Chapter Ten warnings: Discussion of death
Chapter Ten
Head over Feet
Eleanor had other lovers before Mick. Some were formally her partners; others, more brief moments in time. Girls, boys, those who defied the gender binary—she had never been particular about it.
But the thing was, even with her most serious actual partners, she had never felt the spark a girl was supposed to feel when she fell in love. All her life, she had grown up with love stories all around her. It was normal for girls to like Jane Austen. “Surely, you see something in Sleepless in Seattle.” “What about all those love songs on the radio?” Eleanor wanted to get it. She wanted to understand what it was that she was supposed to experience when she, as was her duty as a girl, eventually loved someone. Sex, she understood. Sex was simple. But . . . not love.
And then the morning after that fight with Adelaide came. Sunlight filtered through the glass doors just a few steps away from the bedding display, and she woke up and took one look at her best friend and got it.
The truth was, she trusted Mick Martin, and maybe that’s what made things click. But lying there, in honestly the most uncomfortable bed she had ever slept on, with his arms draped loosely around her and his face just looking so peaceful, she got it.
She felt safe. She didn’t want anything else from him. Just that feeling of being close with someone who knew her down to her last molecule and deepest secret. Someone she knew would never hurt her or see her as some ticket to a better life. Someone who protected her, yet saw her as an equal and valued her for everything she was. And someone she could say she felt connected to in return.
This was love: feeling her heart beat under the warmth of someone who mattered so much more than anyone else in the world, feeling complete at last, feeling . . . a spark. That was a good word for it. A spark.
Carefully, she drew herself close. She didn’t want to wake him. She wanted this moment to last forever.
But his arms tightened around her, and he groaned and opened one amber eye. For a second, he looked lost, and Eleanor was almost afraid he would scramble away like he usually did whenever his adorably awkward self accidentally bumped her the wrong way. But then, he exhaled through his nose, held her closer, and bowed his head until she felt the soft curls of his fire-orange hair brush her forehead.
“Morning,” he mumbled.
“Hi,” she whispered back. “How are you feeling?”
“Mm. Remember that time Charlie Stevens brought moonshine to a party, and we got so drunk I kept throwing up, and you couldn’t walk straight for hours?”
“A little. Why?”
“Next morning.”
Eleanor snickered. “Oh. Are you good enough to drive home?”
“Can we just lie here until the store opens?”
“Absolutely not.” And there was Alistair.
Mick’s face twisted into a scowl, and he lifted his head to glare at Alistair, who was standing on Eleanor’s side of the bed. “How long were you there?”
Alistair hesitated, then pointed at Eleanor. “If you’re that observant, I’m glad she’s the watcher between you two.” They swung a paper bag into view and perched it on top of the headboard. “The first gift of a few that our coven has to offer you, courtesy of a very generous and fashionable Kaedra.”
Mick sat up, with a bit of effort. “Hey, listen. That’s nice of you, but—”
“We had a feeling you’re not the type to accept gifts willingly.” They patted the bag. “A new set of clothes you can walk out in, including pants without a giant tail hole in the seat. There’s a fitting room just a few yards from here you can use.”
Mick snatched the bag off the headboard.
“Now, we’ll give you a few minutes to wake up, but then we’d like to speak with you outside,” Alistair said. “As much as I tried to fight for you two to get as much time as you need, I’m afraid I was vetoed by a very passionate and dedicated Ophina, so you may want to hurry before she gets violently insistent.”
And then Mick shot out of bed and sprinted for the fitting room.
Eleanor pressed her lips together to suppress a laugh for a second before easing herself out of the display. As she reached down to smooth out the covers, she cocked her head.
“I told you he’d be a gentleman,” she said. “You didn’t have to watch us all night.”
Alistair maneuvered around to the other side of the bed to help, but as they did so, they shot a scandalized glare at her. “Miss de Lepaute! What do you take me for?” They jerked their head towards the doors. “We took turns.”
---
After Mick had emerged from the fitting room fully clothed, he and Eleanor found the mages waiting between Mick’s car and a noticeably nicer fleet of vehicles. Mick and Eleanor approached hand-in-hand, with Mick carrying his violin case at his opposite side, but as soon as they drew closer, he eyed the collection of mages warily, pulled his hand free of Eleanor’s, and dug into his pocket for his keys. One of the mages strode closer, folding her red-clad arms as she walked. Her eyes studied them both, as if appraising them—or silently criticizing them. Eleanor couldn’t tell.
