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with her audacity, each time in that bedroom. The first time she d been thirty-five. She d
surprised him, naked, her long blonde hair unbound and brushing her hips, confessing
that she d wanted him since they'd met. He d explained, as kindly as he could, that seeing
Alina dead by her own hand because he couldn t protect her had left him impotent. Back
then it had been the truth. The second time had come almost twenty years later, after
Laurie s reckless attempt to break the curse left an innocent young witch dead.
Paul searched Vern s face, looking for clues. How much has she really told you,
and how much have you figured out on your own?
Vern pushed up his glasses. I don t care what happened between you and Laurie.
With a furtive glance over his shoulder and up the stairs, he came back to stand near Paul.
He dropped his voice to a whisper. She didn t tell me about the spell with Gloria, but I
found her notes. I ve done more research, and I think she&
Hello, Paul.
Even the ravages of cancer hadn t stolen the smoke and whiskey from that voice. To
Paul s awakened senses, it was like a cat s tongue on his ear.
Vern jumped away. I was bringing him up&
& but he wouldn t come. Laurie stood at the top of the stairs, her head wrapped in
a smoke-gray scarf that matched her smoke-gray robe. It s alright. We can talk in the
kitchen.
Laurie leaned on her cane and took one wobbling step onto the first stair. Vern raced
up to wrap an arm around her, lend her his youth and strength.
Guilt rose like bile in Paul s throat. It was one thing to read in a letter that someone
was dying. To see it was another thing entirely. She looked like a lightning-struck tree,
still standing because it had never learned how to fall.
I would have come up, Paul said. You didn t have to&
With Vern s help, Laurie s slippered feet reached the last stair. No you wouldn t.
She pushed past him. I m dying, Paul. I don t have time for games anymore.
Paul remembered the twitch of the second floor curtain. Nothing had changed. If
you didn t have time for games, you would have been waiting for me in the kitchen.
Vern shot him a frown over his shoulder.
Laurie shook her head. Her neck, always slender, looked too weak to keep her chin
at its customary proud tilt. Be useful, she said. Make tea.
Be useful; Laurie s way of turning things around, reminding him that his curse was a
drain upon her precious resources as she died. The idea of leaving, just leaving and not
coming back, struck like an unexpected slap. He drained the anger into the ground,
squeezed past Laurie and Vern, and reached the kitchen first to obediently make tea.
By the time Laurie had managed her wobbling way down the hall, Paul had the kettle
on the burner. As Vern settled her in the overstuffed chair by the breakfast nook s
window, Paul spooned whole, dried leaves from a porcelain canister into the drawstring
mesh bag. The leaves smelled sharp and balsamic, promising energy and a clear mind.
The kettle whistled.
Don t forget to warm the pot first, Laurie said, her tone condescending.
Paul breathed deeply, drawing in the tea s scent. No matter what Laurie s
provocations, he d keep his mind clear and his buttons unpushed. For Kate.
As Paul made the tea, Vern joined him at the kitchen s counter to slice apples and
pears and the last of summer s fresh peaches. Laurie watched both of them with those
stormy gray eyes, never missing anything, always managing to see things well hidden.
Nervous, he took the offensive. So you have a plan.
Laurie smiled. A chill dripped down Paul s spine. Pour me some tea.
Pour it yourself. He thought but didn t say. Instead, he dutifully filled the first cup. A
whim of compassion made him put a thick slice of peach on the saucer. What pleasures
did Laurie have in the face of her impending death other than to enjoy her control over a
man who d broken her heart? Besides, she had not noticed the luminosity of Kate around
him yet. Keeping her happy kept her from prying further.
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