“Shut up, Jack,” Seph said, grinding the heel of his hand into his forehead. His head was pounding.
“Some people would say love isn't a game,” Ellen mused. “I never bought that all's-fair-in-love-and-war bit.”
Seph shrugged in surrender. “Anyway, I can't do tennis tonight. I'm working for Harold this afternoon, and tonight I'm meeting someone at the Legends.”
“Another date?” Miriam asked.
Seph stood to go. “Not exactly. She doesn't know I'm coming.”
The manager at the Legends Inn was happy to tell Seph what time Madison Moss got off work. He was even willing to let her off early, but Seph said no, he would just wait. He bought coffee at the carryout counter and found a bench in the park across the street that afforded a good view of the entrance. She came out of the front door right on time, looking up and down the street as if she hadn't decided what to do next. She jumped and let out a squeak of fright when he stepped out of the shadows and touched her shoulder.
“Oh, it's you,” she said, when he turned toward the light. “You about scared me to death.” She'd rebraided her hair, but was still wearing the beach-stained blouse and skirt.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Oh. Well. Sorry. I … um … have plans. I have to go.” She made no effort to be convincing.
“It won't take long. Promise.” He took her elbow, careful not to let the slightest dribble of magic escape. He wasn't sure he had any to spare, anyway. “Do you want to talk here or somewhere else?”
“I'm not going anywhere with you.”
“Okay.” He towed her back into the coffeehouse and out onto the terrace overlooking the lake. He chose a remote table overlooking the gardens. The waitress drifted over, grinning and raising her eyebrows at Madison. “May I help you?”
Madison just stared straight ahead, scowling and tapping her fingers on the edge of the table. Her nails were painted purple.
“Two coffees and biscotti,” Seph said.
“I wanted tea,” Madison said when the waitress had departed.
“You were drinking coffee on the beach.”
“Right now, I feel like tea.”
“Next time, speak up.”
“What makes you think there'll be a next time?”
Seph pulled her drawings from his jeans pocket and flattened them out on the tabletop.
Madison pursed her lips and looked out at the lake. “Do you know I got chastised for the state of my uniform, Witch Boy?”
“My name is Seph.”
“What kind of name is that?”
“Short for Joseph.”
“Is that a family name?”
“I have no idea.” The scent of jasmine wafted up from the gardens and fireflies sparkled in the lawn. “I don't really know my family.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Sometimes that's not a bad thing. Who do you stay with?”
“Rebecca Downey. She's my guardian's sister.”
“Oh, I know her. She comes into the inn a lot.” She gave him an appraising look. “She's very nice.” The subtext being, Unlike you.
“What about Madison? Where's that from?”
“I'm named after a county in Kentucky. Where my parents first—ah—met.”
The waitress set down coffee cups and plates of biscotti. “Hey, those are good!” she said, pointing from the sketches to Seph.
“Will you put those away?” Madison gestured at the crumpled pages.
Seph said nothing.
“Look,” she said, wrapping her fingers around her cup. “I'm sorry I sketched you without asking permission.”
Seph waited. “That's it?”
“What do you want?”
“Well, to start, what did you do to me on the beach today?”
“You mean after you attacked me?”
He nodded grudgingly, conceding the point. “I'm sorry about that. It's just that I thought you might … have a hidden agenda.” He couldn't very well say, There are wizards after me and I thought you might be conspiring with them.
“Well, you came up to me, you know. I was minding my own business.”
“I know. But what did you do to me?” he persisted.“I kissed you.” The corners of her mouth twitched.
“Before that. You left me on my back.”
Now she grinned flat out. “Sounds improper.”
“This isn't a joke. I want to know what … who you are and what you're up to.” Seph waved a hand at the drawings. “What's with the aura? Why do you call me Witch Boy?”
“Because that's what you are.”
“What makes you think so?”
She gave him a look that said he wasn't fooling her one bit. “There are people in this world who can get whatever they want, who can talk the money right out of your hand and make you glad you gave it up. Some have the knowin' or the second sight. Where I come from, we call them witches or conjure men.”
I call them wizards. “Why would you think I'm … a witch? I never even spoke to you until today.”
