“Shall we play some cards?” Reinhold asked. “Ten-card rummy all right with you, Sam?”
That, at least, was something Sam knew how to do. Joel brought out a card table, and they arranged themselves around it. As Joel dealt the cards, though, Sam finally said, “I know Alistair called me a witch, and Wanda did too, but I don’t see how I could be. I’ve never been tested, and it just doesn’t seem likely.”
The two men exchanged a look. “Do you want to get tested?” Reinhold asked after a moment.
“I don’t see the point, really. I’ve got to be the least magical person on earth.”
Both of them looked uncomfortable, though Sam wasn’t sure why. Eventually, Joel said, “Alistair told you that you’re a witch?”
“Yes.” Sam looked down at his cards to hide his confusion. “At Eldon’s funeral, he asked if my family threw me out for being a witch. When I told him I wasn’t, he said something like ‘trust me, you are.’ Can familiars just sense it somehow?”
“Sometimes,” Joel said, keeping his own eyes fixed on his cards.
Sam felt as though he was missing something important. “So why do they bother testing for witch potential?”
“Helps people know what career options they have, doesn’t it?” Reinhold said. He’d lit a cigarette, and it jutted out of the right side of his mouth. “Someone like myself, who didn’t have much potential…well, I could rule out the idea I was likely to have much to offer a familiar.”
“But you and Teresa…”
“It’s not just about the magic.” Reinhold glanced over at him. “Or at least, it doesn’t have to be. I can talk to her through the bond whenever she’s in animal shape. Look out of her eyes. And she can talk to me, look out of my eyes. And there’s a sort of…warmth, I guess. We always know where the other one is, and…I don’t know, we were already so close it just made sense to add another layer.”
“All of that is true,” Joel agreed. “And I am very fond of Wanda. But it’s more friends working together for us. Obviously we knew from the beginning it wasn’t going to be a love match, since she likes women and I don’t like anyone. Not romantically, that is.”
Were they avoiding his question? “That’s really interesting, but that’s not what I meant. Why do they bother with any of the tests if they can just grab a familiar like Alistair who can sense witch potential and ask them?”
The other two men exchanged an uncomfortable look. “Alistair’s the one who started this,” Reinhold said to Joel. “I’m not going to lie to Sam.”
Oh no. Oh damn it. “Was Alistair having a laugh at my expense? And everyone went along with it?”
“No!” Reinhold exclaimed, at the same moment Joel said, “Not at all!”
Sam became suddenly aware of the pulse beating at the base of his throat. Something was going on here, and for a moment he thought about just going back to playing cards. Let sleeping cats lie.
But he didn’t.
“Tell me what’s going on, then,” he said, and hoped no one else heard the tremor in his voice.
The two men exchanged a second glance, then Reinhold nodded. “All right. There is one way—one foolproof way—a familiar like Alistair can tell if someone who’s never been tested is a witch. But it only works with one witch in the whole world.” He paused, then offered Sam a hopeful smile. “Their witch.”
15
For a moment, Sam felt hot. Had he understood? He couldn’t have. “I’m not Alistair’s witch.”
“You are,” Reinhold corrected. “He admitted it right in front of everyone, the first night you two met.”
“But…” the protest died away. Could it be true? Could he actually be part of something magical? Could there be a connection, a real connection, between them?
Then the cold rushed in. “He never said.”
“A lot of them don’t take Wanda’s approach,” Joel said reassuringly. “I mean, plenty do, if not so straightforward. But some don’t say anything because of…all sorts of reasons.”
Right. Reasons Sam could guess easily enough.
Alistair didn’t want him, which was no surprise. But he’d told everyone else that Sam was his witch. So when Sam needed a job, Wanda hired him for Alistair’s sake. And when he went to work, everybody felt they had to be nice to him for the same reason.
They weren’t actually his friends, so much as they were Alistair’s family. Every interaction had been under conditions Sam hadn’t even been aware of.
“You all knew,” he said, and his own voice seemed to come to him from a great distance.
Reinhold winced. “Well, yes. He asked us not to say anything, and of course we didn’t, but it’s not fair to expect Joel and me to lie to you—”
“And it’s his own fault,” Joel broke in, “because he’s the one who brought it up with you in the first place. And really, he should have said something by now, from what Wanda says it’s clear he’s head over heels, and—”
Sam burst out laughing, but it was a bitter sound with nothing of mirth in it. “Right,” he said into the silence that ensued. “Right. I’d better be going.”
He stood up. “Sam, don’t,” Reinhold said. “Talk to us.”
Sure, talk to Reinhold. Reinhold who’d only been nice to him, who’d only overlooked all his errors in the kitchen, because he mistakenly believed that Alistair was going to bond with him.
It explained everything, so, so neatly. Reinhold, Teresa, Zola, Philip, all of them. So kind to Sam, so welcoming. So proud he’d done well with copying the hex last night.
He’d wondered how things could be so different at The Pride than they ever had been at the pharmacy working with his family. He’d imagined that maybe he’d actually gotten better, become more competent, managed to get to a place where he wasn’t a burden on everyone around him.
He'd been so stupid. He was still the same Sam, just in a new setting. Alistair had claimed Mom and Dad’s honesty was cruel, but the lie he’d been living was even crueler, because it had given him hope. He’d thought they liked him, but it had nothing to do with him at all. It was only for Alistair’s sake.
He couldn’t go back to The Pride, couldn’t show his face there again. He didn’t know what he’d do about Ursino, or finding a new job, or anything else, but he’d worry about that tomorrow after a good cry.
“I won’t bother you gentlemen any further tonight,” he said, and a lifetime of pretending not to hurt let him keep the tone light, almost cheery.
“Wait,” Joel pleaded, but the closing door cut off anything further he might have said.
Zola stuck her head through the open door of the office. “Adamo Vescovi is at the bar and mentioned your name, Alistair.”
“Vescovi?” Alistair exchanged a glance with Wanda. “I told him I’d stand him a drink. I guess he’s come to collect.”
Tonight, Wanda wore a plum-colored silk suit and a tie that matched her yellow eyes. “Do you think he knows anything useful about Ursino, or The Black Rabbit?”