What she could tell was that Mick had no idea who this person was. She couldn’t entirely fault him for this; Mick had never paid much attention to politics before Eleanor left for college, and it wasn’t surprising that this part of him hadn’t changed. Nonetheless, she knew who this woman in red was, and more importantly, Eleanor silently wished Mick would acknowledge the woman instead of ignoring her. Instead of doing that, he focused entirely on opening the trunk of his car and arranging his violin case inside, back turned completely and pointedly to the mages.
Eleanor’s gaze drifted back to the woman in red. She watched her lift her chin and a single eyebrow at Mick, and at this expression, Eleanor pressed her lips together.
“Not bad at all for a new watcher and guardian. Using the Godcleaver to dispel that undergod and close that portal on the first try,” the woman said. “As much as I’d hate to admit it, we really wouldn’t have done it without you.”
Mick, still completely oblivious to the gravity of the situation, shut the trunk cover over his violin and leaned a little into the cab of his hatchback, as if taking inventory. Which he probably was, now that Eleanor thought about it. His car had been stolen the night before, hadn’t it?
“You’re welcome,” Mick said, his voice deadpan and his face still stuck in the back of the car. “Now, you were going to teach me how not to be a dragon anymore?”
“Why? You’ve already figured it out.”
Here, Mick finally pulled himself out of his car to glare at the mages. “Near as I can tell, my body seems to do whatever it wants. Could you explain to me what I figured out like I didn’t, so I know what I’m supposed to do to keep a next time from happening?”
Eleanor recoiled, fully biting her lip at this point. She slipped closer to Mick.
“Ah . . . Mick?” she began quietly.
But this only seemed to amuse the woman in red, because a smirk unfurled across her lips. “Magic is about intent,” she explained, “and magical objects are designed to obey the people who, at one point or another in the vast space that connects our timelines together, are destined to wield them. So long as you tell your amulet what you want it to do, it will do it. Including keeping its magic to itself.”
Mick fully turned to her at this point, standing silently before the mages. Then, he reached up and pulled the amulet out from under his shirt. He clutched the golden disc in one hand, his eyes sliding closed in concentration. After a second, he reached up and undid the clasp at the back of his neck, then took one of Eleanor’s hands and slipped the pendant into her palm.
“Um.” He opened his eyes and looked into hers. “It won’t hurt you. But hold onto it for me, would you?”
Odd request, Eleanor thought, but very much Mick. Of course he’d want to put as much distance between himself and magic as possible. Of course he wouldn’t want to keep it himself. She pocketed the amulet.
As soon as it was out of sight, Mick turned back to the mages. “Thanks.”
“Believe me, that’s the least I can offer you for what you did tonight.” The woman peered down at Mick, eyes narrowed. “You’re a Martin, aren’t you?”
Mick visibly jumped at this, then took a step back. His eyes swung to Eleanor, his face guarded and uncertain. Eleanor could practically see him mentally scrambling for an explanation, plotting where this conversation was going. It’s not what you think it is, Eleanor wanted to tell him. Instead, she took his hand and gave it a squeeze.
The woman in red studied Eleanor next. “Eleanor de Lepaute,” she said. “I trust you know who I am.”
Eleanor looked from the woman to Mick and back again. Well, she couldn’t say no, could she? Her family, after all, was the literal gentry of Southwind, as little as that meant these days compared to ages ago. Nonetheless, despite diminished power, her family’s endorsement still meant something, and so, Eleanor had, unwillingly, gotten to know practically every elected official that had ever taken a seat in both the county and town of Southwind. It was a politics thing.
“Yes, councilman,” Eleanor replied.
For a second time, Mick jumped, half whirling around to face Eleanor. “Councilman?” he hissed.
Councilman Elda King, current elected representative for the county of Southwind. County, not just its namesake and seat.
And also apparently grand mage or something.
Elda regarded Eleanor fondly. Eleanor could count on one hand the number of times she had a chance to talk to Elda King, and nearly all of them were at some fundraiser or function of one sort or another. Still, though Eleanor couldn’t have cared less about any of the fancy to-dos her father had insisted his children attend, she had to admit that Elda King was perhaps the one elected official who annoyed her the least out of all of the ones she had been forced to smile at.
Right then, Eleanor silently prayed that the feeling was at least a little bit mutual.
“Tell your sister that those papers are as good as signed, and ask her to accept my apologies for the delay,” Elda said. “As you can see, I haven’t exactly been as available as I usually am for the countess.”
Eleanor blinked. This was . . . good, perhaps? “Of course. She’ll understand.” Not that Eleanor did, but she wasn’t about to say that in front of Elda. Anyway, it was Astrid’s business, as far as Eleanor was concerned. Let her figure it out.
Elda hesitated for a beat, then tilted her head back. “Alphin?”
He stepped forward. Glided forward, really, while pulling away from Kaedra. “Yes, Your Honor?”
“I trust you liked what you saw?” she asked.
