“A ring,” Reggie admits.
“I know that ring,” I say. “It packs quite a punch. I stole it when I was a young idiot of eighteen and wanted to learn but no one would teach me. I think I vomited for two days once I managed to get the damned thing off.”
She rubs her arms, offering me a small smile. “Glad to know it’s not just me that had a bad reaction.”
“Most magic is cast despite the effects on the caster. You usually know what you’re getting into, though.” I’m still slightly pissed that my aunt threw Reggie out into that situation. It’s probably why Aunt Dru has decided to make herself scarce today. She’s waiting for my mood to blow over. I glance over at Reggie. “If you wanted to quit now, I’m sure she’d understand.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh, I’m not quitting.” She chuckles. “Not with the amount that your aunt has promised to pay me. It’s going to be life changing.”
I can imagine. “You’ll have the money to spend on whatever you choose.” I wait for her to volunteer what she’s going to spend it on, but she just watches as I hang the newly crafted candle up so it can dry fully. “Anyhow, you have the day free.”
“Mmm. I guess I could work on the study some more. I do need to get it done.” She hesitates, though, leaning on the counter. “But I’m aware I ruined your work last night, and I was wondering if maybe you needed some help? I’d be happy to assist.”
I grunt an acknowledgment. “If you like.”
“I’ll feel better helping you after knowing you helped me,” Reggie confesses, moving to sit directly across from me on the opposite side of the kitchen island. As I watch, she immediately begins to straighten my components, lining them up and nudging the pile of long, newly crafted wicks into straight lines.
I resist the urge to point out her compulsive straightening, instead gesturing at the wicks. “You can dip the candles for me.”
“Is this like they teach you in grade school?” she asks, picking up a two-foot-long length of wick. “I hold it in the center and drag both ends through the wax?”
“I didn’t go to grade school, so I don’t know. But yes, drag both ends. Once it’s dry, I cut the middle and then I have two candles.”
Reggie dips it, gliding it through the wax as I nudge the spell components closer to me and begin to assemble another wick.
“You should really put everything in order,” she tells me. “So you can have an assembly line.”
“Do you manage everyone?” I ask, ignoring her suggestion.
“Most of the time, yes,” Reggie tells me, her voice sunny. “So you never went to grade school? How did you learn?”
“Self-taught. My parents left me with a tutor that was responsible for my upbringing, most of the time. When he wasn’t around, I read books. After I grew of an age to cast, Aunt Dru took over my education.” I don’t like to think about those times very much, the years of loneliness, of no one to talk to but a few servants and a tutor who thought that children should be seen and not heard. The endless years at the country estate, forgotten and resentful.
“Where are your parents now?” Reggie asks.
“Dead.” My tone conveys that I do not wish to discuss it.
“I see.” She goes quiet, and there’s no sound except for the slight noises of my fingers as I pick through the components, adding a lock of hair here, a brushing of marigold there. She drags the wicks through the wax over and over, and I wonder how long she’s going to be silent. Not long, it seems, because she speaks again. “Thank you again for last night.”
“You would have done the same for me.”
She tilts her head, her wet hair sliding over her shoulders. “What, take my shirt off and try to cover your naked body? Not likely.”
I look up at her in surprise, and she flushes, her cheeks pink, her freckles standing out. Her eyes are sparkling, though. Is she . . . teasing me? “Your shirts won’t fit,” I tell her. “Not that they fit you, either.” I nod at the sweatshirt she’s wearing. It’s huge, with a hole at the neck against the collar, and the logo is faded. For all that she’s an average height, Reggie is slender and wiry. Delicate.
Which is why she fits in my arms so very perfectly. Not that I’m thinking about that.
Her chuckle fills the kitchen. “I snatched this from Nick. He had a bunch made up when he started his personal-training gig, and a few of them came through with askew logos or the collar slightly off-center, so I stole them.” She shrugs. “Cheaper than buying my own clothes.”
I’m dying to ask about Nick. She brings him up a lot, and I’m curious to know more about the man that has Reggie’s affection but that she’s not intimate with. If I do, though, I suspect it’ll shine a spotlight on my not-so-innocent obsession with her. I don’t plan on doing anything about my obsession. Just like a moth and a candle flame, I’m going to get close enough to burn myself, simply because I can’t resist.
I turn the conversation in a different direction instead. “I’ve been meaning to ask you—what made you end up here? Answering an ad in the paper about spellcrafting?”
“Oh, that.” She chuckles again, sliding the long strands of wick through the wax with a swirl. “I told Dru already. I thought it was my favorite card game.”
“A card game?”
She nods, and when I reach over one component to get to another, she leans over and rearranges them so I can grab things in order. “See? Better.” With a defiant wink at me, she continues. “Spellcraft: The Magicking is a collectible card game. You buy a few packs of cards and you get random spells, or mana pools for energy, or treasure items. You make a deck featuring these items, and when you play, the object is to defeat the other person with your deck of cards. It’s a game that actually requires a lot of strategy, because a lot of the cards can be used in very different ways, and you have to know when to cast the appropriate spells on your opponent. Because it’s collectible, no two decks are ever the same. I’ve played it hundreds of times, and it’s like new every single time.” She lets out a little sigh. “Some games are short, but some last for hours. Those are the best ones, I think. When you go head-to-head with someone that’s a match for you. It’s no fun beating the stuffing out of someone that never stood a chance. There has to be a challenge.”
I like the enthusiasm in her voice. “So you’re a good player?”
“Well, I don’t like to brag,” she teases. “But you’re looking at the local champion.” Reggie lifts her chin. “Well, almost. I’m officially the adult local champion. I lost to an eight-year-old in three out of five games at the last tournament. Won a fancy card box, though.”
I look up in astonishment. She’s bragging about playing an eight-year-old at cards? But her eyes are twinkling with amusement, and when our gazes meet, she breaks out into laughter.
“You played an eight-year-old? At a tournament?” This seems so bizarre to me.
“He won, too. Vicious kid.” She shakes her head. “He wanted to trade me for my Sun-Phoenix but I was kind of pissed about losing, so I refused.” Reggie pauses. “He cried.”
“You absolute monster,” I tease, grinning.
“I felt so rotten about it, too,” she giggles. “But he was the worst winner. Absolutely terrible. His father was quite embarrassed. Nick came in third that day, and he’s vowed vengeance on me, so I have to be ready.” Her grin fades a little. “The only time I get to play now is Friday nights, though. That’s our regular card night. Back when I wasn’t working, Nick and I would play every night instead of watching television. I’m going to be positively rusty by the time the next tourney comes around.”
She sounds so very sad, and it’s clear it’s something she loves. “Maybe you could show me sometime—”
Reggie gasps with excitement, reaching out to touch my hand as I twine another wick. “Are you serious?” Her eyes are wide. “You want to learn how to play?”