No Accounting for Magic by Mel Sterling

Author:Mel Sterling
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mel Sterling

Chapter 3

WHEN THE DISHES were done, Cassie excused herself for a few minutes. Mason’s bathroom was as tidy as the rest of his apartment, with his masculine clutter gathered into a small wicker basket at one side of the counter. She washed her face with cold water to remind herself she needed a clear head for what was to follow. It would have been better had she come more prepared with her grandmother’s valise, but for tonight she thought she could at least help Mason with a good night’s sleep. Salt was simple but effective, and the mere psychological panacea—placebo or not—of taking action would help Mason begin to let go of his obsession. She stared into her eyes and whispered firmly to herself, “You’re here to do a job, Cassandra. A job.”

If she repeated it often enough she might even believe it.

After far too long in the bathroom giving herself stern admonishments and washing her hands more often than was necessary, she emerged and went first to the kitchen, which was empty. Exiting, she turned to the large room that served as Mason’s living and dining rooms.

Mason was on the dark green sofa, asleep. She hadn’t been in the bathroom that long, had she? With a smile she stood watching him. No doubt he needed the rest badly, and the heavy downpour of rain outside the building, along with the tummy-load of pasta and the half bottle of wine had combined to lull him.

He slept neatly, quietly, slumped in the junction of the sofa’s fat arm and back. Cassie wondered what his dark head would look like on a pillow, and whether he wakened just as quietly or with a noisy yawn. Whether he slept on his stomach or his side, or sprawled on his back like a toddler secure in the delicious abandon of rest.

She thought about letting herself out, but the rain was still falling in buckets. It was late—shortly after ten—and the seven-block walk in the wet with no umbrella held zero appeal. She sat in the armchair closest to the window where she could watch for a slackening in the rain, and let herself relax.

At first she thought it was a trick of the low light in the living room, and the rain outside. Her glance was caught by a rippling reflection in the dark window. What’s that? Mason moved like a dreaming swimmer, slow and strange. She turned her head to look and saw a smile on his lips, his hands at his sides on the sofa cushions, palms up, fingers stretched flat. There was that shimmer that followed him so much of the time, only now it seemed to be condensing, gathering in front of him.

Almost like someone straddling his lap.

Cassie sat up straight. She’d never personally observed the sort of phenomena Mason had described, but that didn’t mean it didn’t exist.

As she watched, the shimmer thickened and took on form and solidity. With each passing second, it grew more real, and the hairs on her arms and neck began to lift.

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