“Hm.” Alphin stroked the curly, black hair at his chin. “It was a little rough, but nothing proper training won’t smooth out.” He continued forward, one elegant hand dipping into his pocket until it pulled out a business card, which he offered to Mick. “When you get to Eldaven, give me a call.”
“Whoa, hey, Eldaven?” Mick held up his free hand. “Listen, this is all very nice and admittedly a little confusing, but—”
“I was warned you might not accept thanks,” Elda interrupted. “A word of advice: when somebody greatly in your debt offers you a gift, take it. Not out of politeness—more because you never know when you could use an ally.” She lowered her chin and glowered at Mick. “And believe me. You will need an ally if you wish to maintain favor with Miss de Lepaute.”
Mick’s eyes shot to hers with all the energy of a mouse cornered by a cat. Defeated, he exhaled, took the card, glanced down at its face . . . and blanched. In that order. Eleanor furrowed her eyebrows at his expression, then tried to lean over to see what the card said, but before she could read it, he snapped it away and pocketed it without a word.
“Now, I would offer to answer any of the multitude of questions you both likely have,” Elda said, “but judging by your response to this business, guardian, I get the feeling you would rather not learn the answers to many of them. But know that if either of you ever need us, you’ll know where to find us.”
“What, through magic?” Mick asked hesitantly.
“Actually, because you know at least two of our phone numbers,” Alistair replied dryly from their spot among the mages.
“Oh. Right.”
Eleanor tightened her grip on Mick’s hand and placed her opposite on her chest. “Thank you for everything,” she said, as gently and gratefully as she could manage.
Elda returned her gaze with a short and appreciative nod. “May this be the happily ever after you were hoping it would be, Lady Eleanor.”
She lifted her hand and gestured to the others, as if a queen dismissing her court. The other mages at once filtered to the cars and truck around Mick and Eleanor, and one by one, each vehicle filled with mages, roared to life, and rolled away. Mick and Eleanor waited, watching them go, until they were the only ones left.
At that point, Mick almost reluctantly pulled his hand out of Eleanor’s to close the trunk of his car. He stared down at his keys, as if fascinated by the way they glinted in the morning sun.
“So . . . what was that all about?” he asked.
Eleanor raised her eyebrows at him. “Could you be more specific?”
He gave her a sideways glance for a long, quiet while, before finally coming to a sigh.
“Not before at least two cups of coffee,” he admitted before jerking his head to his car. “Shall we?”
And frankly, Eleanor couldn’t find it in herself to argue.
---
Slowly and steadily, like the first weeds of spring, downtown Southwind began springing up around Mick’s car. Eleanor leaned her head against the cool glass of the window, watching billboards and buildings flick past. Over the radio, the tinny voices of Dexys filled the car, and though she didn’t have the energy to sing along, she still felt the enthusiastic thrum of that chorus. Come on, Eileen! Oh, I swear—what he means—at this moment, you mean everything! She couldn’t help but smile, not just at this, but also at Mick’s gentle, absentminded humming drifting in and out of audibility.
They didn’t speak. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other since leaving the mall parking lot. But they didn’t have to. The most important things they had to say were already out in the open, glittering in the morning sun, and anything else could wait. And for that, Eleanor was grateful. It meant she could enjoy this moment, relish it, taste it in her teeth. It felt like a chapter was drawing to a close, like no matter what happened, the two of them could finally figure things out, no walls between them or in front of them. In that moment, as the world moved past her and behind her, as the two of them moved forward into the future, she felt warm. Comfortable. Safe.
And then, a flash of silver up ahead caught her eye.
She sat up.
“Mick,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“Pull in.”
Mick lifted his eyes to the Red Rooster’s sign, straight ahead on the right. “Uh, if you’re worried about what my family might think—”
“It’s not that,” Eleanor said quickly. “That’s Astrid’s Mercedes in the parking lot.”
Eleanor practically had to hold onto the dash with her fingernails for how abruptly Mick swerved into the Red Rooster’s driveway.
Barely two minutes later, the two of them walked into the Red Rooster. Unsurprisingly, it was empty—not because of its characteristic lack of business for once but instead because the restaurant wasn’t supposed to be open for another few hours. Yet there was Astrid, sitting stiffly at one of the tables with a caesar salad, a glass of water, and a briefcase in front of her. She didn’t even look up from the salad to see the two of them walk in. She just waited until they drew closer before frowning into her brunch.
