"No dil ," Mal ory said. "Just vinegar. I think Aunt Rose's sense of taste was a little off. Too bad she hadn't at least thrown some garlic into it. And it wouldn't have even bothered you, since you aren't that kind of vampire."
She was right that garlic wasn't the vamp repel ent of myth; on the other hand, the thought of a basement sprayed down with garlic and vinegar didn't exactly make me eager for a visit, either.
"That is true." I plopped the care package onto a clean strip of table. "And speaking of snacks, this is for you."
Without a word, she closed her book, then looked inside the bag and pul ed out the bag of nuts and fruit, which she pul ed open with her teeth. After pouring some into her hand
- which was seriously chapped, like it had been one of the last times I'd seen her - she extended it to me, and I rooted around until I found a couple of whole cashews.
"Thanks," I said, enjoying the satisfying snap when I broke them in half with my teeth. "How are exams?"
"Complicated. Lots of math. It's not like the exams Catcher took," she said, with a little feistiness. "He's been out of the Order for years more. He's not exactly up to speed on sorceress testing procedures."
I guessed she and Catcher had exchanged some words about the tests. "I see," I said neutral y.
A low cry suddenly lit through the air. I heard shuffling across the floor, and nearly jumped onto the table, imagining it was a spider the size of a footbal .
But a smal , black cat with a pink rhinestone col ar padded into view from beneath the table. It sat down on its haunches on the floor beside Mal ory and looked up at me, its eyes chartreuse.
"Your familiar?" I wondered, and Mal ory nodded. At Simon's suggestion, she'd adopted a black kitten to help her perform her sorcery duties.
"That would be Wayne Newton, yes."
"You named your familiar 'Wayne Newton'?"
"They have the same haircut," she dryly said. I moved my hand. Sure enough, the smal cat had a bouffant of dark hair between its ears.
"Huh. It does seem a lot calmer than the last time you mentioned it," I said. I reached down to scratch Wayne Newton between his ears. He nuzzled against my hand, but swayed a little as he did it, as if he was drunk.
I glanced back at Mal ory. "What's wrong with him?"
She glanced down, then frowned at the kitten. "Her, not him. And it's the fermented pickle juice. I didn't quite get there in time, and she was lapping it up."
"Her,width="1em">"Poor kid."
"I know. And it's another strike against Aunt Rose. I don't even think she liked pickles, anyway."
Apparently equal y bored of me and Mal, the cat wandered off. But there was an odd, dizzying sway to its gait.
"Are you feeling better about the kinds of things you're doing?" Mal ory had previously expressed concern about Simon introducing her to black magic. Although a spel prevented her from spil ing al the details, she'd clearly had some ethical qualms about it. I'd encouraged her to talk to Catcher. I knew they'd talked, but maybe the conversation
- or its fol ow-ups - hadn't gone wel .
She tapped a finger against the red leather cover of the book she'd been reading, which was inscribed with gold text. Frankly, it looked exactly like the kind of book a sorceress would read.
"The world is what it is," she said. "Just because something makes me uncomfortable doesn't mean it's bad, you know? Sometimes it just takes a little exposure to real y understand it. I was just a little paranoid before."
I waited for more elaboration, but that's al she said. To be honest, that answer didn't thril me. Coming to terms with something unpleasant was one thing. But deciding it wasn't so unpleasant after al was entirely different.
"Just a little paranoid?" Her hands - chapped and raw -
were a side effect of the magic she'd been practicing. That didn't seem like paranoia to me; it seemed like cause and effect.
"It's fine," she said, putting a hand down on the table hard enough to make it shake. I jumped a little at the sound, but if she was trying to shut me up, she succeeded. "I needed the cat to help me funnel the magic. And what I stil need are three more of them to help me get al this done. There's too much to do, too much to learn, for one person."
This wasn't Mal ory - not the attitude. I laid responsibility for that at Simon's feet; she'd seen him more often lately than anyone else. But here it was just her and me, and I wasn't about to lead our friendship to the precipice over some temporary stress.
"Okay," I al owed. "You know if you need to talk you can cal me anytime. Day or night."
"You'l answer your phone in daylight?" she snarked.
Not if you don't lose the attitude, I thought, but kept that thought to myself. She's been there for me, I mental y repeated, and kept repeating it until my anger calmed.
"Whatever you need," I told her.
She humphed and flipped a page in the book. "I should get back to work. Thanks for the food."
I frowned, unsuccessful y fighting the feeling that I'd been summarily dismissed. "You're welcome. Take care of yourself, okay?"
"I'm fine. Even if I get sick, I could just wil myself back to health."
When it was clear I'd lost her attention, I left her with her books and plants and care package and a secret prayer that she'd weather this particular storm.
I didn't like the sense she was hiding things, but I understood the single-minded focus. I'd had dozens of exams in col ege and grad school, and preparing took that kind of focus. I'd had to remember characters, plots, and details, as wel as trends, metaphors, and similaritie kd slike s. You had to dive into the books completely to have enough familiarity to spend hours answering essay questions. I assumed, given her attitude today, that magic exams required a similar immersion.
On the way back up, I made a quick pit stop in the brownstone's kitchen, pul ing open the long, flat drawer that housed my chocolate col ection. I was a little saddened to discover the bulk of it - if not al of it - was stil in there. I wanted to know Mal ory stil snuck chocolate after a return from the bar or a gym session, or had used the high-cocoa bars to make her famous truffle cupcakes. Instead, the drawer was frozen in time, a bit of me she and Catcher hadn't yet managed to assimilate into their lives.
Wel , if they weren't going to eat it, I would. I rummaged through to find a few special treats - famous brownies special-ordered from a New York bakery, a favorite mini dark chocolate bar, and a novelty bar fil ed with one of my favorite cereals - and stuffed them into the pockets of my jacket. Given Frank's House ban on al things delicious, I was going to need them.