A Practical Guide to Sorcery for Night-Shift Workers novel · Chapter 7 of 24

Chapter 7: Seven in the Morning

He took off the vest and hung it on the rolling ladder.

We worked for two hours, and he did not cast once.

I sat across from him with my fingers on his wrists, and we breathed.

He stopped bracing a little more each round.

By two in the morning he could get all the way to the top of the exhale without his shoulders rising.

But when he said the phrase, his palms stayed cold.

"Enough," I said, at last. "You're thinking about the inspector."

"I'm thinking about everything."

"I know. I can feel it."

I let go of his wrists.

"Get some sleep," I said. "Don't try anything at home. Just breathe."

He walked me to my car in the back lot.

He kissed me once, through the window, and stood in the cold watching until I turned the corner.

On Friday morning, I walked out of the county hospital at 7:20.

I'd spent the night under red lights, holding a woman's hand while the doctors worked.

She'd lived.

My feet hurt, my back hurt, and someone's blood had dried in my cuff.

I was on the sidewalk, looking for my bus pass, when I saw him.

He was leaning against a lamppost in his gray wool coat, his curls blown flat by the wind.

He held two cups of coffee and a paper bag.

"You're not supposed to be here," I said.

"I'm not on shift."

"Anselm. It's seven in the morning."

"I know. I was awake anyway."

He held out a cup.

"I didn't know how you took it," he said. "So I got it three ways."

"You got me three coffees."

"There was a bakery open."

I laughed, and then my eyes stung.

I was very glad nobody from the ER was watching.

"Come home with me," I said.

My apartment was on the second floor of a brick building on Lee Road.

It had a bad radiator, a worse window, and a bathroom the size of a closet.

I kicked off my clogs by the door.

Anselm stood in the middle of the living room.

He looked at my books, my one plant and the pile of unopened mail.

"It's smaller than I thought," he said.

"Thanks."

"I like it."

"You haven't seen the shower," I said. "The landlord hasn't fixed the water heater in four days. It's cold. It's very, very cold."

"I could look at it."

"You can't cast a heating spell."

"I could look at it with a wrench."

"Anselm."

"Yes."

"Wash my hair."

He went completely still.

"I've been up for twenty-six hours," I said. "I smell like a hospital."

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