“I was wondering where my sister was late last night,” she said. “Monsieur Martin, if you did anything unbecoming—”
Mick shot to attention like a soldier facing down an angry drill sergeant. He backed away, palms facing Astrid, mouth formed into a perfect O, as if he wanted to protest but couldn’t for the life of him come up with anything that didn’t sign his death warrant. Eleanor set her teeth and stepped between them, prepared to defend him from her sister. She was only vaguely aware of Bill Martin poking his head out of the kitchen, glancing over the upcoming commotion, and withdrawing just as quickly as he had entered.
“He didn’t do anything unbecoming,” Eleanor said, layering the last word with a thick film of sarcasm. “If anything, he was keeping me safe.”
And here, Astrid finally looked up to regard her sister wearily. Not warily. Wearily. As if this was the tail end of yet another one of her sister’s daily escapades. Though . . . Eleanor had to admit it technically was. She still didn’t deserve that look, in Eleanor’s opinion.
“Safe,” Astrid repeated, heavy and blunt.
Bill reentered the dining room at this point with Marcie in tow.
“We . . .” How did Eleanor put this without revealing too much about what happened the night before? “We ran into Councilman King last night.”
Astrid crossed her arms and pressed her tongue derisively against her lower lip. “Eleanor,” she said after a beat, “of all the lies you’ve ever told me, this one is fascinating.” She rolled a hand to encourage Eleanor. “Go on. Where did you see Councilman King last night?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Eleanor said, realizing she was going to lose a fight while telling the truth for once. “She asked me to tell you the papers are as good as signed. She’s on-board, apparently.”
She was expecting Astrid to burst out laughing, to tell her off for lying, to do any of a number of things that indicated she most certainly did not believe Eleanor.
Instead, Astrid’s expression dropped into one of surprise. Genuine surprise. And off to the side, by the kitchen, Marcie gasped.
Astrid sat back. When she spoke next, her voice was faint. “Is that so?”
Bill crossed the distance from Marcie to the group in seconds, and when he did, he grasped his brother by the elbow. “Mick? Could I talk to you in private? Right now?”
“Uh, sure,” Mick replied. Then, he reached out for Eleanor. “Hey, will you be okay?”
In truth? Eleanor had no idea what was going on. “Of course. Go.”
With one last reassuring nod to Eleanor, he followed Bill, not into the kitchen but instead straight out the front door of the restaurant. Marcie watched them for a while, hands over her mouth, tears welling in her eyes, before she disappeared back into the kitchen. Eleanor stiffened. Was this bad news? What did she just say to Astrid?
“Astrid?” she said, her eyes gliding back to her sister. “What’s going on?”
Astrid picked her fork up again and dug through the salad, but she wasn’t eating it. Instead, she watched lettuce tumble around in the half-empty bowl.
“I don’t expect you to know about this because you clearly haven’t cared about our family’s affairs for months,” Astrid began, “but Councilman King is up for reelection this year. She thought a revitalization project for the region’s most struggling towns would make a fine crown jewel for her campaign. As the next in line to inherit our dear father’s seat, I’ve taken the liberty of drafting a proposal for her: start with Southwind, and I’ll guarantee our family’s endorsement.” With one hand, she opened the briefcase and pulled from it the topmost sheet of paper from its crowded innards. “And the crown jewel of my plan is this.”
She passed the paper to Eleanor, and Eleanor stood back to flick her eyes over it. Perhaps she was tired, or perhaps a lot was going on right at that moment, but she couldn’t quite register what it was. Some sort of application? A form of some kind? For . . . nominations to the Royal Archives’ Registry of Historical Landmarks?
“What’s this?” Eleanor asked.
“Did you know that the Red Rooster is over four hundred years old this year?” Astrid said, perching her chin on the back of her wrists. “Do you know how many things happened in this building in those four hundred years? Or, more specifically, that one hundred years ago, the king met with Foundationists to end the Dragon Wars, in a place that was supposed to be neutral ground for the both of them? Did you know that these meetings occurred in the back room of a humble bistro, owned by a certain family of commoners? A back room that apparently now contains a gaudy, beat-up pizza oven thanks to an ill-advised attempt at expanding a kitchen?”
Astrid looked up at the lofty ceiling above them. Eleanor knew this place was a bistro beforehand, but . . .
“No,” she replied quietly. “I didn’t.”
Astrid shrugged. “Most people don’t. The location had been a carefully guarded secret at the time, and afterwards, well. Southwind never took pride in its history, and I can see by what that family did to a four-hundred-year-old business throughout its history that the Martins don’t take much pride in it either. It’s admirable to reinvent oneself, but . . .” She motioned to the ceiling. “Sometimes, you need to embrace what you are in order to see progress.”
Eleanor slipped into a seat across from her sister. She found herself staring; she couldn’t help but see Astrid in an entirely different light. She actually admired this place?
