“Thanks, Tabaqui,” Humpback says. “I’m in your debt. Whatever you need. I mean, whatever I can get.”
“Don’t mention it,” I say airily. “Even though chatting her up was no mean feat, that’s for sure.”
Noble returns. Also red faced and crazy eyed, almost like Lary. Green sweater decorated with white lizards running across the front, wet hair combed back to conceal the bald spots. I go to work on cracking nuts. Sphinx is swinging back and forth atop the nightstand, clanking its innards. Noble, looking very strange—which is by now usual for him, but this time even more strange than usual—makes coffee, cuts it with cola, crushed almonds, and cinnamon, then shakes out the contents of the basilisk eggshell amulet over the cup and gulps it without wincing.
I ask him what just happened.
Noble crunches the shell with his teeth and doesn’t answer.
We can’t help cringing, looking at the way he consumes his ghastly coffee and the stuff he’s thrown into it.
“I leaned too close to the fire,” he says finally. His grin is almost manic.
We wait for a while to see if he’s going to expire right then and there, and then Smoker asks where he managed to find an open fire to sit next to.
Noble just smiles mysteriously. As if the House is lousy with open fires, each one surrounded by scores of people betting on who’d manage to lean the closest, and Smoker is somehow alone in not having noticed that.
If I were Noble I wouldn’t be dressing up normal everyday stuff in so much romantic nonsense, annoying Smoker in the process, but he’s in love. So what can you do? They’re all a bit nuts. If he thinks that gobbling the basilisk eggshell, a unique specimen, by the way, would help him win Ginger’s heart, he can gobble it all day long. My only concern here is Smoker. He’s on edge as it is.
“Lary brought his girlfriend over,” I say. “Knitting Needle.”
“Really,” Noble says. “How interesting.”
Lies. He’s not interested at all.
Sphinx sighs.
“Noble. Next time could you please not lean so close to the fire?” he says. “Fire really is a dangerous element.”
“Oh god,” Smoker moans. “I am so tired of you all.”
I have a strange dream that night. A dead lake, grayish, calm as a mirror. Withered white stalks peeking out of the water. I sit by the edge and wait for some horrific creature that lives at the bottom to come out. There’s a rusted sword on the sand next to me. The mist is drawing in, enveloping everything. Suddenly I’m in the water . . . and here I wake up.
The night is not too dark, even though the moon isn’t visible. Noble is awake. He’s sitting on the bed looking at me, absentmindedly gnawing at the collar of his pajamas. And petting Mona, the striped rug draped over his knees.
SORCERY
