“I knew it.” 

​

I gathered up my paper and coffee so I could march over there. The mysterious “scientist” watched an infuriating smirk that twisted his mouth on one side. His lima-bean eyes twinkled through a pair of wire rimmed reading glasses, which he removed as I approached his table.

  

“Hey,” I barked. 

​

Suddenly he was incredibly engrossed with an article on off-season salmon poaching.

 

“Hey, you.” I sat down heavily in the chair opposite him. “Is this conversation muffled?” 

​

He murmured something under his breath, then lowered the paper and looked up. “It is now,” he said, then took a long sip of tea the color of dungeon water. “Delighted to see you again, Ms. Whelan. Please, won’t you have a seat?” 

​

His diction was precise and nearly perfect, his mild English accent infuriatingly calm. I froze, thinking of the vaguely English-sounding chattering hanging on the periphery of Gran’s house. I searched the memory I had become accustomed to over the past several days. The shadow, whomever he was, was insidious, more than slightly insane, and there was malice about that voice that I didn’t feel at all from the man in front of me. The green-eyed sorcerer was cocky, maybe, but not evil.

​

“Don’t ‘Ms. Whelan’ me,” I snapped. “I said don’t stalk me. Now you’re going to tell me who the hell are you and why you followed me across the country, or my next call is going to be the police.”

​

“Don’t bother much with pleasantries, do you?” 

​

The sorcerer sighed irritably and set his cup on its saucer with an audible clink. Then he turned the handle of the cup slightly toward him and adjusted it back to me. He did this three more times before finally appearing satisfied with the result.

​

I just tapped my fingers on the tabletop as I waited. I considered the painful decisions I needed to make, the mountain of belongings I needed to go through at the house—clothes, keepsakes, paperwork, and anything else Gran had left unfinished—not to mention trip I had to make to Seattle and back today. I only had two more days to figure everything out. I didn’t have time for these games. 

​

“Maybe it would be easier if I called the cops anyway,” I said. “The sheriff is a friend of mine—we went to high school together.” 

​

“I think he would quite prefer it if you did not,” the sorcerer said, carefully extending a hand with a raised brow that indicated he knew I knew exactly why Danny Mansfield would certainly prefer not to encounter a sorcerer. “I think proper introductions are quite overdue. My name is Jonathan Lynch. And I have something you need.”