Hold Me Closer, Necromancer - Lish McBride [47]
She hadn’t been sure the spell would work. She’d never tried it using a sibling’s hair. Tia dropped a few strands of Kevin’s hair into the boiling water, added the pungent herbs, and closed her eyes, breathing in the rough scent of the tracking potion. She bit her lip and concentrated, focusing on the name she’d unearthed—Nick. To her surprise, the liquid changed hue like it was supposed to, meaning it was viable. She made up a sick friend to visit, told Kevin she’d be back in a few days, then packed her bags. Tia felt a twinge of guilt at the added subterfuge but knew that, in the end, it would be worth it.
Tia had always liked Oregon. It was hard not to like someplace so green. And the land Nick lived on nestled right up against the coastline. She could smell the salt tang of the water as she walked up the drive from her car. Everything was so clean, fresh, and new, she couldn’t help but smile. If only Nick had been in the same condition when he’d answered the door. He was taller than his brother and not as classically handsome. Leaner, his hair a rich dark brown to Kevin’s dirty blond. His eyes were brown and weighted, like he’d already seen a lot for someone so young. He looked like a stray that had been abused and starved, and Tia immediately wanted to bundle him up and make him soup. He seemed surprised to see her, as if he hadn’t seen anyone in quite a while.
“It would appear that Kevin has been keeping secrets,” she said. She held out her hand. The man stared at it suspiciously until she took it back. “Tia Hatfield,” she said.
Nick nodded with a small smile, like he’d expected the answer but had still hoped it would be something different. “Nick Hatfield,” he said, “but I suspect you knew that.” He moved back from the door, sweeping a thin, pale arm out in welcome. “Mi casa es su casa. Not,” he said with a grimace, “that you’d want it.”
Tia stepped in and could see why. The wood floor, what parts were visible through the heaps of dirty laundry, needed a good cleaning, as did the rest of the one-room cabin. The kitchen counters and table were covered in dirty dishes and empty tin cans. The stairs leading up to the loft were cluttered with discarded books, papers, and what looked like pieces of chalk. She didn’t see a bathroom, so she assumed there was an out house somewhere on the property.
“It’s, um, lovely,” she said, settling into an old floral-print recliner.
Nick’s laugh sounded rusty. “It’s a hole,” he said, “but it’s free.” He slumped onto a worn love seat. “The old Hatfield cabin.” He looked aimlessly about the place as if he hadn’t seen it in a long time. “Luckily, Kevin has about as much interest in it as he does me, so I got it without much of a fuss.” His glazed eyes settled onto the dish pile. “I’d offer you something, but, again, I don’t think you’d want it.”
Tia pursed her lips in frustration. The situation was intolerable. She wanted to get Nick to talk, but she couldn’t sit idly by and pretend the man wasn’t living in filth. “Right,” she said, slapping her hands on her knees and getting up. “I’m going to get some food.” She looked at the cans. “Real food. While I’m gone, you’re going to clean yourself up.” Then she left before he could argue.
Two hours later, she had the kitchen area sorted, though not entirely clean, and a passable stew going on the small wood-burning stove. Nick perched hollow-eyed in the chair, watching her movements with fascination. She ignored him, finishing her cooking and cleaning in silence.
Nick sat in front of the Mason jar full of wildflowers Tia had placed on the table, staring at them and his meal with equal parts of wonderment and confusion. Then he dove into the stew, barely pausing to grab the spoon. He didn’t speak until the bowl was empty. “You,” he said, staring forlornly at the bottom of his bowl, “are wasted on my brother.”
She refilled his bowl and got herself a small helping.