throat, slowly removed her “Witches Do It Magically” apron, and flipped the burner off with a resolute click.
My conscience reared up in the face of her strained dignity. “Baba—”
She raised a gnarled finger. “Shh,” she said. “Baba understands. You think you’re too good for my low magic.”
I rose. “No, it’s not that. It’s just”—I sighed—“I don’t trust myself around any magic.”
The words tumbled out before I’d realized I was going to say them. And in the wake of the confession, the two women both went utterly still and silent. My cheeks flamed and recriminations echoed through my head. Why had I said such a stupid thing out loud? Did I want them to figure out what I’d done in that brewery?
“Kate,” Pen said, “that was really brave of you.” Her tone didn’t hold any judgment. Maybe I even detected a hint of pride, as if she’d been waiting for me to make that breakthrough for years.
“You’re a moron,” Baba said.
I pulled back in shock. “Excuse me?”
She waved a hand, finally getting animated. “You two with your recovery meetings and your ‘one day at a time.’” She made a disgusted sound. “You sound like children afraid of shadows. Magic is a gift from God. A divine tool given to us to make life easier. But you act like it’s your master. That’s farkakte!”
I blinked at her. I didn’t speak Yiddish, but I got the idea. “No offense, Baba, but those homespun poultices and tinctures you brew are nothing like dirty magic. You can’t begin to understand the power it holds over people.”
Baba made another disgusted noise and waved a hand through the air. “People allow things to have power over them. You want to get your head right, girlie?” She snapped her fingers together as if she were grabbing something from the air. “You gotta snatch that power back!”
I crossed my arms. Arguing with Baba was like trying to herd drunken cats. “Regardless, I’d appreciate it if you’d respect my decision not to bring magic into my home.”
She sniffed and looked away. “Suit yourself,” she said in a tone that implied a silent idiot at the end of the sentence. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get home before the girls arrive for our book club meeting.” With that, she made an incredibly hasty and elegant exit for a woman who walked with the assistance of a cane.
Once she was gone, Pen and I stared at each other, dumbfounded. “You’re going to have to apologize.”
I shook my head. Even though I felt justified in my request, I knew I could have handled it better. If nothing else, I’d make it up to her somehow just to assuage my stinging conscience. I dropped back in my chair and took a long pull from my warming beer. “I’ll add it to my to-do list.”
“Speaking of, any word from Eldritch?”
I shook my head. “Not since the debriefing. I guess he and Gardner have been pretty busy helping Stone prepare the case against Bane.”
She sighed. “Still, sucks for them to leave you in limbo like that.”