“You didn't have to. I've always been able to spot it. You shine like a house lit up for a party.” She reached a hand toward him, stopping an inch from his face, as one might hesitate to touch a hot stove.
“What happened on the beach today?” Seph persisted.
“I don't really know.” She shrugged. “I just don't seem to be susceptible to spelling.”
Seph leaned forward. “It was more than that. It's like you wrung me out or something.”
Madison took a bite of her biscotti. “This is a totally weird conversation, Seth, or Seph, or whatever your name is.”
“So can you use it? The power, I mean. After you drain it out of a person?” He reached out and gripped her hand.
She snatched her hand back. “You're the witch, not me.” She looked at her watch. “Listen, I'm working breakfast tomorrow. I need to get some sleep.”
Seph ignored the hint. “Why do you sound like you're from the South?”
“Because I am. Coalton County's down by the river. Southern Ohio.”
“Why are you working here, then?”
“My cousin Rachel owns the Legends. She needed a waitress, I needed the money, and I thought I could add some beach landscapes to my portfolio.”
Seph laid some bills on top of the check. “But you're not sketching landscapes. You're sketching me.”
She turned a deep red and looked away. “I … I thought you'd make a good subject. You have an interesting face. And challenging. I mean, you actually make your own light.” She stood, signaling that the conversation was over.
Seph followed Madison back through the coffeehouse. In the entryway, she turned and stuck out her hand to him. “Well, good to meet you, Seph McCauley. And thanks for the coffee.”
He took her hand, but she didn't react to his touch the way other girls did. “Where are you staying?” he asked.
“Me?” She nodded toward the stairs. “Right here, at the inn.”
“If you work breakfast tomorrow, does that mean you get off early?”
She pulled her hand back. “No. I'm working a double shift.”
“When's your day off? Maybe we could hang out.”
“I've seen you at the pavilion. Seems to me you're pretty booked.”
Small towns. “I'm trying to cut back.”
She lifted her chin. “What am I, a challenge to you, or something?”
He shrugged. “You're the one who kissed me.” He knew he'd said the wrong thing when she pivoted away from him and headed for the stairs. “Hey! Madison! I'm sorry, okay? Can't we just hang out? You don't have to sign anything. We'll do whatever you want.”
“Well …” She paused, one foot on the first step, her hand on the railing. She turned back toward him, considering. “It's been a long time since I've been on a picnic.”
Chapter Twelve
Hastings
The next day was miserably hot. Seph left the beach early and stopped at the market on his way home. Madison had agreed to a picnic, and Seph had agreed to provide the food. He meant to keep it simple: focaccia, cheese, antipasti, fruit. That and a burnt-sugar pecan tart that would steal anybody's soul.
At first he thought no one was home, but as he pulled a bottle of iced tea from the refrigerator, he heard voices on the porch. He wandered out, expecting to see Linda and Becka, perhaps. Becka was there, but she was sitting across from a stranger.
He was tall and lean, yet muscular, and had strong features—that other-side-of-ugly look that women seemed to favor. He had green eyes and dark, unruly hair. He was dressed for the weather in a cotton shirt and khakis, and there was a bottle of beer on the table in front of him. There was something compelling about him, a tightly coiled power that drew the eye.
“Oh hi, Seph. Is Jack with you?” Becka asked, looking over his shoulder.
Seph shook his head. “I came back from the beach by myself.” He stared at the man, who was looking back at him curiously.
Becka noticed. "Seph, this is Leander Hastings, a friend of the family. He's visiting from out of town. Leander, this is Seph McCauley. He's been staying with us this summer.
Seph stuck out his hand to Hastings, and there was that usual electrical exchange between wizards. “I've been looking forward to meeting you,” Seph said. “I've heard a lot about you.”
Hastings smiled. “Don't believe everything you hear.” His eyes were fixed on Seph, taking his measure. There was something about him that reminded Seph of Gregory Leicester. He had the same ability to intimidate, to overwhelm. But just now he looked a little puzzled. “Are you a friend of Jack's?”
“No,” Becka explained quickly. “He was Linda's guest, originally, though we've managed to steal him from her. He comes from a complicated family situation.”