“In any case,” Astrid said as she returned her attention to her salad, “if we can get the Red Rooster designated as a historic landmark—well, the benefits would be endless, both to this town and the Red Rooster itself. Councilman King gets her seat, I get business back in a town I’ll be inheriting eventually, and the Martins get pried out of that sad hole they’ve been in since before John Martin died. The downside is I’ve been having trouble convincing the flash bastard who currently owns this place to agree to a business partnership for such an endeavor, but with Councilman King’s promise for capital on my side, it’s only a matter of time before we wear him down.”
“This is the special client you told me about,” Eleanor murmured.
“Yes.”
“Mick never told me about this.”
“As I understand it, Mick wasn’t supposed to know,” Astrid said. “I haven’t the faintest idea why Marcie was so insistent on that point. Something about not letting Mick influence Bill’s decision. If you ask me, it’s all family politics. Thank the gods we were never like that.”
Eleanor cringed at that comment. “Right. Thank the gods.”
Astrid crossed one spidery leg over the other. “Regardless, I’m sure he knows now. I’d imagine that’s what they’re talking about at the moment.”
“I still don’t quite understand,” Eleanor said as she handed the application back. “There are plenty of buildings in the county that hold a lot more obvious historical significance than the Red Rooster. Why start here?”
Astrid played with her fork. “I doubt anything trumps the birthplace of Eldana’s constitutional monarchy, but true. You caught me. The Red Rooster holds many . . . personal advantages as well.”
“Personal advantages.”
“If you thought I was alone in deciding which landmark to choose, you would be sorely mistaken,” Astrid said. “I consulted the finest historian I knew, and he was freshly sore that you had turned down an invitation he’d burned quite a few favors to arrange.”
Oh.
“Of course, our dear brother has always had a special interest in this town,” Astrid continued, “but primarily, he insisted on this place if it meant you would gain an appreciation for the things the Royal Archives did. And I agreed, as I assumed that if something good happened to that Martin boy, maybe the two of you would finally get out of my hair.”
Was she for real? As Astrid spoke, Eleanor searched her face for the slightest hint that she was joking. But . . . Astrid was serious. Dead serious. Not only did Etienne orchestrate an overly elaborate plan to get Eleanor to reconsider his job offer, but Astrid went in on it to ensure . . .
. . . to ensure something good happened to Mick, so Eleanor would say yes?
Her siblings came up with an entire plan . . . to save her best friend’s business so she would be happy?
It was over-the-top. It was stupid. It was so very unnecessary.
And yet, they did it so Eleanor would finally be happy.
Astrid screwed up her face at Eleanor. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ve been moping about him ever since you got back. It’s downright depressing, and what’s worse, Etienne’s been hounding me daily about you. You’d better be calling our brother tonight, now that we’ve set things up in such a way that your pet no longer has any good excuse to be avoiding you.” Her eyes wandered away from her sister. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Eleanor leapt up, rounded the table, and threw her arms around her sister without stopping once to think.
“Eleanor!” Astrid squealed. “Show some manners for once!”
Instead of letting Astrid go, Eleanor inhaled deeply and tightened her embrace. “I know,” she said, “but you’re the best big sister I could have asked for.”
“I’m going to remember that.”
“Please don’t.”
At that point, Bill reentered and crossed the dining room swiftly. Eleanor had never seen Bill Martin without a charming smile, but this? This was different. Wider. Happier. Full of energy instead of forced charm.
He pushed his way into the kitchen, and a minute later, Marcie screamed. Within seconds, Marcie and Bill emerged from the kitchen. Marcie had her hands cupped over her mouth. Her eyes were pushed half-closed by her hidden smile, and tears streaked down her plump cheeks. Bill hadn’t stopped beaming—if anything, his grin was even prouder now. He kept his hand on his sister’s back, as if guiding her into the dining room to face an angel. Or, well. Angel investor. In a roundabout sense.
So yes, Bill and Mick probably were talking about the deal.
“Are you sure?” Marcie asked. “Is he sure?”
Bill shrugged. “I asked him the same thing. ‘Never been more sure of anything in his life,’ he told me.”
Mick. What did Mick say? What had Bill been talking about with him? Yes, the deal, but . . . this was a bit much just for that, no?
Yet whatever Mick was responding to, it was an answer Marcie was looking for. She shouted and drew her brother into a tight embrace.
“Oh! Oh, that’s great. That’s perfect.” Then, she lifted her face and cast a glance towards the de Lepaute sisters. “Oh! Eleanor!”
Marcie rushed around the counter and to Eleanor’s side, seizing both of her hands as soon as she was within reach.
“Listen,” she said. “Spend the day with Mick. Tell him he’s got the day off—the rest of the week off, if he wants it. Paid, of course. The two of you probably have plenty to talk about. An entire future to talk about, even.”
