“SO, YOU’RE GOING surfing with the fisherman,” Chewie said. Of course, his doggy snout was halfway into one of Beka’s specimen bags, so it sounded more like “Whrooworoomnn.” Still, Beka had no problem understanding him, more’s the pity.
“Maybe,” she answered, trying for a light tone. “He said he’d think about it. It’s no big deal. I just wanted to do something to thank him for helping me with the diving, and he hasn’t been out since his kid brother died.” She stuck her head into the small fridge to cool off her burning face and, while she was at it, look for something to eat. “I just told him to show up in the morning if he wanted to go with me.”
She was not going to think about that kiss again. Twice in five minutes was more than enough time to waste obsessing about something that was almost certainly never going to happen again. She definitely wasn’t going to tell Chewie about it. He’d never let her hear the end of it. But great Ziva, it had really been some kiss. She felt like steam was coming off of her, just thinking about it. Time to think about something else. Like the impossible task of figuring out what was poisoning the sea life in the trench where the Selkies and Merpeople lived.
“Get your nose out of there before you contaminate my samples,” she added. Chewie might be more dragon-in-disguise than actual Newfoundland, but he liked to add the occasional bit of drool to the act for verisimilitude.
“Touchy today, aren’t we?” Chewie said, sitting back on his haunches. “While you’re in there, see if you can find me a nice filet mignon, will you?”
Like much of the rest of the school bus, the refrigerator was more magical than mundane, and it could produce pretty much anything either she or Chewie felt like eating. Thankfully, it wasn’t nearly as temperamental as Barbara’s hut-turned-Airstream trailer, which had once produced nothing but cherry pies for a week. Beka’s residence was much more dependable; probably because it had been changed from a hut into a bus by her predecessor, and simply had never dared to argue.
Beka pulled out a ham and cheese sandwich and put it on a plate, placing Chewie’s raw beef on another piece of hand-thrown pottery from one of her craft fair friends and setting it on the floor in front of him. She hoped it would divert him from the current topic under discussion, but no such luck.
“I can’t believe that after all these years without so much as a date, you actually have two guys interested in you,” Chewie said with his mouth full.
“Hey!” Beka said. “I had a date six months ago with that guy Herman set me up with.” Herman was the dwarf that owned the land the bus was currently parked on.
“That wasn’t a guy,” Chewie argued. “It was a half-tame fire elemental. You barely made it through dinner without him setting your hair on fire.” He shook his shaggy head. “I don’t understand why you can’t date within your own species once in a while.”
Beka set her sandwich down, her appetite vanishing almost as fast as Chewie’s dinner. “Right. Because most Humans are perfectly comfortable dating legendary witches who can change them into toads at the wave of a hand. Not to mention the insane responsibilities that come with the job, aging slower than Humans, and not being able to have children. Sure. Most guys are lining up to get a piece of that.”
Chewie just stared at her with big brown eyes. “This Marcus seems tougher than most Humans,” he said. “Maybe you are underestimating his ability to cope with the truth.”
“Ha,” Beka said. “I think you are overestimating his interest in me, outside of being a source of income for his father. He already thinks I’m a crazy, flaky hippie. Can you imagine what he’d say if I tried to tell him I’m a Baba Yaga?”
Depressed by the very thought of it, she sat down on the floor next to Chewie and put her sandwich on his plate. He breathed flames at it for a minute to melt the cheese the way he liked it, then swallowed the entire crispy, gooey mess in a single bite. The aroma of toasted bread and hot ham filled the bus; it should have made Beka hungry, but instead her stomach just churned and roiled like the sea during a summer squall.
“Well, you might have a point,” Chewie said, “but I still like him better than that stuck-up Selkie prince. Something about that guy puts my scales on edge.”
Beka’s mouth dropped open. “What do you have against Kesh?” she asked. “You’ve never even met him.”
Chewie gazed intently at his empty plate, not meeting her eyes. “I may have followed you down to the beach the other night. And, you know, overheard a little bit of your conversation.” He gave the plate a halfhearted lick and then ate it, too, making crunching noises that almost distracted Beka from what he’d just admitted.
“You spied on me?” she said, not believing her ears. “Don’t you trust me either?”