Bad Luck, Baby

5 - Bad News

Turning back to the stove, Ro lifted the pot and transferred the contents to a colander in the sink. It looked like macaroni. This, he layered into a baking dish, along with shredded cheese and a milky sauce, before topping it with breadcrumbs and popping it in the waiting oven.

The oven, which ran on gas; which, like the water, I'd been sure was off.

"I knew you'd be back," he said, with the casual smugness of someone accustomed to being right. "So I took the liberty of putting a few things back in order. Though, honestly, I didn't expect you quite so soon. I thought I'd have the mac and cheese done before you returned, at least. Anyway, what happened? I got the gist of it before, but the details were a bit hard to catch with all the... you know... blubbering."

He waved his stirring spoon at me.

"My boyfriend was brutally murdered," I said.

"Yes, I got that part. Easy come, easy go, as we daemons say. You can always get another one, right?" He frowned at whatever expression he saw on my face. "Sorry. Daemon humor. We're basically immortal, you know. Time is relative? Anyway. Tell me about the thing you saw, and the magic you used."

I gaped at him, taken aback. He'd seemed almost sweet before, letting me cry myself dry and taking care of me afterwards. Now it seemed like he'd switched into full-on asshole mode, and I didn't know what had prompted the change.

"You said something about a hyena," he reminded me, as if I might have forgotten already, "and some kind of 'airbender move.' I'm not familiar with that school of magic."

"It's not a... It's an anime. Or a manga, first, I guess."

"Not familiar with that either. Though I am a familiar. An unfamiliar familiar."

He grinned. My head spun a little, and I leaned on the back of a chair.

"Sorry." He frowned, but not, I thought, with real sympathy. "Just start at the beginning, and take your time. It really is important."

Giving in, I pulled out the chair and sat down. Then I told it all over again, with much less crying, this time.

When I finished, Ro retrieved the baked mac-and-cheese from the oven and set it aside to cool before rejoining me.

"So... you are a witch." he stated. "And an aeromancer, at that. It just took quite a lot of trauma to wring it out of you."

He regarded me thoughtfully.

"A what?" I asked, feeling hopelessly stupid.

"An... 'air-mage,' you could say. Different witches have different strengths—a natural affinity for one of the four elements: earth, water, fire, and air. They can learn the magic of any, but usually only the strongest talent manifests naturally."

"All those weird tests... Is that what my dad was looking for?"

Ro nods. "Typically, the first sign is the result of an accident—failing to be burned by fire, drowning and then breathing water instead, lifting a heavy stone with a look, or breaking a fall on a cushion of air. Many witch parents try to replicate such accidents in the hopes of discovering a child's talent early on."

Suddenly, all the weird things that had happened to me around my dad started to make sense—including the two times I'd nearly drowned, and the one time he'd baked me cookies, and told me to grab the sheet from the oven. Being a stupid kid, I'd grabbed it with my bare hands. I still had burn-scars on my palms because of it.

While I was lost in unpleasant reverie, Ro served me a large helping of cheesy noodles topped with crispy breadcrumbs. It smelled delicious.

As I looked at it, mouth watering, I supposed I ought to be suspicious; then again, Ro seemed like the sort who didn't like to make extra work for himself. If he meant to kill me, he wouldn't have gone to the trouble of feeding me in the process, and he'd have done so before he cleaned up.