Her words spilled out of her in rapid succession, on a single breath, but now, she stopped, both to breathe and to look at Astrid.
“As do you and us, I think,” she finished.
Astrid responded to this display of excitement the way she usually did to explosive displays of emotion: as if it hadn’t happened. She brought her glass to her lips. “Apparently.”
Shaking her head at her sister’s unflappable demeanor, Eleanor turned to Marcie. “Congratulations! Astrid told me everything. It’s wonderful to hear the Red Rooster will be around for a while longer.”
“At least a couple more generations, anyway,” Bill replied as he strode to the table. “Now, why don’t you run along? Our Mick is out front waiting for you, and my dear sister is quite correct: the two of you have plenty to talk about.”
Eleanor couldn’t fathom why, but judging by the enthusiasm of Bill and Marcie, she knew better than to question it when what was clearly a gift landed straight into her lap. She gave Marcie’s hands a squeeze, then nodded at them both, and without another word, Eleanor left the Red Rooster for the last time.
She was mildly surprised to hear music in the parking lot. Violin music, no less. She walked across the cracked pavement, moving closer and closer to the red Rabbit sitting at its edge—and more importantly, to its owner, who was leaning against its side, violin in hand.
Mick had his eyes on the highway with an expression that was equal parts contemplation and overwhelming contentment, yet his hands matched every note on the radio, step for step.
Come on, my friends, I would now like to propose a toast.
Dexys again. “The Celtic Soul Brothers” this time.
To the strength that I see that’s surrounding me, ‘cause I’ve been scared, but now I don’t care, and I’m telling anyone who’d listen.
Staccato beats, followed by a smooth transition from one line of the chorus to another.
I’ve seen what’s on show, and now there’s no more to know, ‘cause I’ve been there. I’ve been seen there. I’ve seemed it, dreamed it, schemed it, beened it.
The song dropped into a short burst of a solo, and finally, Mick caught sight of Eleanor. He lowered his bow, but the song continued on the car radio.
“Hi,” Eleanor said. “I was told we have a lot to talk about.”
Mick raised his eyebrows for a second, then . . . smiled.
It was funny. It never occurred to Eleanor that she hadn’t seen him smile in four years. Or, well. She had seen glimpses of smiles, chased away by whatever was going through his head, and she had seen the tight-lipped, tight-toothed customer service smiles he was forced to give at the restaurant.
But this was different. Fond. Warm. The kind of smile he would give her four years ago, back before everything happened and back when the two of them used to make plans that included the two of them.
It was nice to see that smile again.
Mick swung himself around the edge of his car to face the trunk. He shrugged as he busied himself with putting his violin back in its case.
“Maybe. Or yeah. But not here,” he said. He looked over his shoulder as he slipped the shoulder rest back into its bag. “How about we grab some breakfast? Terrible coffee and mediocre pancakes at Denny’s?”
The truth was, she really wanted answers more than anything else. But then, looking into Mick’s face and realizing that for once, he actually looked well-rested for once—no dark circles around his eyes, not a single hint of exasperation—she relaxed. Relented.
Maybe she was a little hungry too.
“A serious discussion over the world’s driest pancakes and most dessicated breakfast sausages?” she asked. “That sounds nice, actually.”
Mick chuckled—how long had it been since she had heard a genuine laugh from him?—and closed the Rabbit’s trunk. He dug his hand into his pocket for his keys but stopped short. A flash of confusion crossed his face, and then, just as quickly, it vanished.
“Oh, right. Nearly forgot about this.”
He pulled an object out of his pocket and held it up to Eleanor. The cassette tape’s plastic skin almost glimmered in the morning sun. A tiny strip of masking tape was plastered on its face; Sharpie in handwriting Eleanor couldn’t recognize dubbed it the Hot Mess Mixtape of the Damned.
“Found this in my violin case,” Mick explained. “I get the feeling one of the mages left it in there for me to give to you.”
Eleanor let him place it in one of her palms. “What is it?”
“Yours,” he replied simply.
Oh. Eleanor turned the Godcleaver over in her hands as she slipped into the Rabbit’s cab. On the back was another bit of masking tape, half torn off. The remnants of a strange symbol glared up at her, impotent now that it was shredded and the witch who put it there was gone.
Mick turned the engine over, and Dexys shuddered, then started right back into the end of “The Celtic Soul Brothers.” Eleanor continued to examine the tape as her friend navigated the Rabbit onto the highway beyond the parking lot. The tape felt warm in Eleanor’s fingers, and the air around it felt like a magnet repelling her skin. It was waiting for her command, she realized.
She brought the tape to her mouth.
“Side two,” she whispered. “Song two.”
