She wouldn’t get rid of me that easily. “Nice place you’ve got here.”
“It is, isn’t it? And I have all four walls plus a full roof unlike some people.” She peered at me. “Which part of Devon are you from? I don’t recognize your accent.”
“Because I’m not from Devon. I bet the rent’s cheap in this part of the country though.”
She spat on the floor. “Rent. What would I know of rent? I own everything you see. If I can’t own it, I don’t have it. Simple. I’m not beholden to the so-called earl or House bloody Peyton or anyone else.”
“An independent woman. I can appreciate that.”
The witch rested a hand on the lip of the cauldron. Steam wafted past her arm and I watched to see whether the heat scalded her. If so, she didn’t show any pain.
Interesting.
“So what does the earl need from me when he’s clearly found himself another witch?”
I saw no reason to lie. “I wasn’t called upon by the earl. I went to see him about an unrelated matter on behalf of a wolf pack in Britannia City.”
“That explains the accent.” With the flick of her finger, the fire beneath the cauldron died. “Do you know the kind of magic I possess?”
“Do a few more tricks like that and I can probably piece it together.”
She looked me up and down. “A smart mouth. We don’t get a lot of those around here. Must be the city’s influence.”
Or the risking-my-life-every-day influence. You don’t tend to watch your tone when you’re battling monsters on the regular. Each word might be your last. You might as well increase the odds of making it a good comeback. Kami and I used to laugh about what might be written on our tombstones. It was easy to joke when you knew you’d never have one.
“Based on the Bowmans’ desire to have you fix their water supply and the fact that you kept your hand on a hot cauldron without burning yourself, I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’re an elemental witch.”
Her smile revealed a set of surprisingly straight white teeth. “I possess all the elements. A rare gift.”
“All?”
She counted them off on her fingers which were adorned with rings. “Earth, air, water, fire.”
Not all then. She didn’t seem aware of the ancient metal that formed the fifth element, Damascus steel—a recent discovery along with the elemental stone. Still, four out of five wasn’t too shabby for a witch in the middle of nowhere. No wonder her abilities were in high demand.
Brumhilda narrowed her eyes. “If you’re going to have contrary thoughts, you should do a better job of hiding them.”
“Are you telepathic?”
“No, but your poker face needs work.” She angled her head. “What is it that you long to tell me?”
“Nothing. I was impressed by the range of your abilities. I’m a knight and even our elemental witches tend to specialize in only one or two.”
Brumhilda’s smile broadened. “More impressive than a knight, am I?” She gestured to the square table with its two wooden chairs that would give even the strongest back a terrible ache after too long. “Why don’t you sit and tell me about these knights of yours? We’ll compare notes.”
I sat at the table with my back to the door, my least favorite position but the only other option was the chair the witch had already chosen for herself.
“Would you like a drink? Or perhaps a bite to eat? I’m a bit peckish myself.” She glanced at the shelf in the kitchen with its rows of jars. “How do you feel about jam and bread?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
Her mouth formed a thin line. “In this part of the world, it’s considered rude to decline your host’s offering.”
“Even if it’s disgusting like a hairy eyeball?”
She blew a breath. “There’s no such thing as a hairy eyeball.”
“There is if you know the right spell.”
“Why would anyone want to grow hair on an eyeball?” She shook her head. “Such a waste of magic.”
“I’m traveling with a companion and I’d rather not eat without him.” I had no appetite in a place where I felt uncomfortable. It didn’t exactly reek of danger, but I didn’t feel as though taking a nap would be a smart move either.
Brumhilda pushed back her chair. “Suit yourself.” She shuffled to the kitchen and poured herself a light golden liquid from a pitcher. Then she took a saucer and used it as a small plate, adding cubes of bread and a ramekin of purplish jam.
“Why don’t you like the Bowmans?” Might as well get straight to the point. The sooner I resolved the issue, the sooner I left the witch’s scrutiny behind.
“What did they tell you?” She returned to the table with her glass in one hand and the saucer in the other.
I recounted the Bowmans’ version of events.
Brumhilda scoffed. “Lies. Every word.” She pushed the saucer across the table but I shook my head. Pulling it back toward her, she said, “I’d say they were manipulative, but honestly they’re too stupid. They’re just bumbling fools.”
“So you’d let them die of dehydration as punishment?”
She shrugged. “Why not? They serve up their people on a platter for House Peyton to save their own skin.”
“How does that impact you? You’re a witch. They can’t offer your blood.”
She squinted at me from over the top of her glass. “Do things only matter to you when they only impact you directly?” She didn’t wait for my reply. “No, I think not.” She took a long drink and set down the glass. “You wouldn’t be here now if you lacked compassion.”
“I’m here on a job. I’m being paid to be here.”
She snorted. “You can tell yourself that, my dear, but I sense there’s more to you than being a mercenary.”
“I’m a knight.”
She ran her finger around the rim of her glass. “Same difference.”
I found I lacked the will to argue the point.
She looked down her powdered bronze nose at me. “Why don’t you help them if you care so much about their fate?”
“You’re local. I think it makes more sense for you to do it. Build a sense of community.”
“Is that truly the reason?” The witch looked at me with an intensity that made my skin crawl. It was suddenly like she saw straight through me to my innermost secrets—secrets I couldn’t risk being uncovered by anyone, least of all a witch with no reason to protect me.
“I have no idea what you mean.”
She laughed. “Come now, my dear. I hate when women play stupid. It demeans the entire gender.”
“Gender is a construct.”
I was relieved by my decision to leave Callan behind. Brumhilda was clever. She would’ve sniffed out his identity in a heartbeat.
“The earl believes himself to be more important than he is. It irritates me.”
There. Now we were getting somewhere.
“He owns a lot of land for someone unimportant.”
“Yes, but you’ve seen the state of his house.”
“Hence his need for your services.”
She shrugged. “It isn’t unusual in this part of the country to find a great house in disrepair,” she explained. “Families like his are landed gentry clinging to a world that no longer exists.”