Her finger pressed the eject button on the Rabbit’s tape deck.
“Whoa, hey!” Mick protested, the second Dexys died. “What are you doing with that?”
Eleanor pulled his tape free and transferred it into the glove box. “Little experiment.”
“Uh, hold on.” Mick placed one hand over the tape deck. “I might be in a good mood right now, but—what if that thing blows up the Rabbit or something?”
Eleanor raised an eyebrow at him. “The Rabbit is a ten-year-old car that drives like a thirty-year-old car.”
“It’s a classic.”
“It’s a miracle it’s still running.”
Mick scoffed and patted the steering wheel, leaving the tape deck unguarded. “It’s a marvel of engineering that’s outlasted the fall of the Soviet Union, and I’ll be damned if I let her fall apart by magic now.”
“The Rabbit is a she now?”
He flicked a brief glare at her. “And the fifth most important lady in my life, right behind you and my family.”
With a snicker, Eleanor replied, “Fine. What if I promise to be careful? If magic is going to be a part of our lives—”
“I don’t remember agreeing to that.”
“Too late for that. If magic is going to be a part of our lives, it would be a good idea for us to get practice with it.” She waved the tape at him. “Remember what Chanticleer said? Magic is shaped by intent. And I would very much rather not blowing up the half-ton hunk of metal carrying me at fifty-five miles an hour.”
Mick’s glare softened to a smirk. “Point.” He bucked his head at the tape deck. “Fine. But the second I start seeing smoke out of the vents, we’re pulling over, and you’re figuring out how to magically summon a tow truck.”
She bit her lip to stifle a guffaw. Then, she inserted the Godcleaver into the tape deck and hit play.
Alanis Morissette filled the cab.
I had no choice but to hear you. You stated your case time and again. I thought about it . . .
Eleanor leaned her head against the glass and watched Southwind sweep by. Why did Kaedra want her to listen to this song again? Something about . . . just in case she needed help figuring out what to say?
You treat me like I’m a princess. I’m not used to liking that. You ask how my day was.
They would talk over breakfast. Eleanor closed her eyes and reminded herself of this. And yet . . .
She had told him she loved him. That things were his decision. That she didn’t want to lose him. What else could she say? Other than . . .
You’ve already won me over, in spite of me.
How much she really needed him.
Don’t be alarmed if I fall head over feet.
How important he was to her.
And don’t be surprised if I love you for all that you are.
How much she wasn’t about to take no for an answer when it came to Eldaven.
I couldn’t help it. It’s all your fault.
“Mick.” She opened her eyes and turned her head, resting the back against the glass. “There’s something you should know about your brother and my sister.”
“They’re cutting a deal with Councilman King to save the restaurant,” Mick said without taking his eyes off the road. “I know. I told him he’s an idiot if he didn’t do it.”
“You—” Ah. Of course. That was what he and Bill were talking about. “Right. Astrid said Marcie didn’t want you to know until now.”
Mick nodded, pursing his lips. “Can’t blame her. Changing the restaurant would mean changing what our dad spent the rest of his life building. I probably would’ve tried to talk him out of it yesterday. But then you did what you did last night. You made me realize I wasn’t moving on. I was just hanging onto old memories. Same with them, I think. So I told Bill Dad wouldn’t want us to be stuck in the past.”
He paused and winced a little.
“Well, you know what I mean,” he continued. “I mean, yeah, Astrid’s plan is to turn the Red Rooster back into an old tavern or something, but you know. It’s-it’s a new direction.”
Eleanor chuckled as she watched Mick stumble over his words. Good old Mick.
“I get it,” she said.
She turned away from him to watch the world outside Mick’s car. Though she had yet to say any of the things she meant to, she thought maybe that would be the end of it. She would tell him all those things she meant to say as they sat down over a plate of absolute garbage and battery acid coffee. She would tell him that she knew the Red Rooster was important to him and that it was just starting a new chapter and that she knew he probably thought Bill and Marcie needed him to help, but he couldn’t just—
“So then I gave Bill my two weeks’ notice.”
Eleanor shot up and swiveled in her seat to face Mick. He glanced at her with a wide, mischievous grin, then nodded in satisfaction and pulled his eyes back to the road.
“Exact reaction I was hoping for,” he said.
“You’re quitting?” she gasped.
“Well, yeah,” he replied, his smile wavering slightly into a thoughtful frown. “They’re not going to need a pizza delivery boy after they’re done overhauling the restaurant back into a tavern, and I can’t exactly work for them from Eldaven.”
Eleanor’s eyes widened. “Eldaven?”
“Sure. Assuming you’re going to be calling Etienne about that job at some point.” Mick bobbed his head from side to side, as if measuring out a plan. “The way I see it, apartments up there are expensive, and the city’s full of who knows who? It’ll be a lot easier and safer to share an apartment with someone you know. And besides, easier to keep an eye on you. Make sure you don’t get into any more trouble. Not that you weren’t perfectly capable of taking care of yourself for four years, but . . .” His eyes flicked down to the tape deck, still amidst Alanis Morissette, then back to the road. “Just a precaution.”
Eleanor flipped through every possible response she could have for this. This? This was unexpected, and that was an understatement. Mick Martin? Quitting? Didn’t he have a thousand excuses at the ready for why he couldn’t do that? Wasn’t there supposed to be a long, drawn-out argument in which Eleanor would have to enumerate for the umpteenth time all the reasons why he had to live for himself just once?
Gods above. How much had he changed last night?
Mick nodded again in appreciation. “Also the reaction I was hoping for.”
Eleanor shook her head, pointedly ignoring his teasing. “But . . . what about you?”
Mick leaned away from Eleanor to fish into his pocket for something. As he passed it to her, she recognized it as the card Alphin had given him; now that Mick was laying literally everything on the table, he finally let her read it.
Alphin Dubois
Director of Admissions
Royal College of Art and Music
Eleanor rested her back against her seat as an electric rush flooded her. She held the card to her chest like it was a sacred heirloom.
“It’s really going to be the first day of the rest of our lives, isn’t it?” she murmured.
Mick grinned. “So I take it you do want to be roommates?”
Eleanor laughed. “Mick, really?”
Cautiously, hesitantly, she reached across the center console and lay a hand on Mick’s leg. She felt his muscles tense beneath his jeans, even shake a little. But he didn’t jump, didn’t wrench away, didn’t even question what she was doing. He relaxed—as did his shoulders, she noticed.
“If it’s okay with you,” she said quietly, “I’d like to be something more than roommates. But only if it’s okay with you.”
Color flooded his freckled cheeks, yet he smiled innocently at the road ahead. “Yeah. I’d . . . I’d like that.”
Eleanor huffed through her nose and lifted her hand from his leg. She held it between them, one pinky extended.
“Just do me a favor,” she said. “No more secrets, okay? Promise me.”
Mick cocked his head but held up one of his hands, pinky also extended. “Only if you promise not to run off anywhere without me.”
“A bit of a tall order, but . . .” She intertwined her finger with his. “Deal.”
And there, Eleanor sat back, and Mick navigated his car up the crest of a hill, and Alanis Morissette drifted into her final bridge.
I’ve never felt this healthy before. I’ve never wanted something rational. I am aware now. I am aware now.
Kaedra was right. She needed to hear this. It was a good choice and a good song, but . . . it was perfect. Two days ago, she never would have dreamt that this would be how things went: Mick leaving with her. Her in love. Never mind the whole eye-opening revelation that magic existed, which she would be unpacking later, whether Mick wanted her to or not.
But that was the thing. He would be right there with her. She made a promise not to run off anywhere without him, hadn’t she? And she intended on keeping that promise. She felt the weight of his amulet in her pocket, knowing that wherever she would go, her guardian would be one step behind.
It was funny. She hadn’t been this excited about the future in years. Even when she was in college, everything just seemed . . . mandatory. Like she had to grow up, not because she wanted to but because that was expected of her.
But now? Now, she thought about her future and saw Mick in every facet of it, and all she wanted to do was run headlong for whatever adventure lay ahead.
That was a good word for it: adventure. An adventure with the one person she could never live without—and the one person she never expected to love as deeply as she did.
Her best friend. She really should have seen it coming.
You’ve already won me over, in spite of me. And don’t be alarmed if I fall head over feet. And don’t be surprised if I love you for all that you are. I couldn’t help it. It’s all your fault.
“You’re smiling an awful lot there,” Mick said. “Something on your mind?”
There was: just one last loose end. It surfaced the more that she thought about it, and it made her grin even more like a lovestruck schoolgirl the longer she held it in her mind. Pulling her knees up to her chest and her heels to the edge of her seat, Eleanor pressed her mouth to the heel of her hand. She gazed out to the world around the Rabbit and smiled.
“No secrets, yeah?” she asked.
Alanis Morissette faded out, easing into Blind Melon without having to ask Eleanor. The first few twangs of guitar strings floated into the Rabbit’s cab just as it slowed to a stop at a red light.
“Mmhmm?” Mick asked.
She shifted her gaze back to him and smirked, knowingly and like a fox. “When you said you’ve been in love with me for years, how many did you mean?”
He snapped his head to her like a deer who had just picked up on the snapping of a twig.
“Um.”
Oh yeah. That reaction was worth it.